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BY JOHN W. S. I.IOWS, fROFE?g?)R OF ELOPTJTION IN COLUMBIA COLI.EQE. Thk Ma\, whom Nature's self had made To mock liarself, and Trith to imitute. NEW YOEK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET. 1881. ^CU^A Wv^t^t' Enteeed, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1849, l>y D. APPLETON & CO., In the Clerk's Offlce of the District Court of the United Strxtes for the Southern District of New York. In exch. i). of 0. Pub. LiV. ^. fC^^^..^^^ /^V ^ Fe-^ /to/ THE HO.N. OGDEN HOFFMAN, ^IflS ATTEMPT TO RENBEll' """SHAKSPEARE AN UNEXCEPTIONABLE^ ^LAJS BOOK, AND AN ACCEPTABLE F AJ\I I L_Y" R_E_A U li Rj 5 'fKSTIBTONIAL OF GRATEFUL ESTEEftI, " \ rOHN W. a HOY78. PREFACE. At a period \\hen the fame of Shakspeare is "striding tiie woild likj a colossus," and editions of his works are multiplied with a pto- fusion that testifies the desire awakened in all classes of society ta read and study his imperishable compositions, — there needs, perhaps, but httle apology for the following selections of his works, prepared expressly to render them unexceptionable for the use of Schools, and acceptable for Family reading. Apart from tlie fart, that Shakspeare is the " well-spring " from which may be traced the ori- gin of the purest poetry in our language, — a long course of profes- sional experience has satisfied me that a necessity exists for the addition of a work like the present, to our stock of Educational Literature. His writings are peculiarly adapted for the purposes of elocutionary exercise, when the system of instruction pursued by the Teacher is based upon the true principle of the art, viz. — careful analysis of the structure and meaning of language, rather than a servile adherence to the arbitrary and mechanical rules of Elocution. To impress upon the mind of the pupil that words are the expo- sition of thought, and that in reading, or speaking, every shade of thought and feeling has its appropriate shade of modulated tone, ought to be the especial aim Qf every Teacher; and an author like Shakspeare, whose every line embodies a volume of meaning, should surely form one of our Elocutionary Text Books. I have invariably found that the attention of youthful punils is more readily Vlll PRE! ACE. awakened by the force and beauty of his lang nage, than by that oi all other writers. Interest is uniformly excited in the student by the infinite variety of character that our great poet introduces into his creations, whilst the perceptive faculties of th^ reader become quickened and roused into action by the wonderful pcwcr he ex- hibits in " making his persons act and speak by the influence of those general passions and principles by v/hich all minds are agi- tated." The study of Elocution, under impressions so favorable, becomes an exercise truly intellectual, and the objectionable, but still necessary mechanism of the art, is reduced to its proper subordinate and auxiliary position. That his entire works could not be introduced intc? schools is evident ; nor do the " Selections," " Beauties," and occasional " Extracts," found in our Class Readers, precisely meet the wants of a pupil. These are at best the " briclis," — unsatisfactory speci- mens of the imperishable structure that the genius of our poet has reared, for the admiration of every age and every clime. " The real power of Shakspeare is not shown only by particular passages, but much also by the progress of his fables and the tenor of his dialogue." Unconnected extracts will always fail to interest and impress the young to the same extent as a coherent story and in animated scene. Acting upon these convictions, I have endeavored to extract the essence, as it were, of sixteen of Shakspeare's most approved Dra- mas — preserving in each the main story entire, by the aid of brief explanatory notes connecting the selections. The strictly poetical passages have been generally retained in preference to the comic portions, my limits compelling me to a choice between the two. Conceding the necessity of this almost imperative choice, I believe ti^.at the selections are those, to which the lovers of Shakspeare most frequently and most satisfactorily recur. Of the liberties I have been compelled to take with ray autJioi; PREFACE. l:i [ scarcely know how to speak with becoming propriet/. I profess tO share the common veneration entertained for the pure unmutilated text of Shakspeare ; and can estimate at what it is worth that ultra fastidiousness, which denounces the great " Poet of Nature " for having made his characters speak agreeably to the spirit of his own age. Still, in preparing a selection of his works for the express pur- pose contemplated in my design, I have not hesitated to exercise a severe revision of his language, beyond that adopted in any similar undertaking — '• Bowdler's Family Shakspeare " not even excepted ; — md simply, because I practically know the impossibility of intro- ducing Shakspeare as a Class Book, or as a satisfactory Reading Book for Families, without this precautionary revision. To render the selections better adapted for expressive reading, I have also ventured to disencumber several passages of unneces- sary circumlocution, consulting standard authorities to aid me in this portion of my labors. I may be held amenable at the bar of criticism, for what may be deemed by many a profanation of Shakspeare. In extenuation of my temerity, I may be permitted to say, that although the undertaking of such a work as the present, has been urged upon me by convictions, practically enforced, of its necessity, I b^ve long been restrained from making the attempt from con^ Bcientious scruples as to its propriety. But to — " Do a oTeaf riglit," [ have dore " A little wrong* ShaKspeare, in the original, is effectually excluded from out Schools ; and modern refinement is fast banishing him from the Home Reading Circle. To bring his profound moral and intellec- tual teachings to bear upon tlie early mental training of the young, and to extend his genial influences around the "Homestic Ileartli X PREFACE. seemed lo me justifiable attempts ; expedient to be made at all hazards. I have therefore prepared these selections with such a carefully expurgated Text, that the Book mav be introduced into our Schools with perfect confidence, by the most fastidious Teacher ; and with equal propriety it can be used for reading aloud in the most refined and pure-minded Family, or Social Circle. In justice to myself, I may be permitted to add, that 1 nave evoided, as far as it was practicable with the nature of my design, the substitution of any language of my own for the pure text of Shakspeare. I have been compelled occasionally t'" resort to the use of synonymes, but these have been adopted but sparingly. When difficulties beset me in the original, I have preferred, in most cases, excision to alteration. I may possibly have " Cut beyond the wound, To make the cure co7nplete ;" but there is high medical authority for believing that this is the most successful treatment in desperate cases. With this explanatory, and I may add, deprecatory piefaro, I submit the result of my humble, but very toilsome labors, to tl« test of pubHc opinion. New YosK, Fcbruarif ^ JS49 CONTENTS IIajolet, Prince of Denmare 1 Much Ado About Noxnrwo, KJ Macbeth, . . t . 79 As You Like It, Ill Othello, ..... 145 The Tempest .172 Romeo and Juliet, 201 The Merchant of Vkmzcu, 235 Kma Lear, 262 Midsummer-Night's Drkam, 299 Julius C^sar, .318 Twelfth-Night ; Or, What You Will, .... 355 Measure for Measure, . . . . . . . .372 King John, .... ^ . . , . 385 King Henry IV, . ....,,, 4H King Henry VIII, . ... .1518 LIFE WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. The few incidents in Shakspeare's life are surrounded with douU and fable ;' indeed, until lately, little could be said of hia Biography, but that " he was born, lived, and died." The researches of Malone, and more recently those of Collier, Knight, and Halliwell, have however thrown some light on the Poet's history, and from these authorities we are enabled to compile a brief memoir of his life sufficient for our present design, referring the youthful student to the more elaborate sources to which we are indebted. William Shakspeare was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwick, England, in April, 1564. He was baptized on the 26th of the month, and a tradition exists that he was born on the 23d April, the anniversary of St. George the tutelar Saint of Eng- land. His father, John Shakspeare, v/as a wool-comber, or glover, who had risen above hi.i somewhat obscure position by marrying a rural heiress, Mary Arden, possessed of a small estate in Warwickshire. Shakspeare's father rose to be high bailiff and chief alderman of Strat- ford ; but became depressed in circumstances about the year 1578. William was the eldest of six surviving children, and after re- ceiving some education in the grammar school of his native town, he is said to have been brought home to assist in his father's business. There is an entire blank in his history for several years of his early life, but it may well be conjectured, that he was then treasuring up materials for those imperishable works which have rendered him the most eminent genius the world has ever produced. Some of his Diographers have endeavored to prove that a portion of this period was passed in a lawyer's office, from the familiaritv he exhibits in his %IV LIFE OF WILLIAM SIIAKSrEARE. works, with technical legal phrase and illustrations. But similar evidence might be adduced to prove his preparation for the church, or for the medical professicn, for his works abound in the profoundest theological truths, and he appears to be equally well skilled in the elementary knowledge of medical science. The amount of Shakspeare's educational acquirements haa beer\ Uie subject of eager scrutiny and controversy. Ben Jonson, with whom he was on terms of intimate acquaintance, says, he had " little Latin and less Greek." This is admitting that he knew something of both languages. His choice of two classical subjects for his early poetry, Venus and Adonis^ and Lucrece, and the numerous allusions in his Plays to the mythology of the ancients, appear to warrant the conclusion that he was, at least, deeply imbued with the spirit and taste of classical literature. But, genius such as Shakspeare's did not derive its inspiration from mere classical learning. He was doubtless an irregular student, yet his native intellect and com- prehensive mind enabled him, by study and observation, and " al- most by intuition, to treasure up stores of knowledge by which he subsequently distanced all the university-bied wits and authors of his times." On the 28th of November, 1582, Shakspeare was married to Anne Hathaway, the daughter of a " substantial yeoman " of the village oi Shottery, about a mile from Stratford, and in the year 1586, it is ascertained that he removed to London, and commenced the occupa- tion of a Player. Much conjectural speculation has been expended upon the pro- bable causes, which induced Shakspeare to adopt the profession of an actor, but no authentic accounts can be traced to ascertain the pre- cise facts. During the period of his father's elevation to office, companies of players were frequently in the habit of performing at Stratford ; among these players were several who were Shakspeare's townsmen. An acquaintance with these persons may naturally have been formed by the future Dramatist, and when circumstances in- duced him to quit Stratford, the intimacy with his old associates may bave been resumed and his connection with the stage decided upon. Shakspeare soon rose to distinction in the theatre, for in the year 1689 he became a shareholder in the Blackfriars Theatre. In 1596 De was a proprietor, and in 1603 he was named second in a new patcni LIFE OV WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. XV granted to the King's Players, by Tames I., on that monarcli's accea* Bion to the Britisli throne. That the extraordinary powers of Shakspeare as a Dramatic writer, was the cause of his rapid elevation in the theatre, is a fact almost beyond dispute, for his talents as an actor never appear to have risen beyond a respectable mediocrity. A contemporary author- ity (supposed to be Lord Southampton) says that he was " of good Recount in the company ;" and traditionary evidence assigns him tha character of tlie " Ghost in Hamlet," and " Adam in As you like It,"' as being among the chief parts he sustained in his own plays. With the nobles, the wits, and poets of his day, he lived in fami- liar intercourse. Even royalty unbended to do honor to the immortal Dramatist ; his Plays were the favorite recreation of the haughty Elizabeth, and even the weak-minded James I. was not insensible to the genius of the great Poet. Ben Jonson, in a eulogy on Shaks • peare, speaks of his Dramas, " That so did take Eliza and our James ;" and other contemporary authorities confirm the fact of his popularity. It is likely that Shakspeare began his career as a Dramatic Author by altering and adapting Plays for the Stage, furnished by other Dramatists, and subsequently, as he felt his powers expand, he poured forth in rapid succession that series of splendid Dramas, which are the imperishable monuments of his genius. No distinct chrono- logical account can be given of these wonderful productions. It is however tolerably well established, that the whole of the thirty-seven Plays were produced before the year 1612, as it is supposed in that year he retired finally to his native town, where he had previously purchased an estate, called New Place, the principal house in Strat- ford. He had by this time acquired a handsome competency ; and, in the words of his biographer Rowe, " The latter part of his life was spent, as all men of good sense will wish theirs to be, in ease, retire- ment, and the conversation of his friends." Four years were passed by Shakspeare in this dignified retirement. He died on the 23d April, 1616, having just completed his fifty- second year. His widow survived him seven years. His two daughters were both married at the time of his death, (his only son, Ilanmet, had died in 1596,) but all these died without issue, and there now reinains no lineal repret-entative of the Poet. He was interred XVl LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, in the Church of Stratford-upon-Avon, where a monument to his memory still exists in good preservation, and a flat grave-stone in front of the monument indicates the Poet's grave. On the stone is inscribed these lines, which tradition ascribes to be his own composi- tion. " Good frend, for lesvs sake forbeare To digg the dvst encloased heare : Blese be ye man yt spares thes stones, And cvrst be he yt moves my bones." We close this brief and unsatisfactory memoir of the life of Shakspeare, by the following comprehensive summary of his charac- ter, by Hallam the Historian. " The name of Shakspeare is the greatest in our literature. No man ever came near to him in the creative powers of his mind ; no man had ever such strengtli at once, and such variety of ij7iagliM^ HA3ILET, PRINCE OP DENMARK Shakspeare is supposed to have taken the Plot of this Play, ficm " the Hibtory of Hamlet," as it is found narrated in Saxo Grammaticus, the Danish [listoiian. An English translation of this particular story was published during the Poet's life, entitled " Historie of Hamblet, Prince of Denmark," and from this version, it is conjectured that Shak- ■peare drew the materials, which have assisted him in this master-piece of tragic com- position. As this Play is the most finished and the most popular of our Author'a productions, we have incorporated into our selections nearly all the prominent scenes. We cannot better introduce the youthfu/ student into a just discrimination of the leading characteristics of Hamlet, than by furnkhing the following clear analysis from the pen of Goethe. He says — " It is clear to me that Shakspeare's intention was to exhibit tho effects of a great action imposed as a duty upon a mind too feeble for its accomplishment. " In this sense, I find the character consistent throughout. There is an oak planted in a china vase, proper only to receive the most delicate flowers ; the roots strike out, and the vessel flies to pieces. A pure, noble, highly moral disposition, but without that energy of soul which constitutes the hero, sinks under a load which it can neither support nor resolve to abandon altogether. Ml his obligations are sacred to him ; but this alone is above his powers. " An impossibility is required at his hands ; not an impossibility in itself, but that which b so to him. Observe how he shifts, turns, hesitates, advances, and recedes ; how he a continually reminded and reminding himself of his great commission, which he, neverthe- feiiS, in the end, seems almost entirely to lose sight of; and this without ever recoverinji 4is former tranquillity." PERSONS REPRESENTED. CLAUDitrs, Kivg of Denmark. Hamlet, son to the former y and nephew to the present Ring. PoLONics, Lord Chamberlain. Horatio, friend to Hamlet. Laertes, son to Polonius. SHAKSPEARIAN READEa. VOLTIMAND, COKNELIUS, ) CourtieTM ROSENCRANTZ, GuiLDENSTERN. V OsRic, a Courtier. Another Courtier. A Priest. Marcellus, ) ^^^^^^^ Bernardo, Francisco, a soldier. Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. A Captain. An Ambassador. Ghost of Hamlets father. FoRTiNBRAS, Prince of Norway. Gertrude, Queen of Denmais, and mother of Ilamlel. Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. ItordSj Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave-diggers, Sailois, Mt? sengers, and other Attendants. SCENE.— Elsinore. ACT I. 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 hof-T. 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. !f you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and MARCELLrs. Fran. I think I hear them — Stand, ho ! Who is there ? Hor. Friends to this ground. Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. Fran. Give you good night. Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : Who hath retiev'd you ? HAMLET. ;j Fran. Bernardo hath my place. Give you good n.ght. [Ex'u Fkancisoo. Mar. Holla, Bernardo ! Ber. Say. What, is Horatio there ? Hor. Apiece of him. Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good Marcellus. Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night ? Ber. I have seen nothing. 3Tar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; i\ nd will not let belief take hold of him. Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : T'.ierefore I have entreated him, along With us to watch the minutes of this night ; That, :f again this apparition come, He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. Hor. Tush ! tush ! 'twill not appear. Ber. Sit down awliite * 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. Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, Horatio. Hor. Most like : it harrows me with fear, and wonder. Bsr. 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 [n which the majesty of buried Denmark' Did sometim.es march ? by heaven I charge thee, speak. Afar. It is offended. Ber. See ! it stalks away. Hor. Stay ; speak : speak,I charge thee, speak. [Evb Ghpai 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. I miofht not this believe. 1 SHAKSPEARIAN REAP-ER, Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the king ? Hor. As thou ait to thyself : Such was the very armour rre had on, When he the ambitious Norw^ay combated ; So frown'd he ^^nce, when, in an angry parie, He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dezd hou?. With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Hor. In what particular thought to work, I kr cw not j But, in the gross and scope of mhie opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our state. In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Junius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. As, stars with trains of fire shed dews of blood, Disaster's dimm'd the sun ; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, VVas sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. And even the like precurse of fierce events, — As harbingers preceding still the fates. And prologue to the omen coming on, — Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climates and countrymen. — Re-enter Ghost. But, soft ; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! I'll cross it, thougli it blast me. — Stay, illusion? If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, Speak to me : If there be any good tiling 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 Ufe Extorted treasure from the depths of earth, For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death : Speak of it : — stay, and speak. [Exit Ghost Mar. 'Tis gone ! We do it wrong, being so majestic al. To ojffer it the show of violence. 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. HAMLET. T /'he cock, that is the trumpet to the mom, 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 spirit hies To liis confine : and of the truth hereiir This present object made probation. Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. This bird of dawning singelh all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike. No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to harm, 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 hill : 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. — The same. A Room of State in tlie same. Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Lores, \ni 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 v;e 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, — Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along : — For all, our thanks. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you ? You told us of some suit ? What is't, Laertes t Laertes. My dread lord, Vour leave and favor to return to France ; () SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. From whence tlioiigh 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 Poljnius 1 Pol. He hath, ray lord, — 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. f A.sje fate of Ophelia. Enter Queen. King. 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. The'-e 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, There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sHver broke ; When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread w ido ; And, mermaid-like, a while 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 indu'd Unto that element : but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, PuU'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 j How much I had to do to calm his rage ! Now fear I, this will give it start again ; Tliereforo, let's follow. \_Excuml M SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. ACT y. SCENE J.— A aiurch-Yard. Enter Two Clowns, with spades, <^c. \si Clo. Is nhe to be buried in christian burial, that ^vilfully seokn hor own salvation ? 2nd Clo. I tell thee, she is ; therefore make her grave straight : the crowner hath set on her, and finds it christian burial. 1 St Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence ? 2nd Clo. Why, 'tis found so. I si Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point : If 1 drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and an act hath three branches ; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2nd Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 1st 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. tliat is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2nd Clo. But is this law ? 1st Clo. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 2nd Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of christian burial. 1st Clo. Why, there thou say'st : And the more pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang them- selves, more than their even christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers ; they hold up Adam's profession. 2nd Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 1st Clo, He was the first that ever bore arms. 2nd Clo. Why, he had none. 1st Clo. What, art a heathen? How dos^ thou understand the scripture ? The scripture says, Adam digged ; Could he dig without arms ? I'll put another question to thee : if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself 2nd Clo. Go to. 1st Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either the masoii, the shipwright, or the carpenter ? 2d Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. — 1st Clo. T 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 al, to say, the gallows is built stronger than the church ; argal, tlie gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 2nd Clo. \\'ho builds stronger than ? mason, a shipwright, or a ^rpenter ? HAMLET. ^ 1 Si Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 2nd Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 1st Clo. To't. 2nd Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 1st Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating : and, when you are asked this ques- tion next, say, a grave-maker ; the houses that he makes, last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of Uquor. [Exit 2nd Clown. 1st Clown digs, and sings. I?i youth, ivhen I did love, did love, JMethought, it loas very sweet. To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove O, 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 of easiness. Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! This might be the pate of a politician ; one that would circumvent heaven, might it not ? Hor. It might, my lord. Ham. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play al foggats with them ? mine ache to think on't. There's another : Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quiddita now, his quilJits, 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 Ills 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 his box ; and must the inheritor himself have no more ? fca? Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. Ham. I will speak to this fellow : — Whose grave is this, sirrah ? Isi Clo. Mine, sir. — O, a pit of clay for to he made, [Sings. For such a guest is meet. Ham.. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou Hest in't. ist 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. 18 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine : 'tis for Lhs dead, not for the quick ; therefore thou hest. \st Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again, from nie to you Ham, What man dost thou dig it for ? \st Clo. For no man, sir. Ham. What woman, then ? 1 St Clo. For none neither. Ham. Who is to be buried in't ? \st Clc. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo ns. By the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it ; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of tne peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. ■ — How long hast thou been a grave-maker ? \st 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 St 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 ? \st Clo. Why, because he was mad : he shall recover hi-s wit"! there ; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there. Ham. Why? 1st Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; there the men are a» mad as he. Ham. How came he mad ? \st Clo. Very strangely, they say. Ham,. How strangely ? \st Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing liis wits. Ham. Upon what ground ? 1 St Cio. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sexton here, map and boy, thirty years. Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot ? 1st Clo. Why, sir, here's a skull now 'hath lain you i' the earth three-and-t\^ enty years. Ham. Whose was it ? 1st Clo. A mad fellow's it was ; Whose do you think it was ? Ham. Nay, I know not. 1st Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. Tliis same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester. Ham. This ? [Takes the skull 1st Clo. E'en that. Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow^ of in- finite jest, of most excellent fancy : he hath borne me on his back a thousand times. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how o^. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your HAMLET. 47 «ongs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set tne table on a roar ? Not one now to mock your own grinning ? quite chap- fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to tliis favor 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' this fashion i' iuie earth ? Hor. E'en so. Ham. And smelt so ? pah ! [Throws doicn tlie skull Hor. E'en so, my lord. Ham. To what base uses we may return, Hora'^io ! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stop- ping a bung-hole ? Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so ? Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : As thus ; Alexander died, Alex- ander was buried, Alexander returned to dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? Imperious 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, ^c, in 'procession ; tlie 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 Foredo its own life. 'Twas of some estate : Couch we awhile, and mark. [Retiring with Horatio Laer. What ceremony else ? Ham. ' That is Laertes. A very noble youth : Mark. Laer. What ceremony else ? 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd 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, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, Yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial. Laer. Must there no more be done ? I Priest. No more be dons .' iS SHAKSPEARIAN READER. W"e should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem, and such rest to her, As to peace-parted souis. Laer. Lay her i' the earth, — And from hsr fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churhsh priesi . A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, When thou liest howling. Hai&. What, the fair Ophelia ! Queen, Sweets to the sweet: Fareweli , [Scaiterivgjltmcrs, I hop'd, thou should'st 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 awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : [Leaps into the grav6r Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead ; Till of this flat a mountain you have made, To o'er-top 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 Like wonder- wounded hearers ? this is I, Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into ilie grave Laer. The devil take thy soul ! [ Grappling with hin^ 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, Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the gram Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this tlieme, Until my eyelids will no longer wag. Queen. O my son ! what theme ? Ham. I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her ? King. O, he is mad, Laertes. Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do : Woul't weep ? woul't fight ? woul't fast ? woul't tear thyself^ Woul't drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? HAMLKT. 49 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 mout rn rant as well as thou. Queen. This is mere madness. And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; Anon, as patient as the female dove. When that her golden couplets are disclos'd. His silence will sit drooping. Ham. Hear you, sir ; What is the reason, that you use me thus ? I lov'd you ev-er : 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. — [ f]xil Horatio. Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech ; [ To Laertes. 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. Ilamlet has learned the intentions of the King, in sending him to England, and while consulting with Hoiatio how to act, a messenger comes from Claudius inviting the Prince to a " trial of skill " in fencing, with Laertes ; Hamlet accepts the challenge, and the scene changes to a Hall in the Palace where the court are assembled to witness tht enconnter. SCENE the last.— A Hall in Hie Castle. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, and Attendants with foils, i^-c. King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. {The King 'puis the hand 0/ Laertes into that o/Haihli:t, Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done you wrong ; But pardon it as you are a gentleman. 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 : ^ do receive your offer'd love like love, And will not wrong it. hG SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Hajn. I embrace it freely ; And will this brother's wager frankly play. — Give us the foils ; come on. Laer. Come, one for me. Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes ; in mine ignorance Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night Stick fiery off indeed. Laer. You mock m.e, sir Ham. No, by this hand. King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cousin 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 hkes me well : These foils have all a length ? [They prepare to I lay 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 ordnanoe fire ; The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; And in the cup an union 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. Qsr, A hit, a very palpable hit. Laer. Well, — again. King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, this pearl is thine ; Mere'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 awhile. Come. — Another hit ; What say you ? \Tliey play. Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. King. Our son shall win. Queen. The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet Ham. Good madam, King. Gertrude, do not drink. HAMLET. 61 (^ueen. I will, my lord ; — I pray yoii, pardon me. King. It is the poison'd cnp ; it is too late. [Aside Laer. I'll hit him now ; And yet it is almost against my conscience. \_Aside. Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but dally ; . pray you, pass with your best violence ; I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. Laer. Say you so ? come on. [ Thexj jilay. [Laertes wounds llxmi.'ET ', tlien^ in scuffling, th€^> change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes. King. Part them, they are incens'd. Ham. Nay, come again. [The Qvee's falls. Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! Hor. They bleed on both sides : — How is it, my lord ? Osr. How is't, Laertes ? Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric ; I urn 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 my dear Hamlet ! — The drink, the drink ; — I am poison'd ! [Dies Ham. O villany ! — Ho ! let the door be lock'd : Treacheiy ! seek it out. [Laertes /aZ/.s 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 He, 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 K^inc. Follow my mother. 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 ! [Diei Ham. Heaven make thee free of it ! I follow thee. 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, death, Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, — But let it be : — Horatio, I am dead ; Thou Uv'st ; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied. Hoi'. Never believe it ; 52 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. T 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. — O Heaven ! — 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 pain, To tell my story. — O, I die, Horatio ; The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit : The rest is silence. "7>ies Her. Now cracks a noble heart ; — Good-nighty iA'cet prinaV; A.nd lights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING Variois sources have be assigned, from which Shakspeare bcrrowec he sUii-y of %u comedy; Orlando Furioso, The Faery Q,ueen, and a novel of Bandello's, hav« Jich been cited as furnishing the original conception of the plot. It is perhaps of little consequence whence the poet drew his materials : the play itself is so full of life and character, so teeming with wit, poetry, and humor, as to render the mere superstructure 3B which the incidents are founded a matter of no account to the general reader. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. Don John, his illegitimate brother. Claudio, a young lord of Florence, favorite to Don Pedro. Benedick, a young lord of Tadna, favorite likewise to Don Pedro Leonato, governor of Messina. Antonio, his brother. Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. BoRACHio, CoNRADE, /oZ/oroers o/Don John. Dogberry, Verges, two foolish officers. A Sexton, A Friar, A Boy. Hero, daughter to Leonato. Beatrice, niece to Leonato. Margaret, Ursula, gentlewomen attending on Heio. MessengersJV atch, and Attendants. SCENE,— Messina ACT I. SCENE L— Before Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a M2ssengeT. Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes tills night to Messina. 64 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. ?iless. He is very near by this ; he was not three leagues ofl' wlien I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action ? 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 nonor on a young Florentine, called Claud io. Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro : He hath borne himself 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 lettei-s 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 ? Mess. In great measure. 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 JMontanto returned from the wars, or no ? 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 ? Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was. Beat. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars ? But how many hath he killed ? 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, ne 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 ? Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; stuflTed with all honor- able virtues. Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stuffed man : but fof the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there is a kind of merr}'- 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 dw is the old man governed with MUCK ADC ABOUT NOTHING. 55 one : so that if he have wit enough to keep himself wanu, fet 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 companion now ? I5e hath every month a new sworn brother. Mess. Is it possible ? Beat. Very easily possible : tie wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block. 3[ess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. O ! he will hang upon him like a disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence : and the taker runs presently mad. Heaven help the noble Claudio ! if he have ccught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. Mess. I will hold friends Vv'ith 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 John, Claudio, and Benedick. D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you en- counter it. Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness 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 willingly. — I think, this is your daughter. Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. D. Pedro. Be happy, lady, for you are like an honorable father. Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have hia head on her shoulders, for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick; nobody 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 Benedick ? 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 woman ; they would else have bec^n troubled with a pernicious suitor. I had rather hear my dog bark at B crow, than a man swear he loves me. 56 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Bene. Heaven keep your ladyship still in that mind ! so some gen' tleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate 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 tongue ; and eo g )od a continuer : But keep your way ; I have done. Brat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I know you of old. D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : — Leonato, — signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, 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 youi brother, I owe you all duty. D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words, but I thank yon Leon. Please it your grace lead on ? D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go together. [^Exeunt all hut Benedick and Cla.udio. 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 liiinple true judgment; or would you have me speak after iny cus- tom, 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 trul^ how thou likest her ? Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her ? Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow ? or do you play the flouting 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 that ever I looked 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 fnry, exceeds her as much in beauty, as the first of May doth the last of December. But 1 hope, you have no intent to turn husband ; have you ? Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the con' trarv, if Hero would be my wife. MUCH ABO ABOUT NOTHING. oT Bene. Is it come to this, i' faith ? Hath not the world one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion ? Shall I never see a bache- lor 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 ? Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me 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 you this, on my allegiance : — He is in love. With who ? — now that is your grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : With Hero, Leonato'a short daughter. Claud. If this w^ere so, so w^ere it uttered. Ben£. Like the old tale, my lord : " it is not so, nor 'twas not so : but, indeed. Heaven forbid it should be so." Claud. If my passion change not shortly. Heaven forbid it should be otherwise. D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is 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 v/ast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of hia will. Be7ie. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any woman, 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 drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang me up 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 Be that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam, 5« SHAKSPEAEIAN READER. D Pedro. Well, as time shall try : In time the savage bull doth hear the yoke. Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sensible Benedich bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead : and .at me be vilely painted ; 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 would'st 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 Heaven : From my house, (if I had it) — D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend. Benedick. 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 youi conscience ; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedis^e. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do 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 ere I went to wars. D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently And tire the hearer with a book of words : If tliou 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 con' plexion ! MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. OJf But lest my Jiking 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 v/ill serve, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; And I will fit thee with the remedy. ( know, we shall have revelling to-nighi ; [ 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 \nd strong encounter of my amorous tale : Then, after, to her father will I break ; And the conclusion is, she shall be thine : En practice bt us put it presently. \^Ebueina. ACT 11. SCENE I. — A Hall in Leon^to's House. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. Tyon. Was not ccimt John here at supper ? A^^/. I saw him not. Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never can see hira, bul I Jim 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- A'ay 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 tattling. Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in signior Benedick's face, — Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world, — if lit could get her good will. Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a husband, if ^hou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Ant. Well, niece, [to Hero,] I trust you will be ruled by yout father. Beat. Yes, faith ; it's my cousin's duty to make courtesy, and say, Father, as L 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. Leom Well, niece, I hcpe to see you one day fitted with a hus- ta;id. Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod of wayward 4 80 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. marl ? No, uncle, I'll hold 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, tell him, there is measure In every thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear mc, Hero ', wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : the first suit is hot and hasty, hke a Scotch jig, and fuh 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 daylight. Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make good room. The Plot arranged by Don Pedro, is carried into execution at the masked Ball given byLeonato. The Prince disguised as Claudio, wooes Hero, and obtains confession of hei ove. He also breaks the matter to Leonato, who cheerfully consents to the union of his daughter with Claudio. Don Pedro, Leonato, Claudio, and Hero, now undertake to bring Beaedick and Beitnce ' into a mountain of affection. ' — Their plans are carried out in the two follow iBg s(«nes. SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. Enter Benedick and a Boy. Bene. Boy, — Boy. Siguier. Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring it lijther to nie u* 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 i& Claudio. I have known when there was no music with him but the drum and fife ; and now had he rather hear 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, carving the fashion of a new doublet, flo was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man, and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer; his words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many strange dishes. iSIay I be so converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; 1 Uiink not : I will nol be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he hath made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; yet I am veil '. arother is wise ; vet I am well : another \irtuous ; vet I am MUCH ADO ABCUT NC THING, 61 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 me ; noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what color it please. Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will hide me m the arbor. [Witkdratas, Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Clauzio. 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. O, very well, my lord : the music ended. We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. Enter Balthazar, with music. D. Pedro. Come Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. Balth. O 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 wooes ; Yet he will 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 speak i ; Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [ VwsM Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! Balthazar sings, I. Srgh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; Men ivere deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore; To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, But let them go, And he you blithe and bonny ; Converting all your sounds of icoe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. II. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo Of dumps so dull and heavy ; B2 SHAKSPEAKIAN READEH. The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first icas leavy. Then sigh not so, &c. D. Pedro. Bv my t) oth, a good song. Balth. And an ill si.iger, my lord. Claud. Ha ? no , no, faith ; thou singest well enough for a sfift Bene. \_Aside.'\ — An he had heen a dog, that should have howled .hus, they would have hanged him : and, I pray Heaven his bad voice bode no mischief ! I had as lief have heard the night raven, come what plague could have come after it. D. Pedro. Yea, marry ; \to Claudio.] — Dost thou hear, Baltha- aar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent 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, [^xeirn^ Balthazae and music.'] Come hither, Leonato : What was it you told me of to-day ? that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior Benedick ? Claud. O, 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 outwtrd behavior? 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 enraged affection, — it is past the infinite of thought. D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Claud. 'Faith, like enough. Leon. Counterfeit ! There never was counterfeit of passion came »o near the life of passion, 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 invincible against all assaults of affection. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; especially against Benedick. Bene. [Aside.] — I should think this a gull, but 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 /, says MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTIiING. 63 «>he, that have so oft encountered Mm y;iih scorn, write to Mm that 1 .ove Mm ? 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 till she have writ a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all. Then she will tear the letter into a thousand half-pence ; rail at herself, that she should write to one that she knew would flout her : / measure Mm, says she, by my own spirit ; for I would Jiout Mm, if lie writ to me ; yea, thmgh I love Mm, I should. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; — O sweet Benedick ! Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so : and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that my daughter is sometimes afraid she will do a desperate 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. 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 Vv'ill die ere she makes her love known : and she will die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breadth of her accustomed crossness. D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make tender 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 happiness. Claud. 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 undertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 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 vvith good tcunsel. Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her heart out first. 64 SHAKSPEARIAN RE tDER. D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daugh er : let i* 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, wiil you walk ? dinner is ready. Claud. If he do not doat 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 gentlewoman carry. 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 to dinner. \^Aside. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonatca Benedick advances from the arbor. Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was sadly borne. — 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 rather 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 the-n 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 qu/rks and remnants of wit broken on me, because I have railed so long against marriage : 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: When 1 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 Beatrtce. Beat. Aga'nst 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 paiw to thank me ; if it had been painful, I would not have come. Beiie. You take pleasure then 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 vsell. [Exit. Bene. Ha ! Against my will I am sent to hid you come to dinner —there's a double meaning in that. I took no more pains for those, thanks, than you took pains to thank me — that's as much as to say, A.ny pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks : — If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I am a Jew : I will go g9i her picture. [ExiU MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 66 ACT III. SCENE I. — Leonato's Garden. Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Hero. Good Margaret, r.in thee into the parlor ; There thou shalt find my cousin Beatrice Proposing with the prince and Claudio : Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse Ts all of her ; say, that thou overheard'st us ; And bid her steal into the pleached bower, Where honeysuckles, 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 hsten our purpose : This is thy office, Bear thee weL in it, and leave us alone. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, presently. 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 hear-say. Now begin ; Enter Beatrice, hehind. 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 tie h -wer No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; [ know, her sjiirits are as coy and wild As haggards* of the rock. Urs. But are you sure That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? Hero. So says ^xie prince, and my new-trothed lord. * A species of hawks. fi6 SHAKSFEARIAN READEH. Un. 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 lov'd Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of ii,. Urs. Why did you so ? Hero. Nature never framed a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, IVIisprising 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. Wliy, you speak truth : I never yet saw nm^. How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced. She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic. Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed ; If low, an agate very vilely cut : If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds ; If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out : 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 fashioua, 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, Uke cover'd fire. Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : It were a better death tJian die with mocks. 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 sth'n my cousin with : One doth not knov/. 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 vdt, As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse So rare z. g' iVman as signior Benedick. mijch ado about nothing, 67 ITpto. He is the only man of Italy, Always excepted my dear Claudio. XJrs. 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. Hero. If it proves so, then loving goes by haps : Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero ajid Ursula Beatrice advances. Beat. What fire is in my 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. Beatrice and Benedick are snccessfully played upon, and a mutual affection grows np between them. A double plot is now developed. Don John, brother to Pedro, .a envious, dis- contented man, is jealous of Claudio's interest with the Prince, and detemines to revenge himself. For this purpose he plans with his servant, Horachio, to throw suspicion on the character of Hero. Don John undertakes to place the Prince and Claudio within hearing, near Hero's chamber window, while Borachio addresses Margaret, Hero's waiting woman^ by the name of her mistress, while she returns the greeting most familiarly. Borachio, returning from this interview, meets his fellow servant, Conrade, to whom he discloses the business he had been engaged in. They are overheard by the city watoh, and are taken in custody. The following scene introduces one of Shakspeare's most celebrated characters. Digberry, the constable, is a masterpiece of humor,— the type of a class, the ignorant Wpercilitvu " Jack 1q ofBce." SCENE III.— A Street. Enter Dogberry a7id Verges, ivith the Watch. Dugb. Are you good men and true ? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should sulTer salvation, aody and soul. 68 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if the^ should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the princess watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor Dogberry. Dogh. First, who think you the most desartless man to be con-- stable ? \sL Watch. Ilugn Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; for they can write and read. Dogh. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal : Heaven hath blessed you KHth a good name : to be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read comes by nature. 2nd Watch. Both which, master constable, Dogh. You have ; I knew it would be your answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give Heaven thanks, and rhake no boast of it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no 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. 27id Watcli. How if he will not stand ? Dogh. Why, then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, and thank Heaven you are rid of a knave. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. Dogh. True, and they are to meddle w^ith 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. ^nd Watch. We v/ill rather sleep than talk ; we know what belongs to a watch. Dogh. 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 be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the ale-houses and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 2nd Watch. How if they will not ? Dogh. Why then, let them alone till they are sober ; if they make you not then the better answer, you may say they are not the men you took them for. 2nd Watch. Well, sir. Dogh. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of youi 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. 2nd Watch. If w^e know him to be a thief, shall we not lay handa on him ? Dogh. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the most peaceable w^ay 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. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 69 Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; much mrnt-e a Qian 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. 2vA Wafch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us ? Dogb. Why, then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her witJi crying ; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it 'baes, wiU never answer a calf when he bleats. Verg. 'Tis very true. Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, constable, are to pre- &ent 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 Vv^ll. Ve?g. By'r lady, I think it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night : an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good night. — Come, neighbor. 2nd 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 pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil to-night : Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Ejiter BoRACHio and Conrade. Bora. What ! Conrade, — Watch. Peace, stir not [Aside, Bora. Conrade, I s*y ! Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee. W'atch. [Aside.] — Some treason, masters ; yet stand close. Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John a thousand ducats. CoTL Is it possible that any villany should be so dear ? Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible any villany should be so rich ; for when rich villains have need of poor ones, ooor ones may make what price they will. Con. I wonder at it. Bora. That shows, thou art unconfirmed . Thou knowest, 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 f-ishiou. JO SKAKSPEARIAN READER. Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the foors the fool. But secei tliou not what a deformed thief 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. [Asifie. 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 ? oow giadily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and live and thirty ? 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 siiifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion ? Bora. Not so neither, but know, that I have to-night wooed Mar- garet, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mistress' cham.ber window, bids me a thousand 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 en- counter. Con. And thought thev, Margaret was Hero ? Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio, but my mastei knew she was Margaret ; and parlly by his oaths, which first pos- sessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio enraged ; swore he would meet her as lie was appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night, and send her home again without a husband. 1st Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, stand. 2nd Watch. Call up the right master constable : we have here re- covered the most dangerous piece of villany that ever was known iD the commonwealth. 1st Watch. And one Deform.ed is one of them. Con. Masters, masters. 2nd Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, I warrant you. Con. Masters, — 1st Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us obey you to ^c with us. Bora. We are like^ to prove a goodly commodity, being takim "up D** these men's bills. Con. A commodity n question, I warrant you. Come, we'L fbey you. [ Exit. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING; 71 ACT IV. Claudio, deceived by the machinations of Don John, believes Hero to be iinfaithfal On tlie day appointed for the marriage, he attends in the church, and, before tha tsiembled guests, denounues Hero as being faJse, and refuses to marry her — Hero sw(>oai »n hearing the charge, and Claudio and his friends retire. The Priest or Friar eH{,'v«^ to perform the nuptial ceremony, interferes to appease the wrath of Leonato. Enter Friar, Hero, Leonato, Benedick, ami Bkatr'cs. Friar. 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 witnesses bear away thos i blushes And in her eye tliere 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 zeal 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 lefl, Is, that she will not add to her damnation A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : Why seek'st thou tlien to cover with excuse That which appears in proper 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 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 villanies. Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her ; if they wrong her honor, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 72 SHAKSPEARIAN READEa. Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad Hfe 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 tnoroughly. 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 dd % Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. Upon the instant that she was accus'd, Shall be Umiented, 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 the value, then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours : So will it fare with Claudio : 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-deHcate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he raouro, And wish he had not so accus'd her ; No, though he thought his accusation true. Let this be so, and doubt not but success Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it dov/n in Ukelihood. 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,) In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. Bene. Signlor Lconato, let the friar advise ycii . MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. IB And though, you know, my inwardness 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 Leonato Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while ? Beat. Yea, and 1 will weep awhile longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man desen^e of me that would right her. Bene. Is there any way 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 as you ; Is not that ttrange ? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you : but believe me not ; and vet I lie not ; 1 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. WTiy then, Heaven forgive me ! . Bene. What ofFence, sweet Beatrice ? Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to pro- test I loved you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that none is icft to protest. Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for 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, thougn I am here ' —There is no love in you ;— 7'i SHAKSPEARJAN REIDEK. Nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, — Beat. In faith, I will go. Bejie. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me. than figl t with DaiRS enemy. Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slan- dered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman ? — O, that I were a man ! — What 1 bear her in hand until they come to take hands ; and then with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancor. — O Heaven, that I were a man ! I w^ould eat his heart in the market- place. Bejie. Hear me, Beatrice ; — Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — ^a 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 princely testimony, a goodly count-confect ; a sweet gallant, surely ! O that I were a man for his sake ! or 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 Hercules, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman 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 vour soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero? 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 hand, 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, farewell. \ Exeunt SCENE II.— A Prison. Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns ; and the Watch with CoNRADE and Borachio. Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! Sexton. Which be the malefactors ? Dogh. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhibition to examine. Sexton. But which £jre the offenders that are to be examined 1 let them come before master constable. Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — What is youj name, friend ? Bora. Borachio. MUCH ADO ABOrjT NOTHING. 75 Dogh. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, sirrah ? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade. Dogh. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — Masters, it is tiroved already that you are little better than false knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves ? Con, Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogh. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; but I will go about with liim. — Come you hither, sirrah ; 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. Dogh. Well, stand aside. — They are both in a talb . Have you writ aown — that they are none ? Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to examine ; you nuist call forth the watch that are their accusers. Dogh. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : Let the watch come forth : Masters, I charge you, in the prince'^ name, accuse these men. 1st Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother was a villain. Dogh. Write down — prince John a villain : — Why this is flat per- jury, to call a prince's brother — villain. Bora. Master constable, — Dogh. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 2nd Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. Dogh. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow ? \st Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon his words, t»i disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, and not marry her. Dogh. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemp tion for this. Sexton. What else ? 2nd 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 this 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 examina- tion. [Exit. Dogh. Come, let them be opinioned. Verg. Let them be in band. Con. Off, coxcomb ! Dogh. Where's the 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. Dogh. Dost thou not suspect my place ?. Dost thou not suspect JQ SHAKSPEARIAN REAIEK. my years : — O that he were here to write mc down — an ass ! but, masters, remember, 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 shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a house- holder ; and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- sina ; and one that knows the law, go to ; and a nch fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow tnat hath had ?osses ; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him : Bring him away. O, that I had been writ do\\Ti — an ass ! [Exeunt. ACT V. Hero's innocence is completely established by tiae confession of Borachio Claudio, on learning how unjustly he had accused his mistress, implores the forgiveness ofLeonato, anu offers any reparation within his power — supposing that Hero is dead. Leonato invites Jim to come to his House, " to-morrow morning" — and proposes to give him the hand of a niece of his, in marriage. Claudio consents. The next Scene windi UD the story of this incomparable comedy. SCENE. — A Room in Leonato's House. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedigk, Beatrice, Ursula, Friar, and Hero. Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus'd her Upon the error that you have heard debated : But Margaret was in some fault for this ; Although against her will, as it appears \n 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 enfcrc'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 promis'd by this hour To visit me : — Y ou know your office, brother ; Vou must be father to your brother's daughter, hnd give lier to young Claudio. [ Exeunt Ladies Ant. Which I will do with confimi'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. — Bignior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Vour niece regards me with an eye of favor. Leoit. That eye my daughter lent her ; 'Tis most true, Bens. And I do with an eye of iove requite her. Leon. The sight, wherec f, I think, you had from me, From Claudio and the prince ; But what's your will ? MUCH ADO ABOUT NCTHING. T1 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, lyi^ft, Attendants. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. Good moiTow, prince ; good morrow, Claudio ; We here attend you ; Are you yet detennin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ? Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiop. Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. [Exit Axroaia D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : Why, wnat's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of stonn, and cloudiress ? Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull :-- - Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. Claud. Here come other reckonings. Which is the lady I must seize upon ? Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see your face. 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 : [Unmas} ing And when you lov'd, you were my other husband, Claud. Another Hero ? Hero. Nothing certainer ; One Hero died defam'd ; but I do live. D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! Leon. She died my lord, but whiles her slander livnf . 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 ; Meantime, let wonder seem familiar, A.nd to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice ? Bea:. I answer to that name ; [UnmashinQ What is your will ? Bene. Do not you love m.e ? Beat. No, no more than reason. ^9 SHAKSPEAKIAN HEADER. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Cjaiidio, Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. Beat. Dc not you love me ? Bene. No, no more than reason. Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margajet, and Ursula, Are much deceiv'd ; for they 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 his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice. Hero. And here's another, Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against our hearts !-• Comej I will have thee ; but, by this hght, I take thee for pity. Bea!. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to save your life, for 1 was told yon were in a consumption. Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [Kissing her. D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married m.an ? Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-crackers cannol ilout 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, Clau- dio, I did tliink to have beaten thee ; but in that thou art Hke to bo my kinsman, Hve 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 have a dance ere we are married, that we may hghten our own hearts, and our wive.s' 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. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up, pipers. [Dance. ExeuiJt MACBETH. "The traditionary story of Macbeth, on which this Drama it ''iSCDded, « relatad by Eollinshed, in his Chronicles, and also by George Buchanan ia Ins liatiu " History of Scotland. " Shakspeare is supposed to have availed himself of Hollinshed's narrative in the con- *truclion of this Play, as the incidents introduced by the Poet, are precisely those narratcc' oy the chronicler. The supernatural agency exercised by the Witches, may appecr iu this enlightened age, to be beyond the bounds of credibility, but it should be renienihered tJiat in Shakspeare's time, the belief in witchcraft was universal. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Duncan, King of Scotland. Malcolm, Donalbain, his sons. Macbeth, Banquo, generals of the. King's army. Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, Menteth, Angus, Cat'iness, noblemen 0/ Scotland. Fleance, son to Banquo. SiWARD, Earl 0/ Northumberland, general of • ' ^AM-^'^^V Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So should he lock, That seems to speak things strange. Rosse. God save the king ! Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ? Rosse. From Fife, great .uug, 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 m proof, 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 Saint Colmes' inch. Ten thousand dollars to our general use. Dun. No more that tliane of Cawdor shall deceive Our bosom interest. — Go, pronounce his present death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Rosse. Fil see it done. Dun. What be hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won, ExeuTvl 62 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. SCENE 111.— A Heath. Thunder Enter the three Witches. 1 s^ Witch. Where hast thou been, sister ? 2nd Witch. Killing swine. 3rd Witch. Sister, where thou ? Is^ 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, ivitch ! the rump-fed ronyon cries. Ilei husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger : But in a sieve I'll thither sail. And, Hke a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 2nd Witch. I'll give thee a wind. \st Witch. Thou art kind. Zrd Witch. And I another. \st Witch. I myself have all the other • And the very ports they blow. All the quarters that they know rthe shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay : Sleep shall, neither night nor day, Hang upon his pent-house Hd ; He shall live a man forbid : Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : Though this bark cannot be lost. Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have. 'ind Witch. Show me, show me. \st Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, Wreck'd as homeward he did come. {^Drum withm 3rd Witch. A drum, a drum : Macbeth doth come. All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about ; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine And thrice again, to make up nine : Peace ! — ^the charm's wound up. Enter Macbeth aiid Banquo. Macb. S^ full and fair a day I have not seen. Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ? — What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, A.nd yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught Fhf man may question ? Ycu seem to understand me, MA IBETH. 83 By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 7 ;,, That you are so. " Mad). Speak, if you can ; — What are you ? \st Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane of Glamis! 2?i(Z Witch. All hail, Macbetli ! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor Zrd 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, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Of noble having, and of royal hope. That he seems wrapt withal ; to me you speak not : If you can look into the seeds of time. And say, which grain will grow, ai]d which will not ; Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favors, nor your hate. Is^ Witch. Hail ! ^nd Witch. Hail i ^rd Wiich. Hail ! 1st Wiich. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2nd Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. drd Witch. Thy children shall be kings, though thou be nc tie : So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo ! 1st Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis ; But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be lung. 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 vanhh Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them : Whither are they vanish'd ? Mach. 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 ? Mach, Your children shall be kings. Ban. Yuu shall be king. Mach. And thane of Cawdor, too ; went it not so ? Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's here ? 5 84 , SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Enter Rosse and Ang us. Rosse. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news of thy success : and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that. In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as hail, Came post with post ; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. And pour'd them down before him. Ang. 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 lionor, 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 ? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives ; Why do you du.ik In borrowed robes ? Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet ; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both He labor'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 Cavd-j? 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 te niii Promis'd ncj, less to them ? Ban. That, trusted home Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strangt And oftentimes to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths ; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In. deepest consequences. — 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 MACBfiTH. a"? Cannot be iFi ; cannot ^ gcod : — If ill, Why hath it gi ven mo earnest of success, Commencing hi a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor : If good, why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid i.nage 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'din 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 jic Without my stir. Ban. New honors come upon him Like our strange garments ; cleave nol to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macb. Come what come may ; Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Macb. Give me your favor : — my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — Think upon what hath chanc'd ; 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. [E^yunt Macbeth goes to Fores to pay liis duty to King Duncan, who confirms him in his title of Thane of Cawdor, and as a farther proof of the royal favor, the King announces his intention of visiting Macbeth at liis Castle in Inverness. Macbeth leavci tlie King to be tne " harbinger" of the monarch's proposed visit. The Scene changes to the Castle of Macbeth, and Lady Macbeth enters, reading i Letter she has just received from her husband. SCENE V. Inverness. A Room in Ma.cbeth's CaMe. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter- Lady M. They met me in the day of success ; and 1 have learned by the perfectest report, they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made them' selves — air, into which taey vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came missives from the king, ivho all-hailed me, Thane of Cawdor ; by ivhich title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and 'eferred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be \ so SHAKSPEARIAN HEADER. 7'his have I tliouglit good to deliver thee, my dearest f arti.tr of m^ greatness ; that thou mightest not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, aiui farewell. Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be What thou art piomis'd : — Yet do I fear thy nature ] It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great ; Art not without ambition ; but without The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, That would'st thou holily ; would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win : thou'dst have, great G lan^.is. That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; And that which rather thou dost fear to do. Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither. That 1 may pour my spirits in thine ear ; And chastise with the valor of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round, Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem To have thee cwwn'd withal. What is your tidings ? Enter an Attendant. Atten. The king comes here to-night. Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it ' Is not thy master with him ? who, wer't so. Would have inform'd for preparation. Atten. So please you, it is true ; our thane is coming : One of my fellows had the speed of him : Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would take up his message. Lady M. Give him tending. He brings good news. The raven himself is hoarse, [Exit Attendanl That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood. Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it ! Come, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances YoQ 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, IL^M, hold ! Great Glamis ' worthy Cawdor ! MACBETH. 87 Ejder Macbeth. Greater than both, by tne all-hail hereafter ! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present, and I feel now The future in the instant. Mach. My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. Lady M. And when goes hence "! Macb. To-morrow, as he purposes. Lady M. O, never Shall sun that morrow see ! Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters ; — To beguile the time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye. Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent fiov/er, 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 dispatch , Which shall to all our nights and days to come Give solely sovereign sv/ay and masterdom. Mach. We will speak further. Lady M. Only look up clear . To alter favor ever is to fear : Leave all the rest to me. [Exeuru SCENE Nl.— Thc same. Before the Casile. Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donaleain, Banquo, Lenox, Maccuf? RossE, Angus, a?zcZ Attendants. Dun. The 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, No coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where the} Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air Is delicate. Enter Lady Macbeth. Dun. See, see ! our honor'd hostess ! The love that follows us, sometimes is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, How you shall bid Heaven yield us fi)r your pains. And thank us for your trouble. 88 SH^KSPEA^IAN READER. V liady M. All our semce .n every point twi^e done, and then done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against t?.ose honors deep and broad, wherewith Your majesty loads our house : For those of old And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits. Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdoi ? We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor : but he rides well ; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp hint To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. Lady M. Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in coinpt. To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. Dim. Give me your hand : Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly. And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. [ExeiuU. ^ SCENE VII.— TAe same. A Room in ihe Castle. llauiboys and torches. Enter, and pass over tli'' stage, a Sewer, anu divers Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. Mach. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere Vv-ell [t 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. Bat 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 evcn-lianded 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 bear the knife myself. Besides, tliis 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-off : And pity, like a naked new-born babe. Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'a t^pon the sightless couriers of the air. MACBETH. 89 Shall liOW the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur To goad the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, And falls on the other. — How now, what news ? ^ Vy ^ / , Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. He has ul most snpp'd ; \Vhyhave you .eftUie chfiniber Mach. Hath he ask'd for me ? Lady M. Know you not, he has ? Mach. 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 nevv^est 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 ? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem ; Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat i' the adage ? Macb. Pr'ythee, peace : r dare do all that may become a man ; t Who dares do more, is none. ^^ .. . : Lady AL 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, and yet you would make both : They have made themselves, and that their fitness now Does unmake you. Macb. If we should fail, • Lady M, We fai! ! 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,) Jiis two chamberlains Will I w'th wine and wassel so convince^. That memory, the warder of the brain. Shall be a fume, and the receipt ot reason A hmbeck* only • When in swinish sleep. * From Alembic, a still. 90 SHAKSPEARiAN READEX. Their GTenched 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 oear the guilt Of our great quell ?* Macb. Will it not be receiv'd, When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us'd 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 tlie time with fairest show : False face must hide what the false heart doth know. [ExetiTil ACT 11. SCENE I.— The same. Court within the Castle. Enter Banquo aiid Fleakce, and a Servant with a torch befttn them. Ban. How goes the night, boy ? Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the slock. Ban. And she goes down at tw-elve. Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. Ban. Hold, take my sword. — There's husbandry in heaven» Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers ! Restrain 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. Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest ? The king's a-bed : He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices : This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up In measurele&s content. Mad. Being unprepar'd, Our will became the servant to defect ; Which else should free have wrought. Ban. All's v/ell • Murdei. '^i. MACBETH. 9.1 \ dreamt last night of the three weird sisters : To you they have show'd some truth. Mach. I think not ci tiiem ■ Vet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, VVould spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. Ban. At your kind'st leisure. Mach. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis. It shall make honor for you. Ban. " So I lose none. In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, I shall be counsel'd. Mach. Good repose, the while ! Ban. Thanks, sir: The like to you ! [Exit Ban Mach. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, ';;She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Exit Serv Is this a dagger, which I see before me. The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee : [ have thee not, and yet I see 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, gouts of blood, • . . . Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : / ^ It is the bloody business, which informs y^.' {.! ' Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er thd 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, toward his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for 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 -mgi 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. [Exii P2 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. SCENE IL— The mme. Enter Lady MACEiiTH. LaJj/ M. That wliich hath made them drunk, hath made me bo". J What iiuth q;iench'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'd their posset; That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live, or die. Macb. [ Williin.] — Who's there ?— what, ho ! . Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd, 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 ' Enler Macbeth. Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear a noise. Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry. Did not you speak ? Macb. When ? Lady M. Now. Macb. As I descended ? Lady M. Ay. Macb. Hark! — Who lies i' the second chambei ? Lady M. Donalbain. Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking or, Jm Jiands Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried, murdei- ? 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 othei 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 does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; MACBETH. 93 iiteep, that knits ap the ravelVd sleave of care, The death of each day's life, sore labor's hath, Balm of hurt m .nds, great nature's second course. Chief noirisher in life's feast. Lady M. What do you mean ? Mach. Still it cried, Sleep no more ! to all the house : __ Glamis hath murder'd sleep : and therefore Caivdor 'cSj Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more ..',,,.,,,... 77V. .-Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, Vou 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 ? They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood. Mach. I'll go no more : ! am afraid to tbink what I have done ; Look on't again, I dare not. Lady 3L 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 Mach. 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 incarnardine, Making the green — oiie red. Re-enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but I shame To wear a heart so white. — [Knock.] — 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 knockmg . Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. And show us to be watchers : — Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. Mach. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know myself. [Knock Wake Duncan with thy knocking ; Ay, 'would thou could'st ! [Exeunt Enter Macduff, Lenox, and Porter. Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, T)iat you do lie so late ? 94 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. Port. "Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock. Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — Our knocking has awak'd 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. lie did command me to call timely on him : 1 have almost slipp'd the hour. Macb. ril 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 pain. This is the door. Macd. I'll make so bold to call, For 'tis my limited service. [ExU MACinFf Len. Goes the king From hence to-day ? Macb. He does : — he did appoint 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 cumbustion, and confus'd events. New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird Clamor'd the livelong night : some say, the earth Was feverish, 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 master-piece ! 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 your sight Wi a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! — [Exeunt Macbeth arid liEKOX Ring the alarum-bell : — ^ll^Iurder ! and treason ! Banquo, and Donalbain ! Maicolm ! awake! MACBETH. 9^ Bhake 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 sprights^ To countenance this horror ! [ Bell ^-vis.^ Banquo ! Banquo ! E7ite]' Banquo. Oui royal master's murder'd ! Re-enter Macbeth ajid Lenox. Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance. 1 had lived 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 thivS vault to brag of. Enter Malcolm and Donalbaih. Don. What is amiss ? Macb, You are, and do not know 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. O, 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, unwip'd, we found Upon their pillows : They star'd, 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 ? No man : The expedition of my violent love Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, Hfs silver skin lac'd 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 : Who could refrain. That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make his love known ? Ban. Fears and scruples shake us . In the great hand of Heaven I stand ; and, thence, Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight Of treasonous malice. 1)6 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Much. And so do I. AIL So all. Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i' the hall together. '^ All. Well contented. {^Exeunt all hut JNIal. and 1)ok Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort with them • To show an unfelt sorrow is an office Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. Don. To Ireland, I ; our separate fortune Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blooj, 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. [Exeunt The King's two sons, Malcolm and Donalbain, fly to England, and Macbeth is crownea king of Scotland ; but fearing the prediction of the witches, that Hanquo's issue should be king, he employs " two murderers," to assassinate Banquo and liis son Fleiince. The consequences of guilty ambition aie finely portrayed in the following scene. ACT III. SCENE ll.— The same. Another Room. Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again 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 fancies your companions making ? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on ? Things without remedy Should be without regard : what's done, is done- Mach. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it ; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. MACBETH. 07 But let The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer. 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 the mind to lie ^' In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave • J^j After Hfe's fitful fever^ he sleeps weli ; ^ I Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poisor . Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, ^*£y Can touch him further ! ^V^ Lady M. Come on ; '^"' Gentle, my lord, sleek o'er your rugged look's ; 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, 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. Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's sumrnons. j'be shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, ifeth rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M. What's to be done ? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand. Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow iMakes 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 marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : So pray thee, go with me. [^Exeur^ Banquo and Fleance on their return to the Palace, are ittacked by " ihe mnrderere ' Diiiquc is slain, Imt Fleance escapes. 9'S SIIAKSPEARUN READEil. SCENE IV.— A Room of State in the Palace. A BanQw^ pirpared. Enter JMacleth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants. Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down : at first And last, the hearty welcome. Lords. Thanks to yonr majesty. Mach. Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time, We will require her welcome. Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all my friends ; For my heart speaks they are welcome. Enter first Murderer, to the door. Mach. 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. Mach. 'Tis better thee v*'ithout, than he within. Is he dispatch'd ? Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. Mach. 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 'scap'd. Mach. Then comes my fit again : I had else been perfect ; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; As broad, and general, as the casing air : But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, 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. Mach. 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-morrow We'll hear, ourselves again. [Exit RfumorsT Lady M. My royal lord, Vou do not give the cheer ; the feast is sold. That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony, Meeting were bare without it. Macb. Sweet remembrancer !— MACBETH , 9S Now, good dig-estion wait on appetite, And liealth on both ! hen. May it please your highness sit ? [The Ghost o/Banquo rises, and siis in Macbeth's phu-e. Mad. Here had we now our country's honor roof d, VVeie the grac'd 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 youi highnes«> To grace us with your royal company ? Macb. The table's full. Lcn. 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 this ? Lords. What, my good lord 1 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake f hy gory locks at me. Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. Ladij M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth : — 'pray you, keep seat ; The fit is momentary ; upon a thought He will again be well ; If much you note him, You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man ? Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. Lady M. O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear : This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, (Impostors to true fear) would well become A w^oman'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 '-ay you ? Why, wliat care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury, back, our monuments Sliall 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 purg'd the gentle weal ; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear : the tunes have been. 100 iJHAKiSi'EAKlAN READKK. That, when the brains were out, the man would dia, 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. Mach. I do forget : — • Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends • I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all Then I'll sit down : — Give me some wine, fill full : — I drink to the general joy of the whole table, iGhoit risfs And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; Would he w^ere here ! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all. Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. Mach. Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth lide 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, oi 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 thee, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadov/ ! \_Ghost disappears Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why, so ; — being gone, I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting:, With most admir'd disorder. Macb. Can such things be. And overcome us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder ? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, When mme 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. MACBETH. 101 Ijf^i. Good-night, and better health Attend his majesty ! Lady M. A kind good-night to all ! [Exeunt Lords and Attendants Mach. It will have blood ; they say, blood will have blood : Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; Angurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night ? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his persojt, At our great bidding ? Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ? Mach. I hear it by the way : but I will send : There 's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant 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, 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. [Exani SCENE Y.—The Ileaih. Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 1st Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you lock angerly, Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, Saucy, and over-bold ? 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 knov/ his destiny. 102 SHAESl'EARIA^' READE3 Your ve^.stils, and /cur spells, provide, Vour charms, and every thing bes'de : 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 sprignts, \s, by the strengih of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion ; He shall spurn faith, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear • And you all know, security Is mortal's chiefest enemy. Song. [Wilhin.] Come away, come 2icay, &c. Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. ^Exit \st Witch. Come, let's make haste: she'll soon be back again. \_Exeura, Macbeth seeks the " weird sisters" or witches, at " the Pit of Acheron," and adjurar them to 'eclare his fate. The witclies, by their incantations, raise up spirits who warii Macbeth, to " Beware Macduff." He is then assured that "none of woman born shall harm IMacbeth," iind that " Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him." He is ?lso shown a line of Eight Kings, who are the issue of Banquo. MacLeth, acting upon the caution of the witches, surprises the Castle of Macduff, ai^'J puts to the sword Lady Macduff, and all her children ; Macduff being absent in England on a visi. to young Malcolm. F^CENE III.— England. A Room in the King's Palace, 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. Bestrlue our down-fall'n birthdom : Each new morn, New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows Strike /leaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like sillable of dolor. Mat. Wliat I believe, I'll wail ; What know, believe ; and, what I can redress, ^s I shall find the time to friend I will MACBETH. 103 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. 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 wear 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 knots of love,) Without leave-taking ? — I pray you Let not my jealousies be your dishonors. But mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just, 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 v/rongi?, Thy title is affeer'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 : [ speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke ; It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds : I think, withal, There would be hands uplifted in my right ; And here, from gracious England, have I offer Of goodly thousands : But, for all this. When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country yhall 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 ? 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 stats * Confirmed. 104 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd VVitii my confine! ess harms. Nay, had I power, \ shoul ? 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. Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [ S.iti SCENE IV. Country near Dunsinane : A Wood in view. Enter, with drums and colors, Malcolm, old Siward, and his Son Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lekox, Rosse, ujic Soldiers, marching. Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing. Siw. What wood is this before us ? Msnt. 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 v/here there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the revolt ; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too. Miicd. Let our just censur^R Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership. MACBETH. 100 Siw. The time approaches, Tliat will with due decison make us know What we shall say we have, and what we eve Thoughts spec'ilative their unsure hopes relate • But certain issue strokes must arbitrate : Towards which, advance the war. [Eoccuni, marching SCENE V. — Dunsinane. WiiJibi the Castle. Enter, with drums and colors, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers. Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; The cry is still, Theij come : Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them He, Till famine, and the ague, eat them up ; Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise ? [A cry icitnin, if vimen Se7/. 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 of hair 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 time ; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle ! Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player. That struts and frets his hour upon the stage. And then is heard no more : it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.—— 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, f he wood began to move. no shakspeaRian reader. Macb. Liar, and slave ! [Sinking him' M3SS. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so ; Within this three mile may you see it coming ; £ say, a moving grove. Macb. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shait thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, [ care not if thou dost for me as much, — I pull in resolution ; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out ! — If this, which he avouches, does appear, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate o' the world were now undone. — Ring the alarum bell : — Blow wind 1 come, wrack ! * At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. Macl«th leads his followers' to the 'Battle, which terminates in the defeat of the CJpurper who i* siwio by Macduff, and Mulciloi is doalared King cf Sootbnd AS YOU LIKE IT Shskspetre took the plot of this delightful comedy from a novel called, " Rofu -nds «i Enphues' Goldeu Legacy," written by Lodge, who borrowed his materials from at •al J English poem, of the age of Chaucer. Our Feet has improved upon his model, and has constructed one of the most exiiui u>\y finished Pastoral Poems extant in our language. The Plot and leading incidents of the Comedy, will be clearly illustrated in tiif leksctod scei.js we have given. PERSONS REPRESENTED. I DtJiCE, living in exile. Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of his dominions. Amiens, Jaques, Lords attending on the Duke in his banishment Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. Charles, his wrestler. Oliver, Jaques, Orlando, sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. Adam, Dennis, servants to Oliver. Touchstone, a clown. Sir Oliver Martext, a vicar. CoRiN, SiLVius. shepherds, William, a country fellow , in love with Audrey. 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, Foresters, and other Attendants. The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House ; afterwards partly in the Usurper's Court and partly in the Forest 0/ Arden. 112 SHAKSPEAKIAN READER. ACT I. SCENE [. — An Orcliard, near Oliver's House. Enter Orlando, and Adam. O rlando. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion loqueathed 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 be- gins 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 unkept : For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox ? His horses are 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 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 hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him Ues, 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 ser- vitude : I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wi.se remedy how to avoid it. Enter Oliver. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he wdll shake me up. OH. Now, sir ! what make you here ? Orl. Nothing ; I am not taught to make any thing. OIL What mar you then, sir ? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which Heaven mad^, i poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. OIL Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught awhile. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them ? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should come to such penury ? OIL Know you where you are, sir ? Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. OIL Know you before whom, sir ? Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle condition of blood, you should 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 iu me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. OIL What, boy! Orl Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in tliis. AS von LIKE IT. 113 OU. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? Orl. I am no villain ; 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 .his 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 fiither's remembrances be at accord. 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 ?onger endure it : therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me tlie poor allottery my father left me by testa- ment ; with that I will go buy my fortunes, on. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is spent ? Well, sir, get you in : 1 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 ofiend you than becomes me for my good, on. Get you with him, you old dog. Adam. Is old dog my reward ? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service. — Heaven be with my old master ! he would not have spoke such a word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. OU. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Oliver, desirous of ridtling himself of Orlando, seeks the aid of " Charles, the wrestler," who is enfjaged to exhibit in a wrestling match, that is to take place before the usu'iiing Duke and his court. Charles, instigated by Oliver, agrees to challenge Orlando to try ' a fall witli him," wlien by superior skill he hopes to overcome and kill him. In this he is frustrated by the agility and strength of Orlando, who obtains the victory. Rosalind the daughter of the exiled Duke, is at her Uncle's court, and accompanied by Celia her cousin, they witness the wrestling match. Rosalind is struck by the grace and courage exhibited by Orkndo— and learning that he is the son of one of her Fathei's oldest friends, her interest in the young man is increased ; she rewards Orlando, with a gold chain, and a mntun.] fcclinff of regard is excited in both their hearts. Celia watches the growing love of Rosalind, and sportively accuses her with falling in love " on such a sudden:" their conversation is interrupted by Duke Frederick, who has become jealous of Rosalind, and banishes her from his court. Enter Celia, and Rosalikd. Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have mercy ; — Not a word ? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, Uirow some of them at me ; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when the one should 6e lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel, But is all this for vour father ? 114 SHAKSPrARlAlS READEii. Ros. No, some of it for my child's father : O. how full of briers u tliis working-day world ! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday 'bolery ; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very coats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hena tliem away. Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with* thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so fetrong 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 his son dearly 1 By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father liated his father dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I Hot ? 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 fuU of anger. Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. Duke F. Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court. Ros. Me, uncle ? Duke F. You, cousin Within these ten days if 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 . If 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 • ff 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. AS Y(XJ LIKE IT. 115 Wliat's that to me ? my father was no traitor : Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, To think my 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 rang'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; I Avas 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, Uke Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable. Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her 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 ; '^nd 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, ml Lords Cel. O my poor Rosalind : whither wilt thou go ? Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. f charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin, Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me his daughter ? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the Iovp Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? No ; let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, n«w we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us : And do not seek to take your charge 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 see.* my uncls, Ros, Alas, what danger v/ill it be to us, 116 SHAKSPEARIAN EEADEK, Maids as we ar ?, lo travel forth so far ? Beauty provi/kcth thieves sooner than gold. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire. And with a kind of umber 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 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 semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man ? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own pag9» And therefore, look you, call m.e, Ganymede. But what will you be call'd ? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state : No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'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 hberty, and not to banishment. [Exeunt The action now begins in the Forest of Arden, where the exila i?»ke and hi followers have found refuge. ACT II. SCENE I.— The Forest 0/ Arden. Erder Duke Senior^ Amiens, and other Lords, in th dress rf Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this Ufe 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 churli sh chiding of the winter's wind ; Which, w':en it bites and blows upon my body, Even tiU I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — AS YOU LIKE IT. n 7 iTiis is no flattery : these are coimsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity ; VVhich, hke the toad, ngly 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 yel it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — Being native burghers of this desert city, — Should, in their own confines, with forked heads Have their round haunches gor'd. 1st Lord. Indeed, my iordj The melancholy Jacques grieves at that ; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, m.y lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal bdiind 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 hunters' 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 Jacques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook. Augmenting it with tears, Duke S. But what said Jacques ^ Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 1st Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak^st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that ivhich had too much : Then being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; Tis right, quoth he ; this misenj doth paH The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jacques, Siveep on, you fat and greasy citizens; Tis just th^ fashion : Wherefore do you look lis SKAKSrEARIAN READER. Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? Thus most invectivcly he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our Ufe : 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 contemplation ? 2nd Lord. We did, my lord, weeping, and commenting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place ; I love to cope him in these sullen lits, For then he's full of matter. 2nd Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [E.xcunt Oliver, foiled in his scheme to destroy Orlando at the wrestling-mat th, plots oAa means "to cut his brother off." Adam learns his intentions, and the fa.ihful oil pona reveals thera to Orlando. SCENE m.— Before Oliver's House. Enter Orlanix) and Adam, meeting. Orl. Wiio's there ? Adam. What ! my young master ? — (), my gentle lister, O, my sweet master, O you memory Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love yov' '^ And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant '? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bony priser of the humorous duke ? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men Their graces seiTe them but as enemies ? No more do yours ; your virtues, gentle master Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely Envenoms him that bears it ! Orl. Why, what's the matter ? Adam. O unhappj youtb 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 was about to call his father.) — Hath heard your praises ; and this night he msana To burn the lodging where you used to lie, And you within it : if he fail of that. He will have otner means to cut you ofT; I overheard him, and his cractices. AS YOU LIKE IT, 1 I'J This is no place, this house is but a Imtchorr I Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou hav/? me go ? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Qy-l. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my foo<^ ' Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish living on the common road ? This I must do, oi know not what to dc : Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; I rather will subject me to the malice Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so ; I have five hundred cro'vus. 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 he 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 fcurscoro Here lived I, but now Uve 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, [ExevTO. i2£ SHAKSrEARIAN READER. SCENE lY.— The Forest o/Arden. Enter Rosalind in hoifs clothes, Celia drest like a Shepherdess, and Touchstone. Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 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 cr}' like a woman : but I must comfort the weakei vessel, a? doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat . *^here- /bre, 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, if I did bear you ; for, I think, you have iio 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 waa 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 nian, and an old, in solemn talk. Enter Corin, and Silvius. Cor. That is vhe way to make her scorn you still. Sil. O Corin, that thcu knew'st how 1 do love hpr ' Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 8il. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess ; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a love*- 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 : O, if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearjang 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 : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! [Exit Silvius, Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of tliy wound, I ha^e oy hard adventure found mine own. Touch. And I mine : We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love morta. II folly. Ros. Thcu speak'st wiser, tnan thou art 'ware of. AS YOU LIKE IT. 121 Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I .rriaK ny shins against it. Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion Is much upon thy fashion. Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale witli me. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, f he for gokl will give us any food ; faint almost to deatli. Touch. Holla : you, clown ! Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman Cor. Who calls ? Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they veiy wretched. Ros. ■ Peace. I say : L 'od even to you, Inend. Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. ^os. I pr'ytliee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Ca\i 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 to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality : Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of ked, 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 erewhiio, That little cares for buying any tiling. 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 : ao with me ; if you like, upon report. The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faitih ul feeder be, iind buy it with youi ,iold right suddenly. [Exeu^U 122 SiIAKSrEARIAN READER. SCENE Y.— Another part of tJie Forest. A Table set nnji. 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 hke a man. 1st Lord. My .'ord, he is but even now n-ono hence ; Here was he merry, hearing of a song. Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — "jro, seek him ; tell him I would speak with him. Enter Jaques. 1 St Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is tliis 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 I — 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, In 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 icorld wag« , ' Tis hut an hour ago, since it was nine ; And after an hour more, hicill he 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 The 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 w^ear. Duke S. What fool is this ? Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been a cou?w3T, And say, 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 : — O, that I were a tool ! I am ambitious for a motley coat. Duke S. Thou shalt have one. AS YOU LIKE IT. 1*23 Jaq. It is my only euit ; 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 cliarter as tlie 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 «"> ? The wliy is plain as way to parish church : He, tliat a fool doth very wisely liit. Doth very foolishly, although he smart. Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not. The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by tlie squandering glan^ss of the fool. Invest me in my motley ; givo 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. Diike S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou would'st 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 hbertine. 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 bears The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, When such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? Or what is he of basest function, That says, his bravery 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 Orlando, iviih Ids sword drawn. Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Jaq. W^hy, I have eat none yet Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Ditke 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 i5J4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 ? Vour gentleness shall forvi 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 out 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 wnate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible. Under the shade of melancholy boughs. Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; If ever you have look'd on better days ; If ever been where bells have knolFd to church ; If ever sat at any good man's feast ; If ever from your eyelids wip'd 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 wip'd 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 ministred. 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 in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd, — Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger,— [ will not touch a bit. Duke S. Go find him out. And we v/ill nothing waste till you return. Oj-I. I thank ye ; and be-bless'd for your good comfort ! [Ecu Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy ; This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. Jaq. All the world's a stagn. /ind all the men and w^om.en merely players : They have their exits, and their entrances ; AS YOV LIKE IT. l!if» And one man in his time plays many parts, I lis acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewhng and puking in tlie nurse's arms. And then, the wliining 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 obhvion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. Re-enter Orlando, loitli Adam. Duke S. Welcome. Set down your venerable burceo, 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 : — Gi"e us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. Amiens sings. SONG. I., Blow, Mow, thou winter wbid, Thou art not so unkind As man^s ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen. Although thy breath be rude, ffeigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most lovhig merefoll^ Tlien, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is mMSt jolly. 126 SHAKSPEARIAPi LEADER. II. Freeze, freeze, thou hitter sky^ Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp. Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remembered not. Height hj ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c. Du\e 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 your 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. Dnke Frederick on discovering the flight of his daughter and Rosalind, sosjiects th»' Orlando has aided them. He sends for Oliver, and commands him to seek the fugitive*. Orlando remains in the forest under the protection of the banished Duke. ACT III. The Forest. Enter Orlando, with a paper. (Jrl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spliere 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 she. [E::it. Enter Corin, and Touchstone. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone ? Touch. Truly, shepherd, m respect of itself, it is a good life ; but hi respect that it is a shepher i's life, it is naught. In respect that ii 18 solitary, I 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 not 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 any philosophy in . See, shepherd ? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse AS YOU LIKE IT. 1 2T tt ease he is ; and tliat 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 niglit, is lack of the sun : That he, that liath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. ISuch a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court bI rpherd ? Cor. No, sir, I am a true laborer ; I earn that I eat, get that i «ear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad cf ether Dion's good, content with my harm : and the greatest of ray pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs feed. Here comes youix*; master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. F.nter Rosalind, reading a paper. Ros. From the east to loestern 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 Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind. But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together ; dinners, and sup. pers, and sleeping hours excepted : it is the right butter woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool ! Touch. For a taste : If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If tlie cat will after kind, So, be sure, will Rosalind. Winter garments must be lin'd. So must slender Rosalird. They that reap, must sheaf and birul ; Then to cart with Rosaliyid. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you infect yourself with them ? Ros. Peace, you dull fool : I found them on a Iree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graft* it with you, and then I shall grafif it with a medlar; then it will bn the earliest fruit in the country : for you will be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said : but whether wisely or no, let the foies .'udge. 128 SHAKSPEARIAN REA.DEE. Enter Celia, reading a papef Ros. Peace Here comes ray sister, reading ; stand aside. Cel. Why should this desert silent be ? For it is unpeopled ? No ; Tongues VU hang on every tree. That shall civil sayings shoio : 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 of friend and friend : But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence^ end, Will I Rosalinda write : Teaching aU that read to know The quintessence of every sprite Hear en would in little show. Therefore heaven nature charged That one body should befilVd With all graces wide enlarged : Nature presently distiWd Helen's cheek, but not her heart ; Cleopatra's majesty ; Atalanta's better part ; Sad Lucretiah modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised, Of many faces, eyes, and hearts To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious homily of love hav« you wearied your parishioners withal, and nevei cry'd, Have patience good people ! Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd go off a little : — Gc with him, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat : though pot with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. {^Exeunt Corin, and Touchstone, Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of their ^ad in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter ; t'le feet might bear the verses, Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear tlicmselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy na'^'e should oe hung'd and carved upon these trees ? I AS ^OU LIKE IT. ril> Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you cume ; for look here what I found on a pakn-tree : I was never so DC-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which 1 ran 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 ycu color ? Ros. I pr'ythee, who ? Cel. O ! it is a hard matter for friends to meet ; but mountains miy be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it ? Cel. Is it possible ? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell n-e who it is ? Cel. O wonderful,, wonderful, and most wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping ! Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am capari- Bon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-oif discovery. 1 pr'ythee, tell me, who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a 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. What manner of man ? Is his head worth a hat ? Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the wrestler's hcelsj and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, no mocking ; speak sad brovv', and true maid. Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet and hose ? — • Wimt did he when thou saw'st him ? What said he ? How look'd he ? Wherein went he ? What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when slialt 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, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. 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 ? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of 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 call'd 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 knJght 130 SHAKSPEARIAN LEADER. Ros. Tliough it be pity to see sucli a sight, it well becomes tlic ground. Cel. Cry, holloa ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee : it curvets very uri' reasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden : tliou 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 Jaques. Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not here ? Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. [Celia and Rosalind retire Jnq. 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, I thank you too for your society. Jaq. Heaven be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire, we may be better strangers. Jaq. 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. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ? Orl. Yes, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jaq. What stature is she of ? Orl. Just as high as my heart . Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you not been ac- quainted with goldsmith's wives, and conn'd them out of rings ? Orl. Not so ; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you hjwe studied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I think it is made of Atalanta'a necla. Will you sit down with me ? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our miser\'. Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; agjunst whom I know most faults. Jaq. The most fault you have, is to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am Rreary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when T found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and you shall sea aim. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. Jaq. I'll tarry n/) longer with you ; farewell, good signior love. AS YOU LIKE IT. 131 Orl. 1 am glad of your departure ; adieu, good monsieur melan* jholy. \_ExiL Jaques. — Cel. and Ros. come forioard, Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under tliat oabit play the knave with him. — Do you hear, forester ? Orl. Very well ; what would you ? Ros.. I pray you, what is't a clock ? Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day ; there's no clock in tho ftTest. Ros. Then there's 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 ? 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 con- tract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized. Orl. Who ambles time withal ? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath n-.t 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 ? 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. Orl. Are you a native of this place ? Ros. As the rabbit, that you see dwell where she is kindled. Orl. Your accent is sometliing fmer than you could purchase m 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 fortune, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as a? hatli generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to \ho charge of women ? Ros. There were none principal ; they were all like one another, fts naJf-pence are : every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. r 132 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. OrJ. I pr'y tho 3, recount some of them. Rus. No ; I will not cast away my physic, biit on those that ara sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon haw- thorns, ana elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if 1 could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love u])on him. Orl. I am he that is bo loVe-shaked ; I pray you, tell me you: 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 cheek ; which you have not : a blue eye, and sunk- en ; which you have not : an unquestionable spirit ; which yon have not : a beard neglected ; which you have not : — Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstratir g a careless 'desolation. But you are no such man ; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I w^ould I could make thee believe I love. Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her that you love be lieve it; which,.! warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess sh«< does ; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosahnd is so admired ? Orl. I swear to tliee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I ain he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymios 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 madmen do ; and the reason .why tliey are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in lov'3 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 birt a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, in- constant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and v/omen are for the most part cattle of this color ; would now like him, now loatli him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now weep for him., then spit at him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a liv- iRg hum.or of madness ; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to hve in a nook m.erely monastic : And tlius I cured him ; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean us a Found slieep's heart, that S \0V LIKE IT. 133 Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and fome every day to my cote, and woo me. Orl Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me whe'-o it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live : Will you go ? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come, sister, will you D-o ? [Exeunt. Bosalicd, still in her male attire, wins the lovtf of Pliebe, a rustic beanty, living in thf forest, and by her wit and sprigliUiness gains the attention of the Duke and his followeri. ACT IV. SCENE I.— The same. Enier Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with ihee. Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than lauohmg. Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fe.- .ows ; 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 melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the sundry con- templation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. Ros. A traveller ' By my faith, you have great reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own lands, to see othei men's ; then, to Jiave seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor tiands. 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 \q travel for it too. Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Jaq. Nay then. Heaven be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you lisp, and weai elrange suits ; disable all the benefits of your ov*'n countr3r ; be oul 184 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. of love V, ith your nativity ; or I will scarce think you have swam in « gondola. — [Exit Jaques.] — Wl.y, how now, Orkndo I where have you been all tliis while ? You a lover ? — An you serve me such an- other trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I «ome w'ithin an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that will divide a mi- nute 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 warrant him hean 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 tarries hia house on his head ; a better jointure, I think, than you cm make a wonuin : Besides, he brings his destiny v/ith him. Orl. What's that. Rns. Why, horns, 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 than you. Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now T 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 grav* tdled for lack of matter, you might take occasion 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. Orl. What, of my suit ? Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have you. Orl. l^hen, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor w^orld is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could to die be- fore ; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have Jved many a fair year, though Hero liad turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was ir wned ; and the foolish :;hroniclers of that age found it was — Hera AS YOU LIKE IT. 135 ji Sestos. But these are all lies ; men have died from lime to time, ind worms have eaten them, but not for love. Oii.- I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind ; for, I pro- .est, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But come, now I will be four Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition ; and ask me v»'ha» fou will, I will grant it. Oii. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Oii. And wilt thou have me ? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Oii. What say'st thou ? Ros. Are you not good ? Oii. I hope so. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good th_ng ? — Come, ester, you shall be the priest, and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — What do you say, sister ? Oii. 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 ? Oii. W^hy now ; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say, — / lahe thee, Rosalind, for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission ; but, — I do take thee, Orlandc, 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 possessed her. Orl. For ever and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo, December when they wed : maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary 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 Hke a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to 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 this : the wiser, the waywarder : MaKe the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at ine casement ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole : stop that, twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney 136 SIIAKSrEARIAN READER. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might sa}^, — W»f, whither wilt ? Ros. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. 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 : 'ti;? 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 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 indeed my Rosa- lind : So, adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try : Adieu ! [Exit Oklando. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate ; we must have your doublet and hose plucked over yoar head. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded ; m} 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. 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. [ Exenni SCENE ill.— The Forest. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you know Wiiere, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd 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 ; Buch garments, and such years : " The boy is fair ^ Of ^eniale favor ^ and bestows himself AS YOU LIKE IT- like a rtpe sister: but the icoman loic, And browner than her brother.''^ Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for ? C'el. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. OIL Orlando doth commend him to you both : And to that youth he calls his Hosalind, He sends this bloody napkin : Are you he ? Ros. I am : what must we understand by this ? OIL 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. OIL When last the young Orlando parted from you fie 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 wreath'd itself, Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd 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 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 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. O, I have heard him speak of that same brotf^Fi " And he did render 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 fierce and hungry lioness ? 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, Wrio quickly fell beh.re him ; in which hurtling From miserable slumber I awak'd Cel. Are you his brother ? 187 138 SHAKSFEARIAN EEADEU. Ros. Was it you he rescued f Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill hina ? OH. 'Tvvas 1 ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversi ju So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? — on. 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 all this while had bled ; and now he fainted, And cry'd, in fainting, upon 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 ho in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Ganymede ? [RosAi.m D fainti OH. 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 counter- feited. — Heigh ho ! — Cel. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great testimony in youi complexion, that it was a passion of earnest. R.OS. Counterfeit, I assure you. Gli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit 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 ; pray you, draw homewards: —Good sir, go with us. OH. Thrt will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you, commend mj- counterfeiting to him — Will you go ? [Exeunt. AS YOU LIKE IT. 189 ACT V. The Forest of Arden. Orlando, and Olivli^ Orl. ls"t possible, that on so little acquaintance you shou'il like ftcr ? that, but seeing, you should love her ? and, loving, woo ? andj wooing, she should grant ? and will you persever to enjoy her ? OlC Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor iier sudden consent- ing ; but say with me, I love Aliena ; say, with her, that she loves me ; consent with both, it shall be to your good ; for my father's house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. Enter Rosalind. Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding he 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. Ras. Save you, brother. OIL And you, fair sister. Ros. O, 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 show'd 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 Csesar'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 ; ■flo sooner loved, but they sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked •fine another 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 ; they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together ; clubs cannot part them. Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and 1 will bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-mor- row be at the height of heart-4ieaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what hg wishes for. Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind ? Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know «f rap then, (fc!*. now I speak to some purpose,") that I know you arp 140 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. A gentleman of g^ood conceit : I speak not this, thai you should beti a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, 1 say, 1 know you are ; neither do I labor for a greater esteem than may in some little mea- sure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things : 1 have, since I was three years old, conversed wiih a magician, most profound in this art. 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 appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and withoul 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 Phebe. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentlenecs, To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not, if 1 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, 8il. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. OH. 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 ; ^nd so am I for Phebe. Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you mc to love you ? [To RosjM.rfoi Sil. If tL:s be so, why blame you me to love you ? \To P^'lhiI. AS YOU LIKE IT. Ul Od. If ti.is be so, why blame you me to love you ? Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me to love you 1 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 vv^ill help you, [to Silvtus,] if I can : — . 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, anc I'll be married to-morrow : — I will satisfy you, [to Orlando,] if ever 1 satisfied man, and you shall be married to morrow : — I will content you, [^oXSiLviusJ 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 1 love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left you commands. Sil ril not fail, if I live. Phe. Nor I. Orl Nor I. [ExeurU. SCENE lY. ^Another Part of the Forest. Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, 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 : You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke Vou will bestow her on Orlando here ? Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. Ros. And you say you will have her, when I 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 Phf^e, 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 have promis'd to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter ; — Vou yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : — Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; Ot else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — K tep your word, Silvius, tnat you'll marry her. If ehe refuse me : — and from hence I go. To make these doubts all even. C ^'xeunl Rcsalind, and Celli 142 SIIAKSrEARIAN READER. 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 couplos 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 ; I have flattered 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, v/e 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. Sir, I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst Ihe rest of the country folks, to swear, and to forswear : according 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 foul oyster. Duke S. By my faith, he is very sv.'ift and sententious. Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir. Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find the quarrol 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 was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This is call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not tTue : This is called the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say I lie : This is call'd the Countercheck quarrelsome : and so to the Lie r ircumsta.nl ial . and the Lie direct. Ao YCD LIKE IT. 14S Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut ? Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie direct ; and so we measured swords, and parted. Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie ? Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book : as you have books for good manners : I will name you the degrees. The fu'st, the Retort courteous ; the second, the Quip modest ; the third, tlie Reply churlish ; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, the Coun- tercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the He 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 them- selves, one of them thought but of an If, as. If you said so, then 1 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 Rosalind in womanh clothes ; and Celia. Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [ To Duke S. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando. Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. 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. I'll have no husband, if you be not he : — [To Orlando. Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Phebe. Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome art thou to r le ; Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art m.ine ; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Sii.vrjR Enter Jaques de Bois. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or tw:) ; 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 ; vi^hich 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 question with him, was converted Both from his enterprise, ar d from the world : i44 SHAKSFEATIIAN READER. His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And ail their lands restor'd to them again That were with him exil'd : Tliis to be true, I do engage my life. Duke S. Welcome, young man ; Thou ofter'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 Vvith 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 tliese convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — You to your former honor I beT^ueath ; [71* Duk^ S Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : — You [to Oklando] to a love, that your true faith doth merit : — You [^0 Oliver] to your land, and love, and great allies : — You [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 pleasures ; [ am lor other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. Jaq. To see no pastime, I : what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. ' [Exii. Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these rites, Aiid we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A ^^anct OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. ' The Plot IS taken from the Hecatomtnithi, ox * Hundred Tales' of Giiddo Cinthi.), til Italian novelist and dramatist of the second class, in the sixteenth century." But al- though Shakspeare was indebted for the general plan of his plot to the Italian novelist, ret many of the characters are entirely of his own creation, and all of them owe to him hat individuality which Shakspeare, of all dramatic poets, seems to possess the power of .ransfusing into all the personages he introduces into his Dramas. Bishop Lowth says of this Play, that — "the passion of jealousy, its causes, progress, incidents, and effects, have been more truly, more acutely, more copiously, and more im- pressively delineaied, than has been done by all the disquisitions of all the philosopher* who have treated on this dark argument." But it may well be added, that the beauties of this immortal Drama are so conspicucas as to need no aid of critical illustration. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Duke of Venice. BRABANTio,a Senator. Two other Senators. Gratiano, hroLher to Brabaiuio. LoDOVico, kinsman to Brabantio. Othello, the Moor : Cassio, his lieutenant ; Iago, his ancient. RoDERiGo, a Venetian Gentleman. MoNTANO, Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprua. Clown, servant to Othello. Herald. Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio, and wife to Othello. Emilia, wife to Iago. Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, d^c. SCENE, — for the First Act, in Venice ; during the rest of the play, at a Sea-Fort in Cyprus. 146 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Othello, a nob'.e Moor, in the service of the States of Venice, has won tlie affectiont Df Desdemona, the daughter of Brabantio. The lady leaves her father's house, clandes- tinely, and is married to the Moor : lago, a seeming friend of Othello, but in reality UU " direst foe,"— acquaints Brabantio of Desdemona's flight, and sets the enraged father ii pursuit of his daughter and her husband : he then joins the Moor, to avoid susnicion af his double dealing. ACT I. SCENE II.— A Street in Venice. Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men« Yet do 1 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 liere under the ribs. 0th. 'Tis better as it is. Iago. Nay, but he prateo, 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 is much beloved ; 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. 0th. Let him do his spite : My serdces, 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 ; and my demerits May speak, unbonnett^, 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 linchfi. logo. These are the raised father, and his friends : You were best go in. 0th. 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. % OTHELLO. 1 4*7 Oih. The servants of the duke and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! Wliat is the news ? Cas. The duke does greet you, general , And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on tlie instant. Olh. What is the matter, think you ? Cas Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; It, 13 a business of some heat : the gallies riavc 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; When, being not at your lodging to be found, Tiie senate hath sent about three several quests, To search you out. Oih. 'Tis well I am found by you. r will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. [Ex^.l Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? lago. He's married. Cas. To whom ? • Re-eiiier Othello. lago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? Olli. Have »vith you. Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers nf night. 7vith tomhes ana weapons. lago. 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 side^ lago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for you. Olh. Keep up you? brig"bi" swords, for the dew wull rust them — Good signior, you shall more command with years, Than with your weapons. Bj-a. O thou foul thief, where hast thou r^tow'd my dauglitei I Thou hast enchanted her : For I'll refer me to all things of sense, [f 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 bosoia Of such a thinf as thou : /4H SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms. f 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 him at his peril. Oih. Hold your hands. Both you of my inclining, and the rest : Were it my cue to fight, I would have known it Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go To answer this your charge ? * Bra. To prison : till fit tim Of law, and course of direct session, Call thee to answer. Olh. 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. OJf. 'Tis true, most worthy signior The duke's in council ; and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. Bra. How, the duke in council ! [n this time of the night ! — Bring him away : Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself. Or any of my brothers of the state Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own : For i f such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. [ExeurJ SCENE III.— TJie Same, A Council Cham:er. Hie Duke, and Senators, sitiing at a table ; Oflicers attending. Duke. There is no composition in these news. That gives them credit. 1st Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd ; My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 2nd Sen. And mine, two hundred But though they jump not on a just account, ' (As in these cases, where the aim 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. Enter a Messenger. Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, Kave there injointed them wMth an after fleet. }3 Tliey are close denotements, working from the hoarl. That passion cannot rule. lago. For Michael Cassio, — • I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. Oth. I think so too. lago. Men should be what they seem ; Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! Olh. Certain, men should be what they seem. lago. Why then, I think, that Cassio is an honest man. Olh. Nay, yet there's more in this : T pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts The worst of words. lago. 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, whereunto foul things Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure,, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets, and lav/-days, and in session sit With meditations lawful ? Oih. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. lago. 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, You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — It were not for your quiet, nor your good. Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. Oth. What dost thou mean ? lago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord, Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothi. g 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave io thousands ; But he that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. lago. You cannot, if my heart were m your hand : Nor shall not, vhile 'tis in my custody Oth. Ha' 104 SHAKSPEARIAN READEE. lago O, beware, my lord, of jealousy- It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat if feeds on. Oth. O misery ! lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enou^n \ Bui riches, fineless, 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 resolv'd : 'TIS not to make me jealous. To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well : Where virtue is, these are 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, lago ; 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. lago. 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 abus'd ; look to't : 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. lago. Why, go to, theo '$ She that so young, could give out such a seeming. To seal 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 theo for ever lago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. lago. 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 OTHELLO. 165 To grosser issues, ncr to larger reach, Than to suspicion. Oili. I will not. lago. Should you do so, my lord, AFy 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. Oih. No, not much mov'd : — I do not think but Desdemona's honest. lago. liong live she so ! and long live you to think so ! Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — lago. Ay, there's the point : — As, — to be bold with you, — Not to affect many proposed matches, Of her own clime, complexion, and degree ; Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : Fob ! one may smell, in such, a will m.ost rank. Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — But, pardon me ; I do not in position, Distinctly speak of her : though I may fear, fler will, recoiling to her better judgment. May fall to match you with her country forms, And (happily) repent. Oth. Farewell, farewell : [f more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; Set on thy wife to obsei-ve : Leave me, lago. lago. My lord, I take my leave. [doir^ Oth. Why did I marry ? — This honest creature, doubtless, Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honor To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : And though it be lit that Cassio have his place, (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) Vet, if you please to hold him off awhile, Vou shall by that perceive him and his means : Note, if your lady strain his entertainment With any strong or vehement. im.portunity ; • Much will be seen in that. In the meantime. Let me be thought too busy in my fears, ^As worthy cause I have, to fear — 1 am,) And hold her free, 1 do beseech your honor. Oih. Fear not my government. lago. 1 once more take my leave. ~Ei it Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, vAnd knows all qualities, with a learned spirit. Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind. To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; And have not those soft parts of conversation 166 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. , That chambsrers have : Or, for I am declin'd Into the vale of years ; — yet tliat's not much ;— She's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my rehef Must be — to loath her. Desdemona comes. Eniei' 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. Oih. I am to blame. Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not we!" ? 0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. Des. Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away again * Let me but bind it hard, w^ithin this hour It will be well. 0th. 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 0th. a^ul De.s Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin ; This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 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 lago ; Wliat he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I ; I nothing, but to please his fantasy. Enter Iago. lago. 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. O, 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; ^vnd, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. Look, b ROMEO AND JULIET. 203 And make.5 himself an artificial night : Black and poi^entous must this humor prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? Mon. T neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means '! Mon. Both by myself, anxl many other friends • nut he, his own affections' counsellor. Is to himself — I will not say, how 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, Or dedicate his beauty to tlie sun. Could we but learn from whence hi? sorrows groW; We would as willingly give cure, as know. Enter Romeo, 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 ladj Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Horn. 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 ; meseems ! 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 ? — O 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 : — O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms ! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost 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. 10 ^ 204 SHAKSPKARIAN HEADER. liOve is a stnoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : What is it else ? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. [Cjj^V^^ Ben. Soft, I will go along ; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, 1 have lost myself ; I am not here ; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Be:i. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. Rom. 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 lOvp.. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be bU With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit ; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'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 store. 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 rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thirrk. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; Exam.ine other beauties. Rom. 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more : These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brow*, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; He, that is stricken 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. \_Exbi(vi The •• County Paris " loves the lady Juliet, anu receives her fatliei's permission to pre fer his suit. — Capulet gi/es an entertainment, to which he invites young Paris: .Atthj feast the fair Rosaline is also to be a guest, and Romeo is persuaded b? his coi»si» Jenvolio, to attend, that he may — ' Compare her face wir.h some that I sh:ill show, .^iiii r wi'i n.iake thee (hici.k Ihy swan acov/." ROMEO AND JULIET 205 SCENE IIL—A Room in Capulet's Jlousf,. Enter Lady Cafulet, and Nurse. La. Caj). N arse, where's my daughter ? call her forth \ ) trie. Nurse. Now, by my faith, — at twelve year old. I bade her come. — What, lamb ! what, lady-bird i Heaven forbid ! where's this girl ? — what Juliet ! Enter Juliet Jul. How ROW, who calls ? Nurse. Your mother. Jul Madam, I am 'ieJc What is your will ? La. Cap. This is the matter : — Nurse, give leave av/hile, 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 be it spoken, I have but four, — She is not fourteen. — How long is it now To Lammas-tide ? 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 eighteen. Heaven mark thee to its 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 disposiion to be married ? Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now. 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. 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 ? can you love the gentleman ? This night you shall behold him at our feast : {Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love ? Jul. I'll look to Hke, if looking liking move : But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. jiVO SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Enter a Servant, Berv. Madam, the o-uests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse wanted in the pantry, and everj' thing in extremity. I must hence to vi^ait ; I beseech you, foilo\c straight. ha. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county stays. [ExeurJ. SCENE IV.— il Street. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with Five or Six Maskers Torch-bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ? Or shall we on without apology ? Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 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, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch, — 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 enpierced 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 ? it is too rough. Too rude, coo boist'rous. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 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. Beru Come, knock, and enter ; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, b'ght of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; For 1 am proverb'd witli a grandsire phrase, — ['11 be a candle-holder, and 'ook on. But 'tis nc vit to (yo. ROMEO AND JULIET. 207 Mer. Why, may one ask ? Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. O, then, f see, queen Mab hath been with yoo She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On tie fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies AtLiwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams • Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prlck'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 tlien 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 ; Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. And then dreams he of smelling out a suit : 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. Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ; Thou talk'st of notliing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; Which are 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 wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, pufl:3 away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Rom. I fear, too ear^y : fo- my mind misgives, 208 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 I — On, gentlemen. [Ea euiit SCENE v.— A Hall in Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, <^c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. Cap. You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day, That I have worn 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. [Music plays, and they da'ict Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight ? Serv. I loiow 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 : 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. Tyh. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : Fetch me my rapier, boy : — Wliat ! dares the slave Come liither, covered 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. Cap. Why, how now, kinsman ? wherefore storm you so ? Tyh. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; A villain, that is hither come in spite. To scorn at our solemnity tlris night. Cap. Young Romeo is't ? Tyh. 'Tis he, that villain Romec. Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, He bears him like a portly gentleman ; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'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, d is my will ; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. ROIMEO AND JULIET. 209 Tijh. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; I'll not endure him. Cap. He shall be endur'd ; Am I the master here, or you ? go to. tJe quiet, cousin, or — I'll make you quiet. Tyh. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. [ will withdraw : but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. \_ExU Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand ^^To Juliet. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too muc h, For palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss, Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. Thus, then, dear saint, let lips put up their prayer. [^a- Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. [lutes her. 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 a 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. 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: — I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet, and Nurso Jul. Come hither, nurse ; What is yon gentleman ? 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 v/ouid 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 bve sprung from my only hate ! Too early seen unknown, and known too late ! Nurse. W^hat's this ? What's this ? Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls wiihin, Juliet Nurse. Anon, anon : Come, let's aLW&y : the strangers all are o-one. ' Exeuni 210 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. ACT 11. Romeo, struck with the beauty and character of Juliet, forgets his " Rosaline." Hi disengages Iiimself from Jilerculio and Benvolio, and enters Capulet's garden, to s«5> ao interview with Juliet. SCENE XL— Capulet's Garden. Enter Romeo. Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — [Juliet appears above, at a Kindow But, soft ! what li^ht through yonder window breaks ! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — Arise, fair swi, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she : She speaks, yet she says nothing ; What of that ? Her eye discourses, 1 -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. WTiat 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 ! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek ! Jul. Ah me ! Rom. She speaks : O, speak again, bright angel ! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him. When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Jul. O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo 'I 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 ? [Asua Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ; What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet ; Bo Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd. ROMEO AND JULIET. 21 J Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title : — Romeo, doff 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 baptized ; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreenM in night, Go stumblest on my counsel ? Rom. By a name J know not how to tell thee who 1 am : My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee. 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 wherefore ? 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 walla. For stony limits cannot hold love out ; And what love can do, that dares love attempt ; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let 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 : 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 ; yetj 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 fRc4> Klse would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! Dost thou love 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, aiwl say thee ray. So thou wilt woo ; but, else, not for the world. 212 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; And therefore thou may'st think my'havior hght: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But 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 swoar at all f Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry. And I'll believe thee. Ro?n. If my heart's dear love — Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in tliPO, I have no joy in 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 ! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night ? Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mino. Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : And yet I would it were to give again. Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it ? for what purpose, 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 witktn I hear some noise within ; Dear love, adieu ' Anon, good nurse ? — Sweet Montague, be true. Stay, but a little, I will come again. [ Exit Rom. O blessed, blessed night ! 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 thv bent of love be honorab'o ROMEO AND JULIET. 2] 3 riiy pv.rpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that J '11 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. \WiLliin.'\ Madam. Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou mean'st not v.cll, — I do beseech thee, — Nurse. [Withiji.] Madam. Jul. By and by, T 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 ! [Exi^ Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light, — Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books ; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring tlowly Re-enter Juliet, above. Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — O, for a falconer's 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 mine 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. Romeo ! Rom. My sweet ! Jul. At what o'clock to-morrov/ 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 sha.Yi 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. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gono : 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 : 214 &HAKSFEAR1AN READER. Yet 1 should kill ihee with mnch cherishing. Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow. [ t^xil Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast !— 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest I Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [ i^Jft/ SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar Laueekce, ivith a basket. Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night. Checkering the "eastern clouds with streaks of light ; Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours. With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. O, micklc 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 ; 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'cine power : For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part J Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude w^ill : And, where the worser is predominant. Full soon the canker death eats up that plr at. Enter Ro3IEO. Rom. Good morrow^, father ! Fri. Benedicite I What early tongue so sw'eet saluteth me ? — Young 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 linr js, there golden sleep doth reigii . Therefore thy earUness doth me assure. Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature, Or, if not so, then here I hit it i ight— Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Rom. That ^ast is true, the sweeter rest was mine. ROMEO AND JULIET. 21^) Fri. Heaven pardcn sin ! wast thou \vith Rosaline ? Kom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; liave forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou |-»een \'\ev. ? Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again, have been feasting with mine enemy ; Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, That's by me w^ounded ; both our remedies U'ithin thy help and holy physic lies. 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 ia 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 hero I 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 ; And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then- Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosahne. Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. Rom. And bad'st me bury love. Fri. Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; Tno other did not so. Fri. O, she knew well, Tliy love did read by rote, 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 lovo. 21Q SHAKSPEARIAN READER. *Rohi. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely, and slew ; they stumble that run fast. [Exerini. SCENE IV.— .4 Street Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio. 3/er. Where snould this Romeo be ? — Came he not home to-night ? Ben. Not to his fatner's ; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted girl, that Rosaline, Tcnnents 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 cfares, being dared. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! shot thorough the »^ar with a love-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind oow-boy's butt-shaft ; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ? Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ? Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of comphments. He fights as you sing, keep^ time, distance, and proportion ; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom ; the very butcher of a sills button, a duellist, a gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and second cause : Ah, the immortal passado ! the punto reverse ! the hay ! Ben. The what ? Mer. The plague of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents! — Mafoi,a very good blade I — a very tall man ! — a very fine girl I — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys 1 Enter Romeo. Ben. Here comes Rom.eo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, Hke a dried herring. Signior Rojne(j, hon jour! there's a French salutation for you. Rom. Good-morrow to you both. Mer. You gave us the counterfeit last night. Rom. What counterfeit did I give you ? Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not receive ? Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in Buch case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. Enter Nurse, and Peter. Nurse. Peter ! Peter. Anon ? EOMEO AND JULIET. 217 Nurse. My fan, Peter. Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; for her fan's the Siirer of the two. Nurse. Give ye good-morrow, gentlemen. Mer. Give ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse. Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find tlie young Romeo ? Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir, 1 desire some confidence with you. Mer. Romeo, will you come to your father's ? — we'll to dinner thither. Rom. I will follow you. Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell. [Exeunt Mercutio, and Benvolio. Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his roguery ? Rom. A gentleman, nurse, tliat loves to hear himself talk ; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. Nurse. An 'a speaK any thing against me, I'll take him down. — Pray yoUj 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 fool's paradise, as they Bay, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say : for the gen- tlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should deal double with 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 mistress. I protest unto thee, — Nurse. Good heart ! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much : oh, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse ? thou dost not mark me. Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do. protest ; whicli, as I take it. is a gentlemanlike offer. Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift This afternoon ; And there she 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 tliere. Rom. Farewell ! — Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! Peter. Anon ? Nurse. Peter, take my fan. and go before. [ExeuTU. 218 SHAKSPEAR*AN READER. SCET^E v.— Capulet's Garden. Enter Juliet. Jul, The clock struck nine, when I did send the niirs* ; In half an hour she promis'd to return. Perchance, she cannot meet him : — that's not so.— O, she is lame ' love's heralds should be thoughts. Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams 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 swift in motion as a ball. Enter Nurse. O, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news ? Now, good sweet nurse, — O ! why look'st thou so sad 1 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 aweary, 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, speal? Nurse. 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 hast breatli To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer man the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to th:it ; 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. — Go thy ways, girl; serve Heaven. — What, liavfi you dined at home ? Jul. No, no : But all this did I know before ; What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? Nurse. Oh, how my head aches ! what a head have 1 ! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. — Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down? Jul. V 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 Aandsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous : — Where is your mother • Jul. Where is my mother ? — why, she is within; ROMEO AND JULIET. 218 Where should she be ? How oddly thou reply'st ? Your love says like an lionest gentleman^ — Where is your mother 1 Nurse. Marry, come up, I trow ; Fs this the poultice for my aching bones ? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil. — 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. Go ; I'll to dinner : hie you to the cell. Jul Hie to high fortune ! — honest nurse, farewell. { ExeuTU SCENE Yl.—Friar Laurence's 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 sorrov/ can, It 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 ewift 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 us both. Jul As much to him, else are his thanks too much. Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd Hke mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This Heighbor air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. Jul Conceit, more rich in matter than in words 220 SIIAKSPEARl/^A READER. 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. \_Exeiiril ACT III. Tybalt, indignant at Romeo's intrusion at Capulet's feast, seeks occasion to quarrel with hiai; Romeo refuses to fight,— Mercutio cl allenges Tybalt and falls in the encounter. Romeo avenges his death by slaying Tybalt, and is condemned by the Duke to jjcrpetua bamshvient from Verona. SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's Houne, Enter Juliet. JuZ. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a wagoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 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, here comes my nurse, Enter Nurse. And she brings news ; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — Now, nurse, what news ? Ah me ! 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 ! — Whoever would have thought it ? — Romeo ! Jul. What demon art tliou, that dost torment me tlius ? Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ay, And that bare little word shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. Nurse. I saw the wound, I eaw it with mine eyes, — A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; Pale, pale as ashes ; — I swooned at the sight. Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, break at oncoi To orison, eves ' ne'er look on liberty ! ROMEO AND JULIET. 221 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 I courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! That ever I should live to see thee dead ! Jnl. What storm is this, that blows so contrary ? Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead ? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; Romeo, that killed him, he is banished. Jul. O heaven ! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's b.dod ) 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 2 O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace ! Nurse. There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd. Shame come to Romeo ! Jul. Blister'd be thy torgue, 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 wretch was I to chide at him ! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your ccupin H 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 hours' wife, have mangled it ? — 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 husbr.nd : All this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then ? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death. That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; But, O ! it presses to my memory, Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished. That — banished, that one word — banished, Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Romeo is banished. In that one word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juhet, All slain, all dead. Whore is my father, and my mother, nurse ? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall he spsnt V\'"hen theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Nurse. Hie to youi cha Tiber : I'll find Romeo 222 SHAKSPEAKIAN KEAuEE. To comfort you : I wot well where he is. I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. Jul. O find him ! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. [^Exeuni SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo. Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful roan : Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts. And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom ? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. That I yet know not ? Fri. Too familiar [s my dear son with such sour company ; I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom 1 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. 'Tis death mis-term'd : calling death — banishment. Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe. And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. Fri. O 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 turn'd that black word death to banishment : This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is her« Where Juliet lives. Oh Father ! 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 ? 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 off that word ; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished ? — Hang up pliilosophy ! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet. Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes '/ 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, ROMEO AND JULIET. 223 In hoar but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me.banished. Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear Ihy 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. [Knoddng Fri. Ilark, how they knock ! — Who's there ? — Romeo, arise ; Thou wilt be taken : — Stay awhile : — stand up ; [Knocking What wilfulness is this ?— I come, I come. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your will. Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my er I come from my lady Juliet. [rand Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurse. Nurse. O holy friar ; O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo ? Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case ! Fri. O woful sympathy ! Piteous predicament ! Nurse. Even so lies she. Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : For Juhet's sake, for her sake, rise. Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet ? how is it with her ? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood ? Where is she ? how doth she ? and what says she ? 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, 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. [Draws 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. Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order, 224 3HAKSPEARIAN READER. I thougiit thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee? What, rouse thee, man ! thy Juliet is alive. 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 went'st forth in lamentation. — Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; And bid her hasten all the house to rest. Romeo is coming. Nurse. O, I could have staid here all the night, To hear good counsel : O, wliat 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 Nun;c Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by" this ! Fri. Go hence : Good night ; and here stands all your state ; Either begone 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 : farev/ell ; 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 v.— Juliet's Chamber. Enter Romeo, and Juliet. Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd 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, N'o 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 : ROM iO AND JULIET. 22C [t i;s some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torcli-bearer, And liglit thee on thy way to Mantua : Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. Rom. Let rae be ta'en, let me be put to death ; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads : I have more care 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. O, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. Ro77i. More light and light ? — more dark and dark our woca. Enter Nurse. Nurse. Madam ! Jul. Nurse? Nurse. Yourlady mother's coming to your chamber . [jEo;. Nursa Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll descend. [Romeo desceuds Jul. Art thou gone so ? my love ! my lord ! my friend ! I 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 Heaven ! 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 Jook'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in my 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. 226 SHAKSPEAlilAN READER. ACT lY. Capulet determiuas to marry Juliet, immediately, to the County Paris ; sh« ini^ Vjres ho parents in vain, to defer the nratcli,— distracted at the thought of being comjielled tc marry a second husband wlide Romeo is yet living, she consults Friar Laurence in hei •I tremity. SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell Enter Friar Laurence, and Paris. Fri. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; And 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 ; 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 of her tears ; Wliich, 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 slowM. [A.W« 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. 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. Heaven shield, I shouJd disturb devotion ! Juliet, farewell. [Ex'l Parw 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; [t strains me past the compass of my wits : ( 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, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : ROMEO AND JULIET. 227 ^f, in thy wisdom, tliou canst give no help, Do tliou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. Heaven joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hand?- 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 • •w Tlierefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire. '' Fri. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope 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 me lurk Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-coveyed quite with dead men's rattling bones ; Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And 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 hquor 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 hps and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; Each part, iepriv'd of supple government. Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 11 2rZ8 SHAKSPEARIAN READEf?„ rijou snaJt remain full two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom in the morning cornea To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead • Then (as the manner of our country is,) In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, Where all the kindred of the Capulets he. 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 nigjit Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from tiiis present shame , If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valor in the acting it. Jul. Give me, O give me ! tell me not of fear. Fri. Hold ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Jul. Love, give me strength ! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father ! {EiewU SCENE TIL— Juliet's Cltamber. Enter Juliet, and Nurse. Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; For I have need of many orisons 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 my help ? Jul. No, madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : So please you, let me now be left alone. And let the nurse tliis night sit up with you ; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. ha. Cap. Good night ! Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady Capulet, and Nurse. Jul. Farewell ! — heaven knows, when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, Tliat almost freezes up the heat of hfe : ^ I'll call them back again to comfort me : — Nurse ! — What should she do here ? ROMEO AND JULIET. 229 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 dou )i a dagger. 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, metliinks, 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 iu, 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 : — 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 bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo. — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — Romeo, I come ! this do I drink to thee. [She throws herself i n i\e ^«J Juliet being supposed dead is interred in *• the Tomb of the Cai'.ulots " ACT V. SCENE L— Mantua. A SlrecL Enter Roimeo. Rom. If 1 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 330 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Lifts me abo^e the ground with cheerful thoiighta I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. Enter Balthasar. >Jews from Verona ! — How now, Balthasar ? 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 w^ell, ana' nothing can ba il Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. [ saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you : O 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 • Vour 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 with thee straight. [Exit Bai rHASJLft Well, Juliet, I will be with thee to-night. Let's see for means : — O, mischief ! thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! [ 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, Sharp misery had Vv^orn him to the bones : And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alliofator stufF'd, and other skins Of ill-snap'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 rceas. Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. Noting his penury, to myself I said — An if a man did need a poison now Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here hves a caitiff wretch would se ' it hifi. ROMEO AND JULIET. 231 0, this same thought did but fore-run my need As 1 remember, this should be the house : Being hohday, 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 Door Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have A dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead. 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 thy 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 dispatch 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 may'st not sell : I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh.— Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Fsxeurtt Friar Laurence learns that the messenger to Romeo has failed. lie goes to the cbaceli' jardto remove Juliet from the Tomb. SCENE III. — A CTiurch-Yard ; in it, a Monument belonging to t\i Capulets. Enter Paris, and Jiis Page, hearing 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 church-yard tread, (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 232 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Page, I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the church-yard ; yet I will adventure. [Reiirei Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. 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 whisthi. 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. [Retirti. Enter Romeo, and Balthasar, with a torch, mattock, t^c. 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 seest, 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 finger A precious ring ; a ring, that I must use In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : — 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 hungiy church-yard v/ith thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild ; More fierce, and more inexorable far. Than empty tigers, or the roaring 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. [Retire? Rom. Thou detestable maw, Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth. Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Breaking open the door of the monumen) And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; [AJiance^ Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee ; Obey, and go with me, for tiiou must die. Rom. I must, indeed ; and therefore came I hither.— Good gentle youth, tempt not a aesperate man, Fly hence and leave me ; — think upon these gone ; Let them affright thee : — I beseech thee, youth, ROMEO AND JULIET. 233 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 madman's mercy bade thee run away. Par. 1 do defy thy conjurations. And do attach thee as a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at tnee, boy. [Thei^Jight Par. O, I am slain ! — [Falls.'] — If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juhet. {^Dies. Rom. In faith, I will : — Let me peruse this face ; — Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris. — One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, — For here lies Juliet. — O, my love ! my wife ! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there — Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair ? Here, here will I remain : O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest ; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Come, bitter conduct, 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. [Diei. Enter, at the other end of the church-yard, Friar Laurence, ivith 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 v/ell. Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his hght To grubs and eyeless skulls ; as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master, One that you love. Fri. Who is it ? Bal, Romeo. Fri. How long hath he been there ? Bal. Full half an hour. 234 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADBR. Fri. Gc v\ ith me to the vault. BaJ. 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, PL go alone : — Fear comes upon nie ; O, 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! — [AJiaruci 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 .'lie monumeiiL 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. [Jtjt.iet wakes and slirs, Jul. O, comfortable friar ! where is my ord ? 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 that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; A greater Power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 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. [ExU Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — What's here ? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand ? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : — O churl ! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, To help m.e after ? — I will kiss thy hps ; Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses h iin, Thy lips are warm ! \st Watch. [Witliin.'] Lead, boy :— Which way ? Jul. Yea, noise ? — then I'll be brief. — O happy dagger ! [Snatchhig Romeo's dagger riiis is thy sheath : [Stabs herself.] there rust, and let me die. [Falls on Romeo's body^ and dies HIE MERCHAKT OF VENICE. This Day is jtislly placed among the most perfect of Shakspeare's compositions. Tlifl Bitster-pieoe of character, as exhibited in Shylock the Jew, would alone entitle it to tl»is classification. . The double plot of this Drama was borrowed by Shakspeare from traditionary stories current in his time. The Jews at that period were a despised and persecuted race ; the Poet has lent himself totho prejudices entertained by Christians against Jews, and yet he has made Shylock appear as the champion and avenger of an opiiressed people, rather tlian the tordid contemptible character, then thought to be the distinctive quahfication of " God's an<'.ient people." ddOd PERSONS REPRESENTED. Duke of Venice. Prince of Mokocco, > ^^ .^^^^ ^^ p^^.^j^ Prince of Arragon, ) Antonio, the Merchant of Venice. Sassanio, his friend. Salanio, Salarino, GRATiAN0,/nc/j(Z5 to Antonio and Basaanio. Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shylock, a Jew. Tubal, a Jew, his friend. Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. Salerio, a messenger from Venice. Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. Balthazar, Stepuano, servants to Portia. Portia, a rich heiress. Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Jessica, daughter to Shylock. Stlagnificoes 0/ Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants^ and other Attendants. SCENE,— ;5ar/Zi/ at YEmc-E, and partly at Belmont, the Seal of Portia, 071 the Continent. 236 SIIAKSPEARUN READER. ACT I. SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salasio Ant. In oooth, 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 bom, 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. Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture fonh, 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 brc?!^ Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. [ sliould not see the sandy hour-glass run. But I should think of shallows and of flats ; And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs. To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And sec the holy edifice of stone. And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks ? Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing ? Shall I have the thougjit To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought. That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad 7 But tell not me ; I know Antonio Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it. My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, MERCHANT OF VENICE. 237 Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune Df this present year : Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fye, fye ! Salan. Not in love neither ? 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 the two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 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. Sala7\ I would have staid till I had made you merry If worthier friends had not prevented me. A7it. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you. And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? Say, when ? You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. [Exeunt Salarino, a7id SiLisn Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio, We two will leave you : but, at dinner time, I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. Bass. I will not fail you. , Gra. 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. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ? Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish ? I tell thee what, Antonio, — I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; — There are a sort of men, whose vis «ges 238 SIIAKSPEARIAN READBS. Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ; As who should say, / am Sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! O, my Antonio, I do knew 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. V\\ 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 wjile; 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. Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i' faith ; for silence is only commendable [n a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano, and I>3RE!5Zi>. 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, w^hat lady is this same. To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of ? Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I have disabled mine estate. By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint ra sans would grant continuance ; Nor 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, VVherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money, and in love ; And from your love I have a w^arranty To unburden all my plots, and purposes, How to get clear jf all the debts I owe. Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it , A.nd, if it stand, as you yourself still do, Within the eye of honor, be assur'd MERCHANT OF VENICE. 2'ii3 My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one slia?. T 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 childish proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. 1 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. Yoa know me well, and herein spend but time To wind about my love with circumstance ; And, out of doubt, you do me now more wron/i^ 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 prest into 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 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' straud^ 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. ,' Ex-cuu 240 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Portia, and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary of this greal world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are : And yet, for aught I Bee, 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 live.«» longer. Por. 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 had been churches, and poor 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 tvv-enty 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 wdll 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 ; therefore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his *:neaning, 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, overname them ; and as thou namest them, I will describe them ; and according to my description, level at my af- fection. ' Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he does nothing but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appropriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him himself. Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. Por. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should say. And if yon 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 BO 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. Heaven defend me from these two ! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur Le Bon ? Por, Heaven made him, and therefore let him pass for a man. iVer. Vou need not fear, lady, the having any of these lords ; thev MERCHANT OF VENICE. 241 have acquainted me with their deteniiinations : 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 father'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 fathers 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 Heaven grant them a fair departure. Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's time, a Vene. tian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat ? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so was he called. Ner. True, madam ; he, of all the men tliat ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the JDest deserving 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 with so good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should be glad of his approach. 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 Bassanio and Shylock. 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 throe 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 saying 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 to Tripolis, anotlier to the 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 znen : there be land-rats, and water-rats, v/ater-thieves, and land- It 242 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the peril of water, winda^ and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient ; — three thousana ducats ; — I thinl?, I may take his bond. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured, I may ; arid, that 1 may be assured, I wiB bethink me : May I speak with Antonio ? Bass. If it please you, dine with us. Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with yoUj wa-lk with you, and so followinjj' : but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto 1 — Who is he comes here ? Enter Antonio. Bass. This is siornior 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 ANicirsa 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 of my friend, I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd, 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. Three thousand ducats — 'tis a good round sum, Three months fiom tw<^lve, then let me see the rate. MERCHANT OF VEMCB. 243 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you } l^hy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, m the Rialto you have rated me About my momes, and my usances : 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 spur 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 bondsman'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 calVd me — dog ; and for these courtesies Vll 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 better 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 tny monies, and you'll not hear me : This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. Shy. This kindness will I en^ra' t»v 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 Express'd in the condition, let the- forfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. g44 SIIAKSPEAIIIAN READER. Ant. Content, in faith ; Til 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 ray 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. S^iy. O 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 m.an, 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 ; A.nd, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, 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 rot 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. Bassanio obtains the loan of three thousand ducats from Shj'lock, on the merchant'! bond, with the penalty of " the pound of flesh," as the forfeit for non-paynent. He then prepares for making proposals for Portia's hand, but previous to his departure he invites hit Tnends to an entertainment : — Shylock is also one of the invited guests. liauncelot, a former domestic of the Jew's, has entered into the service of Bassanio, ftnd is made the messenger between Lorenzo and Jessica, who have planned an elope msnt, while Shvlock is engaged at Bassanio's feast. SCENE Y.—The same. Before Shylock's House. Enter Shylock, and Launcelot. Sfiy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize. As thou h'lst done w'th me : — What, Jessica '. — MERCHANT OF ^TENICE. 215 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — Why, Jessica, I say ! Laun. Why, Jessica ! Shy. Who bids thee call ? I did not bid thee call. Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing wit^i- out bidding. Enter Jessica Jes. Call you ? What is your will ? Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ? I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl, Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, For 1 did dream of money-bags to-night. Laun. I beseech you, sir, go on; my young master doth exject your reproach. Shy. So do I his. Laun. And they have conspired together,— I will not say, you rhall 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 vou 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, I 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 ; [Aiidc There will come a Christian by, Will be worth a Jewess' eye. ^Exit I aun 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 ; 2i6 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Perhaps, I will return immediately ; Do, as I bid ycni, Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit Jes. Farewell ; and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father you a daughter lost. [Exit. Jessica elopes with Loienzo, carrying with her large sums of money, anc ral'jable jew- els belonging to her father. ACT III. Shylock is introduced in the following powerfully wrought scene smarting under hii losses, and the want of duty in his daughter. He has also learned that Antonio the Mcr- 3hant, has suffered severe losses at sea, and instigated by revenge he determines to enfoic* Ihe " full penalty " of the Bond. SCENE I.— A street in Venice. Enter Salanio, and Sal a ring. Solar. 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. 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 ! — O my ducats ! — O my daughter ! Fled with a Christian? — O my christian ducats I— Justice ! the law I my ducats and my daughter ! Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this. Now, what news on the Rialto ? Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd,that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas ; the Goodwms, I think they call the place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the car- cases 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 knappM ginger, or made her neighbors believe she wept for the deiith ol a third husband : But it is true, — without any slips ot prolixity, or crossing the plain highway of talk, — that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a title good enough to keep his name company ! — Salar. Come, the full stop. Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end is he hath lost a ship. Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses ! MERCHANT OF VENICE. 247 SaJan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross m}' prayer for here he com.es in the likeness of a Jew. — Enter Shylock. Hc'vV now, Shylock ? what news among the merchants ? Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as vou, of my daugh- ter's flight. Salar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made ihe wings she flew withal. Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion of them all to leave the dam. Shy. 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 ! Solan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these years ? Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. Salar. There is more difl^erence between thy flesh and hers, tiian between jet and ivory ; more between your bloods, than there is be- tween red wine and rhenish : But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no ? Shy. There I have another bad match : a bankrupt, 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 na- tion, 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 summer, 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 ? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge ? if we are Uke 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, re- V3nge. The villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. Enter Tubal. Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. [Exeunt Salan. cf- Salar. Shy. How now, Tubal, what nevv's from Genoa? hast thou found my daughter ? 248 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond gone, cost mt^ two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse never feli upon ouj nation till now .' I never felt it till now ; — two thousand ducats ir that ; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would my daughtei 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 themi — 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 satisfaction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stir- ring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breath- ing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, as I heard in Genoa, — Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ? Tub. — hath an argosy cast av/ay, coming from Tripolis. Shy. I thank Heaven, 1 thank Heaven : — Is it true, is it true ? Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the wreck. Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, good news : ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ? Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, four- score 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 t(- Venice, that swear he cannot choose but break. Shy. I am very glad of it : FU 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 tur- quoise ; I had it of Leah, w^hen I was a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilderness 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 he forfeit ; for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchan- dise I will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue. Tubal. - [Exeunt SCENE 11. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, aiul Attendant3 The caskets are set out. Por. 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, MERCHANT OF VENICE. 218 Ilate counsels not in such a quality : 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. Bass. Let me choose ; For, as I am, I live upon the rack. Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess Wliat treason there is mingled with your love. Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love ; There may as well be amity and life 'Tween snow and fire, 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 : I 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. Music, ivhilsi Bassanio comments on the caskets to Jmnseif. SONG. 1. Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head 1 How begot, how nourished ? Reply. 2. It is engender"^ d in the eyes. With gazing fed : and fancy dies In the cradle lohere it lies : Let us all ring fancy'' s knell , Vll begin it. Ding, dong, bell. Ail. Ding, dong, bell. Bass. Some good direct my judgment ! — Let me see. — " Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.^^ [Locks at the goldch cnsksi That may be meant Of the fool multitude, that choose by show : 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 ? In religion, 250 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. What dangerous 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 falss As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chin The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars : Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? And these assume but valor's countenance, Tp render them redoubted. Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight ; Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it : Thus ornament is but the gulled shore To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 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 : " Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.''^ [Looks at the sih^f :a&kel And well said, too ; for who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honorable Without the stamp of merit ? Oh, that estates, degrees, and offices, Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear bono. Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! How many then should cover, that stand bare ? How many be commanded, that command ? And how much honor. Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times. To be new varnished ? — " Much as he deserves.'^ — I'll not assume desert. — " Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath^ [Looks at the leaden caskei I'll none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! Por. How all the other passions fleet to air. As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, And shudd'i^ng fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain tny 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 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 251 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god Hath come so near creation ? Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. You that choose not hy the view. Chance as fair, and choose as true ! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content f and seek no new. If you he well pleased with this. And hold your fortune for your bliss., Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving Iciss. A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : I come by note, to give and to receive. [Kissing xer 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 times 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 giri, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 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 ; Happiest 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 Is now coviverted : 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 tliis same myseli Are yours, my lord. Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words Only my blood speaks to you in my veins. 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 kdy ! 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 vour honors mean to solemnize 12 262 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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. Y'our fortune stood upcn 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 vour fortune Achiev'd her mistress. For. Is this true, Nenssa ? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith ? Gra. Y'es, faith, my lord. Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in your maxrij.ge. Lorenzo, Jessica and Salanio, bring a Letter from Antonio to Eassanio, ac(_ laiut lEg him wit'i his losses, and that the Bond to the Jew is forfeited. Eassanio is struck with horror at the tidirgs, and determines to leave Portia and proceed immediately to his friend ; Portia insists that the marriage ceremony between them, shall be first solemnized, and furnishes him with money more than sufficient to discharge the Bond. Afier the departure of Bassanio and his friends, Portia determines to follow them, an! assist in saving Antonio from the Jew's malignity. She writes to her cousin Bellaric, who is a Doctor of Law, and requests his advice on the nature of the Bond given by An- tiinio; fortified with Beliario's opinioB, she goes to Venice, where assuming the disguise of a Doctor of Law, or Counsellor, with Nerissa as her clerk, she attends the Trial of the .Meichuiu. ACT lY. We are now introduced to the catastrophe of this magnificent Drama— the Trial Scene ; — and taken as an isolated Scene, it stands perhaps the most perfect piece of com- position to be found in the whole range of Dramatic writing. SCENE I.— Venice. A Court of Justice. Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassanio, Gr.ATiAK'^ Salarino, Salanio, and others. Duke. What, is Antonio here ? Ant. Ready, so please your grace. Duke. I am sorry fcr thee : thou art come to answei A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch Uncapable of pity, void and empty From an/ dram of mercy. MERCHANT OF VENICE. T^l'A Ant. I have heard V our grace has 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 Shylock. Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face.— Snylock, 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, t> Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse, more strange v^ Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : And where thou now exact'st the penalty, (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh.) Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, But touchM 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 1 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. R 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 ? W-'hat if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pjeas'd to give ten thousand ducats To have it' ban'd^'' What, are you answer'd ypt 1 Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat : As there is no firm reason to be rcnder'd, Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; So can 1 give no reason, nor I will not. L'5'I SHAKSPEARIAN READER. More tlian a lodg-'d hate, and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are you ansv/er'd ? Bass. This is no dnswer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shij. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? Slnj. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. Shy. Wnat, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee t ^.rv / A7it. I pray you, think you question with the Jew : Vou may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid the main tiood bate 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 is six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats, Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 1 would not draw them, T would have my bond. Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none 2 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 ihem 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 dsarly bought, 'tis 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, .ere stiys without MiiRCHA^'T OF VENICE. 255 / dJ A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ? courage yet I " 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 frnit Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : You cannot better be em.ploy'd, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write "^mine epitaph. Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyers clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your grace. Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? Shy. 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 axe, 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 curs'd, inexorable dog ! And for thy life let justice be accusM. 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, for thy desires Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud :' Repair thy wit, good youth ; or it will fall To cureless ruin. J stand here for law. Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court : — Where is he ? Ner. lie 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. — ^ Meantime, 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 mrssenger came, in loving visitation was with me a young doctor of Rome, his name is Balthasar : I ac9 "Would, any of the stock of Ban-abas Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! [Asule. We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh *s tliine, 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 Uttle ; — 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 ! Sh7/. 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 forfeiture. 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 T not have barely my principal ? 2G0 SIT.AKSPEARIAN READER. For. Thou shall 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. For. 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 may'st have leave to hang thyesf '2 .\nd 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 our 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 unto a fine. For. 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 That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live. For. What mercy can you render liim, Antonio ? Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else ; for Heaven'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 sor Lorenzo, and his daughter. MERCHANT OF VENICE. 261 Duke. lie 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, Aiid I will sign it. Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two godfathers ; Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [^Exit SnyLOCK. Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. Por. 1 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 not. Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; Foi, in my mind, you are much bound to him. [Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. The interest of the Play ends with the delivery of Antonio, and the punishment of ghylock^ t]\e fifth Act is occupied in explanations which naturally follow between 'he laatiiuj characters, growiug out of the disguises assumed by Pcrtia sad Neiissa. KING LEAE "I'he stffry of King Lear and his tliree dauj^hters, is found '.a Hohnsheds Chronicle , lad was originally told by Geofiry of Monmouth, who says that i^ear was tlie eldest sob 3k Bladnd, and ' nobly governed his country for sixty years.* According to that his torian, he died about 800 years before Christ. Shakspeare has taken the hint for the ?jehavior of the steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her father concerning her future mar- riage, from the Mirror of Magistrates, 1587. According to Steeveus, the episode of Glosterand his sons is borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia.^^ Macbeth, Othello, Hamlet, and Lear, are placed by general consent as first in the list of Shakspeare's inspired creations, but to the character of Lear, is yielded the pre-eminence. It is perhaps the most wonderfu dramatic conception on record. We have en- deavored to incorporate into our selections, the entire development of *his extraordinarv jreation. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Lear, King of Britain. King of France. Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Cornwall. Duke of Albany. Earl of Kent. Earl of Glostek. Edgar, son to Gloster. Edmund, illegitimate son te Gloster CuRAN, a courtier. Old Many tenant to Glo&ter. Physician. Fool. Oswald, stcxcard to Gonen'l. An Officer employed by Edmund. Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. GoNERiL, Regan, Cordelli, daughters to Lear. Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldieis and Attendants. SCENE,— Britain. KING LEAR. 263 ACT I. SCENE L— A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, E,egan, CoRiELii., and Attendants. Lc^r. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Glostcr. Gh. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gloster & Er.i*rurrj. Lear. Mean-time 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 daughters, (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,) Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ? 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 matter Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; No 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. [Asidt Lear. O^ all these bounds, even from this line tc 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 ? Speak. Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, xAnd 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, VVhich the most precious square of sense possesses ; 264 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. And find, I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. Cor. Then poor Cordelia I i Aside And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remains this ample third of our fair kingdom •, No less in space, validity, 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 A 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, all ? 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 Ilold thee, from this, for ever. Kent. Good my liege,— Lear. Peace, Kent . Come not between the dragon and his wrath : [ lovM her ir.ost, and thought to set mv rept KING LEAR. 265 On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my s'ghi I So be my grave my peace, as here I give [To Cordelia.. 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 my 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, Phis coronet part between you. [Giving (he ncunk Kent. Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honor'd as my Idng, 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 would'st thou do, old man ? Think'st thou, that duty shall have dared to speak, When power to flattery bows ? To plainness honor's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; And, in thy best consideration, check This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment. 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 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 h h sicnt Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. Kent. Do; Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; 206 SHAKSFEARIAN READER. Or, whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, ril tell thee thou dost evil. Lear. Hear me, recreant ! On thine allegiance hear me ! — Since tliou hast sought to make us break our vow,^ (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd prido, To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; (Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,) Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days do we allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world ; And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom : if, on tlie tenth day following, Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions. The moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, This shall not be revok'd. Kent. Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, {'to Cordelu That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — And your large speeches may your deeds approve, [ To Regan and Gokesil, That good effects may spring from words of love. — Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu : Me'll shape his old course in a country new. \^Ejcii 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 rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least, Will you require in present dowTr with her, Or cease your quest of love ? Bur. Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness oifer'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 piec'd, And nothing more may fitly hke your grace. She's there, and she is yours. Bur. I know no ansv/er 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 ? KlxNG LEAR. 267 Bicr. 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, f 7V) France . would not from your love make such a stray. To match you where I hate ; therefore beseeeli you 'J'o avert your liking a more worthier Avay, Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd Almost to acknouledge hers. France. This is most strange *. That she, that even hut 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 ir.ajeaty (If for 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 deprived me of your grace and favor : But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue 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 ? a tardiness in nature. Which often leaves the history unspoke, That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady ? 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. 1 am sorry then, you have so lost a father, That you inust lose a husband. Cor. Peace be with Burgnndj 268 SHAKSPEAKIAN RCAUER. Since thnt respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor 5 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 neglect My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : Not all the dukes of vvaterish 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 to thine ; lor we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone, Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. [Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, A^iim? Gloster, and Attendauts 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 nam'd. Use well our father : To your professed bosoms I com.mit 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. Reff, 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 have wanted. C'>r. Time shall unfc'd what plaited cunning hides • Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. Well, may you prosper ! France. Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exeunt France and Cordelia. Confining ourselves to the main incidents connected with the story of Lear, — hia wroiv^s and sufferings, — we are necessarily compelled to omit much of the under plot of this Play, in which Shakspeare introduces, as a counterpart to Lear suffering under tha ingratitude of his children, Edgar, the son of Gloster, as a pattern of filial piety and love, unjustly persecuted by his father. Gloster is persuaded by the machinations of Edmund, to believe that Edgar seeks his life. The aext scene we extract, introduces Kent in the disguise of a Peasant, under the uame of Cams, seeking to engage himself in the service of the King, whom he fears -.^ill be improperly treated by Eegan and Gcceril. s:l^'G LEAS. 2()9 t^CENE IV.— A Hall in the Duke of Albany's Paiacr.. Enter Kent, disguised. Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, I lat can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue Por which 1 raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st. Shall find thee full of labors. Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attenapnls. Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go. get it ready. — [Esii on Attendant.] — How now, what art thou ? Kent. A man, sir. Lear. What dost thou profess ? What would'st tliou with us ? Kent. I do profess to be no .ess than I seem ; to serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love hiui that is honest ; to converso with him that is wise, and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fisn. 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 would'st thou serve ? Kent. You. Lrar. Dost thou know me, fellow? Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your countenance, wiiich I would fain call master. Lear. What's that ? Kent. Authority. Lear. What services cnnst thou do ? Keyit. I can keep honest counsel, ride, rim, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a p/ain message blmitly ; that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualhied 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 jvfter 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. You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ? Slew. So please you, — {Exit. Lear. Wliat says the fellow there ? Call the clodpoll back. — < Where's my fool, ho? — I think the world's asleep.— How now? Hrliere's that mongrel ? Knighi. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 270 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I calk-.l him ? Knight. Sir, he answered 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 entertain'd with that ceremonious affection as you were wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness appears, 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 ; 1 have perceived a most faint neglect of late ; which I have rather blamed as •nine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness : I will 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 wiUi her. — Go you, call hither my tool. — Re-enter Stev.^ard. O, you sir, you sir, come you hither : Who am I, sir ? Steiv. My lady's father. Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you dog ! you slave I you cur ! 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. [Trip'pir}(T 7ip 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 your 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 Uiy service. [Giving Kent money. Enter Fool. Fool. Let me hire him too ; — Here's my coxcomb. [Giving KF^■T las cay. 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, ar 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 hia daun-hters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if th)u fob KING LEAR. 271 ow liim, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. — How now, mincle 1 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 daiigiiters. 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. Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! Fool. Sirrah, 1*11 teach thee a speech. Lear. Do. Foul. Mark it, nuncle : — Have more tlian thou showesl, Speak less than thou knowest. Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest. Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou tbrowest; And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. Lear. This is nothing, fool. Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer ; you gave nie 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 ; lie will not believe thee. [ To Kent. Lear. A bitter fool ! Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one ? Lear. No, lad ; teach me. Fool. That lord, that counsell'd 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 ; The one in motley here. The other found oiV. there. Lear. Dost thou call me a fool, boy ? Fool. Al! thy other titles thou hast given aw-^y ; that thou wast born with. Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when tnou gavest Jiy golden one away. If I speak hke myself in this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so. Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; ['^^'^^^'"g For wise men are grown foppish ; A nd know not how their ivits to wear., Their manners are so apish. 272 SHAKSPEx'.RIAN READER. Lear. When were you wort to be so full of songs, sirrah ? Fool. I have used it, nunclf;, ever since thou madest thy daughters tliv mother. Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. And I for sorrow suns. 'o^ That such a King should play ho-peep, And go the fools among. Pr'ythee, 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 you 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 Goneril. Lear. How now, daughter ? what makes that frontlet on ? Mi^ thinks, you are too much of late i' the frown. 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 ; which, if you should, the fault VVould not 'scape censure, nor the redresses 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. Lear. Are you our daughter ? Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wis dom whereof I know you are fraught ; and put away these disposi- tions, which of late transform you from what you rightly are. 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 oi waking ? — Ha ! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me who 1 am ? — Lr^r's shadow ? I would learn that ; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded 1 had daughters. — Your name, fair gentlewoman ? Gon. Come, sir : This admiration is much o' the favor Of other your new pranks. 1 do beseech you To understand my purposes aright : KING LEAR. 273 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 more Than a grac'd palace : The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy : Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begs, A ^ttle 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 togetlier, — Degenerate viper ! I'll not trouble tliee ; Yet have I left a daughter. Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd ral'ulc Make servants of their betters. Eiiter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are you come ? [s it your will ? — [^To 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 ! Alh. Pray, sir, be patient. Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : [ To Goneril My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 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 :hou in Cordelia show ! Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, [Striking his hecUi, And thy deav judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath mov'd you. 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 asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : [To Gonv.mi. That these hot teais, which break from me perforce. Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs upon thee ! The untented vo'jndings of a father's curse Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, Roweep this cause again, I'll oluck you out' £74 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 Lear, Kent, and Atteudanla ACT II. Lear dispatches Kent to the court of the Duke of Cornwall, to announce his inlenticn of taking up his residence with his daughter Regan. Tlie Duke and his wife are at the Castle of Gloster, where they are found by Kent. The sturdy old man chastises the itvsolence of a servitor of Goneril's, and is placed in the stocks, by the order d Regar Lear, not finding Regan at her own castle, seeks her at the Duke of Glostei's. SCENE— Before Gloster's Casile. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart Irom 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 ! Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime ? Kent. No, my lord. Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel garters ! Horses are tied hy the heads ; dogs, and bears, by the neck; monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs. Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy plac-e mistook To set thee here ? Kent. It is both he and she, Your son and daughter. Lear. No. Kent. Yes. Lear. No, 1 s^y. Ke7it. 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 KING LEAR. 275 Tliou 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 ]\Iy duty kneeling, came tiiere a reeking post, Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Goneril liis mistress, salutations ; Deliverd letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read : on whose contents TLcy 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 rais'd 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. But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart ! Down, thou climbing sorrow, thy element's below ! Where is this daughter ? Kent. With the earl, sir here within. near. Follow me not ; Stay here. {Exit, Gent. Made you no more ofience than what you speak of ? Kent. None. How chance the Hng comes with so small a train ? 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 p\-A, to teach thee there's no laboring in the winter. All that fellow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break 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. . Tnat, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, 13 278 SHAKSrEARIAN READER. 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 : The knave turns fool, that runs avv'ay ; The fool no knave, perdy. Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool ? Fool. Not ;■ the stocks, fool. Re-enter Lear, iciih Gloster. Lear. Deny to speak wiLh me ? They are sick ? they are vvearv 1 They have traveU'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 unremovable and lix'd he is In his own course. Lear. Vengeance ! plague 1 death ! confusion ! — Fiery ? w^hat quality ? why, Gloster, Gloster, I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. Glo. Well, my good lord, 1 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 I — Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke, that— Xo, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : Infirmity doth still neglect ah office, W^hereto 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 ! wherefore [Lookivfr 071 Ken2 Should he sit here ? This act persuades me. That this remotion of the duke and her Is practice 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 weh betv/ixt you. \ExU Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! — but, down. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. Good morrow to you both. KING LEAR. 27"? Corn. Hail to your grace ! [Kent is set at liberty Reg. I am glad to see your highness. Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what reason I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, l^eloved Regan, Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth 'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,— [ Points to Ids \emt. I can scarce speak t*.' ihee ; thou'lt not believe. Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, Vou less know how to value her desert, Than she to scant her duty. Lear. Say, how is that ? Retr. I cannot think, my sister in the least WouFd 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 , Natare in you stands on the very verge Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, thut 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 becrmies the house ? Dear daughter^ I confess that I am old ; Age is unnecessarij : on my knees I beg, [ KueeJiitg 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 ungrateful top ! Strike her young bones. You taking airs, with lameness ! Corn. Fye, fye, fye ! Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding fiam&J Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty. You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride ! Reg. O thp blest gods! 278 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 thirje Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee To grudire my pleasures, to cut off my train. To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, Anc^ 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. \Trumicls within Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ? Corn. What trumpet's tliat ? 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 of 't. — Who comes here ? O, heavens. Enter Goneril. If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow obedience, if yourselves are old. Make it your cause : send zlown, and take my part ! — Art not asham'd to look upon this beard ? — [To Gone.iil 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 ? Co7m. 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. [f, 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 dismis^'cl i KING LEAR. 279 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 ? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot : — Retiirn 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 mad ; 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 boil, A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot. Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : Mend, when thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure : I can be 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 Vv elcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; For those that mingle reason with your passion Must be content to think you old, and so — But she knows wliat she does. Lear. Is this well spoken now 2 Reg, I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty followers ? Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? Yea, or so many ? sith 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 attendance, From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanc'd to slarli vcn We could control them : If you will come to me, (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you To bring but tive 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 290 bHAKSiEARIAN READER. With such a number : What, must I come to you With live and twenty, Regan ? said you so ? Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with me. Lear. Tnose wielded creatures yet do look well favor'd, When others are more wicked ; not being the worst, Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; \To Goxeril Thy fifty yet dotli 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, w-here twice so many Have a command to tend you ? Reg. What need one ? Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest bep-gars 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'sl, 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 ! 0, let not woman's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags, 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 be 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 Lear, Glostei , Kent 3iid Fool Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Sloj'm 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 purpotj'd. Where is mv lord of Gloster ? AING LEAK. 281 Re-enter Glcster. Corn. Follow'il Ihe old man forth : — he is return'd. Glo. The king is in high rage. Coj-n. Whither is he going ? G-lo. 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. O, 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 him to, being apt To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night : My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. Exeunt, ACT III. Lear, cast off by his pitiless daughters, wanders distracted through the coratry, accoo panied by his faithful Fool. Kent is released, and immediately proceeds in search of hii royal master. SCENE. — A Heath. A storm is heard, loitli thunder and lightning. Enter Leak, and Fool. Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires. Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head ! And thou, all shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Crack nature's moulds, all germins* spill at once. That make ingrateful man ! Fool. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's s "ttight pities neither wise men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull ! Spit, fire ! spout, rain t Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, I HLwer gave you kingdom, call'd you children, Vou owe me no subscription ; why then let fall Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, A. poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man : — * Seeds begun to sf.rout. 882 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! — IVo, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nc thing Enter Kent. Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love niglit. 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 man of virtue • Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seem.ing Hast practis'd on man's life ! — Close pent-up guilts. Rive your concealing continents, and cry These dreadful summoners grace. — 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. — Como 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 lias a Utile tiny ivit, — With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, — Must make content with his fortune Jit ; For the rain it raineth every day. Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this hovel. ^Exeunt Lear, Kent, and YkhA KINi LEAR. 283 Edgar escapes from the pursuit of his Father, and assumes tne disguise of a " Ton * Bedlam," or madman. He finds shelter on the deserted Heath, to which Lear ba» kdndered. He encounters the King. Tlie assumption of madness by Edgar contrasts rerr strikingly with the real insanity of Lear, in the two following scenes. SCENE.— A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good r y lord, en!er : 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 ? Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious 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 : But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, Thou'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 not as 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, — O, that 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 jase ; This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go hi : In, boy ; go first. — [To the Fool.] — You houselef;s poverty, — Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — [Fool g<)es 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. [Tom ! Edgar.— IWilhin.l — Fathom and half, fathom and half! Pool [ The Fool rvns out of the hovel 284 SHAKSrEARlAN READEH Fool. Come not in here, uncle, here's a spirit. Help me, lielp me! Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there? Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor Tom. Kent. Wliat art then that dost grumble there i' the straw 1 Come forth Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — Tnrough 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 ? And art thou come to this ? Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? 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 porridge ; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five wits ! Tom's a-cold. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes : There could 1 have hira now, — and there, — and there, — and there again, and there. [Storm continues. Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pass ? — Could'st thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them all ? Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had all been ashamed. Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have subdu'd nature To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — It is the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have this little mercy on their flesh ! Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters. Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : Obey thy parents ; keep thy wurd justly ; swear not ; 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 ; swore as many oaths as I spake v^ords, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. [ Storm still continues. Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncover'^ body this extremity of the skies. — Is man no more than this ? Consider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha ! here's 'iiree of us are sophisticated ! — Thou art the thing itself: unaccom- KING LEAR. 285 modiited mim is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animaJ as thou art. — OIF, off, you lendings : — Come ; unbutton here. — [ Tearing off rds doilies. Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a naughty night to Bwim in. — Look, liere comes a walking fire. Gloster is moved to pity the wrongs inflicted on his royal master. He incurs the dis pleasure of Cornwall and Regan, is dispossessed of his Castle, and follows it ; :.rsuit of Loar. Entej' Glostek, with a torch. Lear. What's he ? Kerit. Who's there ? What is't you seek ? Glo. What are you there ? Your names ? Eilg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tad- pole, the wall-newt, and the water ; who is whipped from tything to tything, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear. But mice, and rats, and such small deer. Have hven Tom's food for seven long year. Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou fier d ! Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ? Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 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 all your daughters' hard commands : Though their injunction be to bar my doors. And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and wood 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 Thebari ',— What is your study ? Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 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 ? 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 thee, friend, I am almost mad mvself : I had a son. 286 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Now ontlaw'd from my blood : he sought my hfe, But lately, very late ; I lov'd him, friend, — No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Sta. m continuea. 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. Ealf that wish the wisher's eyes be press'd. [They sleep 310 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, Enter Puck. Puck, Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I mignt approve This flower's force in stirring love. 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 sound On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul ! she durst not lie Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe : When thou wak'st, let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. So awake, when I am gone ; For I must now to Oberon. [£'nl Enter Demetrius, and Helena, running. llel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go. [Exit DEMETRiUMi Hel. O, 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 vvash'd than hers No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; For beasts that meet me, run away for fear The'efore, 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 I — Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet sake. [ Wa\v\^ Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art. That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Wliere 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 I'ove your Hermia ? O, what though ? Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 3n Lys. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent Tlie 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 ; Bo 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 T o'erlook Love's stories, written in love's richest book. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery bom 1 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, yon 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 ! Esii 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 ! [ Vril Her. \_Starting.'\ Help me, Lysander, help me ! do tiy iie^t, 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, remov'd ? Lysander ! lord ! VVhat, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ? Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ; Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. No ? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : Kitlier death, or y^u, I'll find immediately. {Exn £J12 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. ACT III. Oberon c iscovers that Puck has mistaken Lysander for Demetrius, and by his ojagii charms corrects the error. SCENE.— A Wood. Demetrius [Sleeping], Lysander, and Helena. Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn ? Scorn and derision never come in tears. Look, when 1 vow, I weep ; and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ? Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O, matchless holy fray I These vows are Hermia's ; Will you give her o'er ? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing w^eigh : 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. YAwaking.l O Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine I To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, Fann'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 cruel spite ! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment. 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 ? 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. Lijs, You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so MIDSUMMER NIGHT S DREAM. For you love Hermia : this, you know, I know : And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love 1 yield you up my nart ; And yours of Helena to me bequeath. Whom I do love, and will do till my death, Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath, Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none : If e'er I lov'd 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. Jjys. Helen, it is not so, Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know Lest, to thy peril, thou aby* it dear.— Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. Enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function take*, The ear mor.e 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 think, it brought me to thy sound. But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth pre?3 to go? Her. What love could press Lysander from my side ? Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide, Fair Helena ; who. more engilds the night Than all von fiery oesf and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make thee knov/, The hate I bear 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 you with these oontriv'd . 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 ^pent, , When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us,— O, and is all forgot ? All schooldays' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia. like two artificial gods, Have with our neelds| 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, ♦ Pay dearly for it. t Circles. X Nus-Jiat 513 1514 ." . SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Duo but to one, and crowned with one crest. And wiU you rend our ancient love asunder, To join with m.en 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. ACT IV. Oberon directs Puck to cast the lovers into a " death coanterfeitmg s/eep," and ihek to disenchant Lysander, so that when they wake, all tlie mistakes shall seem a drnm. SCENE. — A Wood. Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and He- lena, discovered sleeping. Enter Theseus, Hippoltta, Egeus, and train. The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; — For now our observation is perform'd ; And since we have the vaward of the day, My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — Uncouple in the western valley ; go : — Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hip. 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 Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth-like bells. Each under each. A cry more tunable 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 ; fVnd this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is j midsummer-night's dream. • 815 This Helena, old Neda's Helena : I wonder of their being here together. The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe The rite of May ; and, hearing: our intent, Come here in grace of our solemnity. — But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? Ege. It is, my lord. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their honis. Horns and shout 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 ? Lys. Pardon, my lord. [He and the rest kneel to These ra, 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, t 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, Demetrius, 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. Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealtli, Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; And I in fury hither folio w'd them ; Fair Helena in fancy 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 loathe this food : But, as in health, come to my natural taste. 816 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. The. Fair flowers, 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 Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, mid tram Dem. These things seem small and undistinguishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye. When every thing seems double. Hel. So, methinks : And I have found Demetrius Hke 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. ACT y. SCENE 1. — Tlie same. 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 : 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 midsummer-night's deeam. 317 Tlie 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 transfigured so together, More witnesseth than fancy's images. And grows to something of great constancy ; But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and IliLY^iiu The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. — Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts. Tbe Play euds with a inasqae by vho comic rwrEOuageof ti» Dnj8». JULIUS CJISAR In ttis noble composition. Shakspeare has shown himself equally ^reat, in drr.matizinjj a celebrated portion of Classic History, as he is in adapting incidents gathered from ro- mantic story, or the wonders of legendary fiction. In Julius Caesar, he has been cliiefly indebted to Plutarch for his materials, and it is nc mean pra>»» awarded to him by his commentators, that he has caught the spirit of his great original. The principal characters are veritable Plutarchian embodiments. Caesar, Brntus, Ca?- lins. and Antony, aie clothed with even more individuaity of character, than th^y are depicted by the celebrated Greek Biographer. " The real length of time in Julius Caesar is as follows : About the middle of February B. C. 709, a frantic festival, sacred to Pan, and called Lnpercalia, was held in honoi of Caesar, when the regal crown Wcis offered to him by Antony. On the 15th of March in the same year, he was slain. November 27, B. C. 710, the triumvirs met at a small island, formed by the river Rhenus, near Bonoma, and there adjusted their cruel proserii>- ■jon. — B. C. 711, Brutus and Cassius were defeated near Philippi." PERSONS REPRESENTED. i! Julius C^sar. OCTAVIUS CjESAR, Marcus Antonius, ^trimnvirs after the death o/ Julius Caesar. M. JEmUj. Lepidus, Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena ; senators. Marcus Brutus, Casca, ■» Cassius, Trebonius, f . , ■ , i \- n Ti T> T / conspirators ac^ainst Julius Oaesar. Decius Brutus, Ligarius, | "' ° Metellus Cimber, Cinna, ' Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. Artemidorus, a sophist of Cnidos. A Soothsayer. Cinna, a poet. Another Poet. LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Gato, and Volumnius ; friends to Brutus and Cassius. Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius ; servants to Bi-utus, PiNDARUS, servant to Cassius. Calphurnia, wife to Csesar. Portia, wife to Brutus. Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, ^c. SCENE, — during a great part of the Play, at Rome ; afterwards al Sardis ; and near Philippi. JULIUS C^SAR. 319 ACT I. SCENE L— Rome. A Street. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. Flftv. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you home ; le 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 ? 1st 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 ? ^nd 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 directly. ^nd Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe con* Bcience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Mar. What trade, thou knave, thou naughty knave, what trade ? 2nd Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that ? Mend n^ thou saucy fellow ? 2nd Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 2nd Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl : I meddle with no tradesman's matters. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod up n neats-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 ? 2nJ 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 ! O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew you not Pompey ? ]\Iany a time and oft Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements. To towers and Vv^indows, 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 : A nd w hen you saw his chariot but appear. Have you not made an universal shout, 320 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. That Tiber 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, Tb.at comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ? Be gone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Pray to the gods to intermit the plague That needs must light on this ingratitude. Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Into the channel, till the lowest stream Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [KxU CVizeiM 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 ? You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. Flav. It is no matter ; let no images Be hung with Caesar'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. [EoceurU. SCENE II.— The same. A public Place. Enter, in procession, with music, C^sar ; Antony, for the course ; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd following ; among them a Soothsaver. Sooth. Caesar. CcBS, Who is it in the press, that calls on me ? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music. Cry, Caesar : speak ; Cgesar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. C(ES. What man is that 'J Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. C<£S. Set him before me, let me see his face. Cas. Fellow, come from the throng : Look upon CaBsar. C(BS. What say'st thou to me now ? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. JULIUS CJiSAR. 321 C(cs. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass. [Exeunt all but Brutus ajul Cassvus 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 Ot that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; I'll leave you. Cas. Brutus, I do observe you nov^r of late : I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And show of love, as I was wont to have : 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 griev'd ; (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 h uried 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. 'Tis just : 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 Cassar,) speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers w^ould you lead me, Cassiu^ 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. 322 J5HAKSPEARIAN READER. And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus : Were 1 a common laugher, or did use To stale 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. [Flomish aiid shcvf Bru, What means this shouting ? I do fear, the 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 well : — 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 troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Caesar said to me, Barest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood. And swim to yonder point 1 — Upon the word, Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in, And bade liim follow : so, 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 we could arrive the point propos'd, Caesar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so, from tlie waves of Tiber Did I the tir'd Caesar : And this man ►s now become a god ; and Cassius rs A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Caesar carelessly but nod on him JULIUS CJSSAR. 323 He had a lever when he was in Spain, And, when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shalce : 'tis true, tliis god did shalvC. His coward lips did from their color fly ; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the worldj 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 me some di'ink, Titinius, As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, A\nd bear the palm alone. [Shout. FlourUh. Bru. Another general shout ! I do believe, that these applauses are For some new honors that are heap'd on CaBsar. Cas. 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 Ceesar. Shoul 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 sham'd Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was fam'd 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 ? 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 ; \Vliat you would work me to, I have some aim ; 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, Be any further mov'd. What you have said, f will consider ; what you have to say, I will with patience hea: : and find a time 15 8*24 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Both meet to hear, and answer, such high thinga. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this ; Brutus had rather be a villager, Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. Cas. I am glad, that my weak words ilave struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. Re-enter C^sar, and Jiis Train. Bru. The games are done, and Casar is returning. Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleevft • 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 Cesar's brow. And all the rest look like a chidden train : Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero Looks with such ferret 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. Cccs. Antonius. Ant. Caisar. Cccs. Let me liave men about me that are fai ; 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. Cccs. '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 v/hat is to be fear'd. Than what I fear, for always I am Ceesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. ^Exeunt Cesar and his Train. Casca stays behina Casca You puU'd me by the cloak ; Would ou speak with me ? JFLIUS CaESAR. 325 Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, Vliat CaBsar looks so sad ? Casca. Why you were with him, were you not ? Bru. T should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him: and being offered nim, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus ; and then thu people fell a' shouting. Bru. What was the second noise for ? Casca. Why, for that too. Cas. They shouted thrice ; What was the last cry for ? Casca. Why, for that too. Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ? Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by tlirice, every time gentler than other ; and at every putting by, mine honest neiglibors shouted. Cas. Who offer'd 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 manner of it : it was mere foolery. I did not mark it. T saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets , — and, as I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my think- ing, 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 a third time ; he put it the third time by : and still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped their chapped hands, and threw up their sweaty night- caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath, because Csesar re- fused the crown, that it had almost choked CaBsar ; for he swooned, and fell down at it. Cas. But, soft, I pray you : What ? Did Caesar swoon ? Casca. He fell down in the market-place, ard foamed at mouth, and was speechles" Bru. 'Tis very lil?^ : he hath the falling-sickness. Cas. No, CcBsar 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, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use 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 perceived the com- mon herd was glad he refused the crown, he pluck'd me ope his doublet, and offered them his throat to cut — an I had been a man of any occupation, I would have taken him at a word — and so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said. If he had done, oi said, any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Br2i. And after that, he came, thus sad. away ? 326 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Casca. Ay. Cas. Did Cicero say any thin^ ? Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. Cas. To what effect ? Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the facs again : But those, that understood, him, smiled at one another, and cshook their heads : but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. 1 could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavins, for pulling Bcarfs 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 witb 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 iinnei worth the eating. Cas. Good ; I will expect you. Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. {Exit Casua. Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ? Re was quick mettle, when he went to school. Cas. So is he now, in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, 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 : To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I 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. \^Exil BRUXtj* Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, Thy honorable metal may be wrought From that it is dispos'd : Therefore, 'tis meet That noble minds keep ever with their likes : For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd ? Cffisar doth bear me hard : But he loves Brutus If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, He should not humor 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, Cajsar's ambition shall be glanc'd at : And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ; For we will ahake him or worse days endure. [ Exix. JULIUS CiESAR. 321 ACT II. Crssius writes certain anonymous papers to Brutus, instigating liim tf.' join witli tin aouspirators ; these are secretly conveyed by Cinna, and are found by Bru'-s. In «-he morning, tlie wiiole of the conspiratorr., headed by Cassius, repa»» *.o Brntns, tc Or^c their solicitations personally. SCENE.— T/ie same. Bmtus's Orchard. Enter Bkutus. 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 ? Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : When it is lighted, come and call me here. Luc. I will, my lord. ^xii Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him, But for the general. He would be crown'd : — How that miglit 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 from power : And to speak truth of Caesar, I have not knovvn when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face : But when he once attains the utmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, liooks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend : So C8Bsar ma*y ; 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 : .\nd therefore think him as a serpent's egg, Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous ; And kill him in the shell. 828 SHAKSPl A.RIAN READER. Re'Cnter Lucius. Luc. The taper burneth 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 He there, when I went to bed. Bju. Get you to bed again, it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ? Luc. I know not, sir. Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. Luc. I w^ill, sir. [ExU Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air. Give so much light, that I may read by them. [Opens the lette-, and reads. Brutus, thou slcefst ; mvake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, cf-c. Speak, strike, redress ! Brutus, thou sleepht ; awake, Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. Shall Rome, cf*c. Thus must I piece it out ; Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What 1 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 To speak, and strike ? O Rome ! I make thee promise, If the redress will follow, thou receiv'st Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! Re-enter Lucius. Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. [KnocJc 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, 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 ?f 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 nluck'd about their ears. JULIUS C^SAR. 32U A.nd naif tneir 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 ! O 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, conspiracy ! Hide it in smiles and affability : For if thou put thy native semblance on, Not Erebus itself were dim enough To hide thee from prevention. 'Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius. Cinna, Metellus Cimber, iiid Trebonius. Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you ? Bru. 1 have been up this hour ; aw^ake, all night. Know I these men, that come along with you ? Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here, 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 ? Give me your hands all over, one by one, Cas. And let us swear our resolution. Bru. No, not an oa'h : 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, coimtrymcii, What need we any spur but our own cause, To urge us io redrecs ? Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him? r think, he will stand very strong with us. Casca. Let us not leave him out. 330 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Ciu No, by no means. Met. O let us have him ; for his silver hairs Will pnrchase us a good opinion, And buy men's voices to commend our deeds. Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with him : 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 Cssar ? Cas. Decius, well urg'd : — I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well belov'd of CsBsar, Should outhve CsBsar : We shall find of him A shrewd contriver ; and, you know his means, If he improve 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 Cassiua, To cut the head oflT, and then hack the limbs ; Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards : For Antony is but a hmb of CsBsar. Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Caesai , And in the spirit of men there is no blood : O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirii, And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods. Not hew him as a carcass 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 make 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 oflT. 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 la to himself; take thought, and die for Caesar : A.nd that were much he should ; for he is given To sports, to wildness, and much company. Treh. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. \C.fx:'k strikes Bru. Peace, count the clock. JULIUS C^SAR. 331 Cas. The clock hath stricken three. Treb. 'Tis time to part. Cas. But it is doubtful yet, Whether Csssar 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 of this night, And the persuasion of his auguries, 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 hiir. Bru. By the eighth hour : Is that the uttermost ? Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. Cas. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave you, Brutus .— And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans. Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and 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 Brutus, Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. Which busy care draws in the brains of men : Therefore thou sleep'st po sound. Enter Portia. Por. Brutus, my lord ! Bru. 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, Bi utus, Stole from my room : And yesternight, at supper, You sudden.y arose, and walked about, Musing and sighing, with your arms across : And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You star'd uoon me with ungentle looks : 3y: 834 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Cas. He wish'd, to-day our enterprise might thrive, ! fear, our purpose is discovered. Bru. Look, how he makes to Ceesar : Mark him. Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, Cassias 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, He draws Mark Antony out of the way. [Exeunt Antony arid Trebonius. Caesar and l\t Senators take. their seats. Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Cassar. Bru. He is addressed : press near, and second him. Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. Cces. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss, That Caesar, and his senate, must redress ? Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant CaB^ar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart : — ' [Kneehi)^ CcLS. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 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 With that which melteth fools ; I mean sweet words, Low crooked curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished ; If thou dost bend, and pray, and iawn, 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. C(cs. What, Brutus ! Oas. Pardon, Caesar : Cassar pardon; As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. C(cs. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you , S I could pray to move, prayers would move me : JTIIUS CvESAR. 333 But 1 am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-rix'd, and resting quality, There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'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 approbpnsive ; Vet, in the number, I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshak'd of motion : 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, O Caesar. Cccs. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympus ? Dec. Great CaBsar, Cccs. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? Casca. Speak, hands, for me. [Casca siahs C^sar in the neck. C^sar catches Iwld ^ of lixi arm. He is then stabbed by several other Conspirator h^ and at last by Marcus Brutus. Cccs. 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 with 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 Trebonius. Cas. Where is Antony ? Tre. Fled to his house amai'd: Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, As it were doomsday. S36 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 His 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, [-et'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 Cajsar bleed in sport. That now on Pompey's basis hes along. No worthier than the dust ? Cas. So oft as that shall be. 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 ? A friend of Antony'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 : Cajsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : Say, I loved Brutus, and I honor him : Say, I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and lov'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 Romtin | [ never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, Depart untouch'd. JULIUS L'^SAR. 337 Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit Servant. Bru. I know that we shall have him well to frit nd. 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 ull thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure ? — Fare thee well. — [ 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 ricb With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die : No place will please me so, no mean of deati:^ As here by Ceesar, and by you cut oflE", The choice and master spirits of this age. Bru. O Antony ! beg not your dea.th 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 (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your pan, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts. Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man'i3. In 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, VVhy I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. Have thus proceeded. Ant. I aoubt 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 MetcUus ; 338 SKAKSPEARIAN READETl. Vours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; — • Though last, not least in lore, yours, good TreborUui 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, O, '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 ! — Cas. Mark Antony, Ant. Pardon me, Caius Caesius: 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 fall 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 may Produce his body to the market-place ; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. Cas. Brutus, a word wi h you, — You know not what you do ; Do not consent, [A tide 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, Caesar 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 your Caesar's body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, But speak all good ycc can devise of CjEsar; JULIUS C^SAR. 339 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. \_Exeiint Brutus and Cassius, who levy powers to make war on the triumvirate. SCENE. — Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near JSardis. Drum. — Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers : TiriNiu* and PiNDARUS meeting them. Bru. Stand here. Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 346 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. JBt-m. What now, Lucilius? is Casslus near? Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his master. [Pindarus ghes a leticr to Brutus Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, 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 quarter'd ; The greater part, the horse in general, Are come with Cassius. [Ma'ch within Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — ^ March gently on to meet him. Enter Cassius, and Soldiers Cas. Stand, ho ! Bi'u. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along- Wilhin. Stand. Within. Stand. Within. Stand. Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. Bru. Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies ? And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs ; And when you do theii Bru. Cassius, be content. Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : — Before the eyes of both our armies here. Which should perceive nothing but love from us. JULIUS C^SAR. 347 Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away , Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, And I will give you audience. Cas. Pindarus, Bid our commanders lead their charges off A little from this ground. Bi'u. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunl SCENE III.— Wilkin the Tent of Bruins. Lucius aTid Titinius at some distance from it. Enter Brutus and Cassius. Cas, That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : "Vou have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; Wherem, 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 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 your 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 reinembcpr. 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 ms, ni not endure it : 3'-ou forget yourself, To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourseare appears to have invariably sought for the originals of his plots from •oarces within his reach. — The Italian novelists of his period furnished ample materias foi his purpose, but although there are traces to be found in the present Comedy, of incidents, which are evidently borrowed from these sources, yet even the industrious and acute re- searches of the critics cannot distinctly trace out the precise authorities, to which the Poet is indebted for the groundwork of this delightful Comedy. There is In this Drama, an under plot, — skilfully interwoven into the main subject, yet, in no degree necessary to the cnief action of the Play. The nature of our design, has in- duced the rejection of the comic incidents, which form the minor plot, so that we might incorjKJrate into our selections, the entire main story, with all its charming beautia. A fraceful and tou'iiing Poetry. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Orsino, Duke of Illyria. Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother to Viola. Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian. A sea captain, fnend to Viola. Valentine, Curio, gentlemen attending on the Duke.. Sir Toby Belch, uncle of Olivia. Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Malvolio, steward to Olivia. Fabian, Clown, servants to Olivia. Olivia, a rich Countess. Viola, in love with the Duke. Maria, Olivia's woman. Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other Attendants^ SCENE. — A City in Illyria ; rnd the Sea-coast near it. 356 SHAKSPEARIAN READER ACT I. SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Duke's Patace Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending, Duhe. If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 'J'he 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 liot 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 fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical. Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? Buke. . What, Curio ? Cur. The luiit Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have : when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought, she' purg'd the air of pestilence ; That instant was I turn'd 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 re.'urn this answer : The element itself, till seven years' heat. Shall not behold her face at ample view ; 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 fresh. And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Duke. O, 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 killM the flock of all afiections 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 ! — TWELFTH-NIGIIT. 351 Away before r.'C to sweet beds of flowers ; Love-thoughtiff lie rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeuftl, SCENE II.— T/:e Sea-coasL Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. Vio. W'j.'X country, friends, is this ? Cap. Illyria, lady. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria ? My bro^/ier he is in Elysium. Percharce, 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, A^'3■Ji•e yourself, after our ship did split, Whon you, and that poor number saved with you, f Jung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, I) lost 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 tliy speech serves for authority, . The hke of him. Know'st thou this country ? Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and bom, Not three hours' travel from this very place. Vio. Who governs here ? Cap. A noble duke, in natnro< As in his name. Vio. What is his name ? Cap. Orsino. Vio. Orsino ! T 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 abjured the company And siffht of men. 358 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Vio. O, 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 farm of my intent. I'll serve this duke ; Thou shalt present me as a page to him, It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit ; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be thou his page, and I your mute will be ; When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! Vio. I thank thee : Lead me on. [Exewtt. Viola, having disguised herself in male attire, obtains the situation of Page, in titt Duke's household, under the name of Cesario. A Room in the Duke's Palace. Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Val. If the Duke continue these favors towards 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 negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love : Is he inconstant, sir, in hia favors ? Val. No, believe me. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ? Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. Duke. Stand you awJjile 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 her; Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors. TWELFTH-NIGHT. i59 And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, Till thou have audience. Vio. Sure, my noble lord If she be so abandoned to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. B? clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What then i Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love ; Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith. it shall become thee well to act my woes ; She will attend it better in thy youth. Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. 1 tliink not so, my lord. Duke. Dear lad, believe it ; For tliey shall yet belie thy happy years, That say, thou art a man : Diana's Hp Is not more smooth, and rubious ; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound. And all is 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, — [AsjcZe.] — a barful strife : Whoe'er I woo, n yself would be his wife. [hceuTU The Lady Olivia, attended by her waiting woman Maria, and Malvolii) ler steward, fc informed that a messenger from llie Duke seeks her presence. SCENE V. Enter Olivia, Maria, and Malvolio. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ? Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing but madman : Fye on him I— [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 il:. — [Exit Malvolio.] — Now you see, sir. how your fooling grows old, and people dislike it. Re-enter INTalvglio. Mai Madam, yond, young fellow swears he \^ ill speak with you. 880 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. I told him you were sick ; he takes on him to understand so nnich, 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. on. Tell him, he shaL not speak with me. Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. OH. What kind of man is he ? Mai. Why, of mankind. Oli. What manner of man ? Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with you, will you, or no. Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he ? Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy He is very well-favored, and he speaks very shrewishly. Oli. Let him approach : Call in my gentlewoman. Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exii Re-enter Maria. Oli. 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 ? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your will ? 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 loath to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good beauties, let m.e sus- tain no scorn ; I am very comptible,* even to the least sinister usage. Oli. 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. Oli. 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 ? OH. 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. Oli. Come to what is important in't : I forgive you the praise. Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and *tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and allowed your approach, •ither to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, he * Accountable. TWELFTII-NIGHT. 361 gone; if you have reacon be brief: 'tis not that time of moon Viith me, to mal^e one in so skipping a dialogue. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. on. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your ofhce. 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. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ? what would you ? Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and wliat I would, are to your eara, divinity ; to any other's, profanation. Oli. Give us the place alone : we v^ill hear this 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. Oli, In his bosom ? In what chapter of his bosom ? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his heart. Oli. O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no more to say ? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate whh my face ? you are now out of your text : but we will draw the cur- tain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present : Is't not well done ? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all. Oli, 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and weathe*. 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 load these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy. Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will give out divera schedules of my beauty : It shall be inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, labelled to my will. Were you sent hither to oraiae me? Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; But, if you were the devil, you are fair. My lord and m.aster 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 tedrs, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. 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, free, learn'd, and variant, 362 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; He might liave 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 ? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house ; Write loyal cantons 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. OH. You might do much : What is your parentage 1 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : I am a gentleman. OH. Get you to your lord ; 1 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 me. Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady : keep your purse ; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love makes 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 OH. What is your parentage ? Above my fortunes, yet my state is ivell ; I 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 ? Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, With an invisible and subtle stealth. To creep in at mine eves. Well, let it be.— What, ho, Malvolio !— Re-enter Malvolio. Mai. Here, madam, at your service, OH. 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 : TWELFTH-NIGET. 363 if that the youth will come this way to-morrow, i.'h give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mai Madam, I will. \Exit. OH. 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 ; What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! [ Exit. ACT II. SCENE.— A Street. Enter Viola ; Malvolio following, Mai. V/ere not you even now with the countess Olivia ? Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have since arri red bul 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 lie n'^ver so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it 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 hei ; 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. [^Exil, Vio. I left no ring with her : What means this lady ? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her I She made good view of me ; indeed, so much. That, sure, methought, 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 enemy does much. How easy is it, for the proper-false In women's waxen hearts to set their form Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; For, such as we are made of, such we be. 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 ! As I am mas My state is desperate for my master's love As I am woman, now alas the day ! 564 SHAKSPEARIAN READEK. What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ? O time, thou must entangle this, not I ; It is too hard a kn.^t for me to untie. [Exit Viola becomes enamored of ;he Duke, and with exquisite delicacy describes her own feelings, while professing to narrate her sistei's stor)'. SCENE.— A Room m the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Viola, 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 krdship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it ? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool, that the lady Olivia's fathe! took much delight in : he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. \^Exit Curio. — 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 the 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 \n 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 v/ell, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. Or thy aflection cannot hold the bent : TWELFTH-NIGHT. 3(36 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 are so j To die, even when thoy to perfection grow ! Duke. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yond' 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 her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But if she cannot love you, sir ? Duke. I cannot be so answered, Vio. 'Sooth, but you mu^ 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 ansv/er'd ? 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. 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 ? Vio. Too well what love wonien to men may : 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 tier damask cheek: she pin'd in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy. She sat like patience on a monument. 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 ; — aad.yet I know not. — Sir, shall I to this lady ? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 8()U SHAKSPEARIAN READfcS To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, My love can give no place, bide no denay.* ACT III. Olivia, and Viola. According to the Duke's instructions, Viola again presents herself to Olivia ba» Snd« the lady unwilling to listen to Orsino's suit. The cause is explained in the folio ^ii|( icene. Oil. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble serv.' ee. OIL What is your name ? Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. OIL My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment : You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours : Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. OIL For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than filled with me ! Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf : — OIL 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, • OIL 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 : Under 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 ? Have 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 Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my poor heart ; So let me hear you speak. Vio. I pity you. OIL That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a step ; for 'tis a vulgar proo!, That very oft we pity enemies. OIL Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again. O world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! * Denial. TWELFTH-NIGHT. 367 If one sliould bo a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion, than the wolf? \Ci kK strikes The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — Be iiot afraid, good youth, T 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-ho : Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ! You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? OIL Stay: f pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. OIL If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 0>i. I would you were as I would have you be ! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, I w'lr.h it might ; for now I am your fool. Oil. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful In th? contempt and anger of his lip ! A mi.fd'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, honor, truth, and every thing, I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Do 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, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that r.o 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. OIL Yet come again :*for thou, perhaps, may'st move That heart, which now abhors, to like his lo^e. [Exeunt. ACT V. Sebastian, the twin-brother of Viola, is saved from the wreck in which he believes hh sister was lost. Having business at Orsino's court, he anives there accompanied by hii friend Antonio. He is supposed to be the exact counterpart of his sister, as she appears, tvhen disguised as the Page. In passing near Olivia's house, he is encountered by a servant of the lady's, who has been sent to request Viola will come and speak with Olivia. He denies all knowledge of the lady, but Olivia enters, and believing him to be Viola, entreats him to enter the house: he consents, — and the lady so charms him, that 308 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. be y.eltls s. willing assent to her proposals of immediate marriage. The Duke still [lersisl mg in his passion for Olivia, determines to seek the lady in person, accompanied bj Viola. On reaching Olivia's house, he is met by Antonio, Sebastian's friend, who accosts Viola, supposing her to be Sebastian. The Duke, supposing the man to be in- sane, indignar\tly rebukes him. — Olivia enters from the house, and seeing Viola, addressai her as her lately married husband. Duke. Here comes the coimtess; now heaven walks on earth. — * But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; But more of that anon. Take him aside. on. 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, OIL What do you say, Cesario ? Good my lord, Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. OH. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine car. As howling after music. Duke. Still so cruel ? OH. Still so constant, lord. Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? on. Even what it please my lord, that shall become hiin. Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. Like 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 fatlh, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favor, Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; But this your minion, whom, I know, you k)ve, 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 mischief; 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."^ [Follomng OIL 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 shall love wife; TWELFTH-NIGHT. ^09 If 1 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 AttenilaiV 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 I. Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear. That makes thee strangle thy propriety : Fear not, Cesario, take thy fo»tunes 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 contract of eternal bond of love, Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen'd 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 ! w^hat wilt thou bo When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, That thine 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 j Elold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. Enter Sebastian. Duke. One face, one habit, and two persons j 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. 370 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Ant. Sebastian are you? Seb, Fear'st thou that, Antonio 5 Ant. How have you made division of yourself ? — An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? Oil. 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 Vicla. What countryman ? what name ? what parentage ? Vio. Of Messaline : 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. 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 her birth Had number'd thirteen years. Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! He finished, indeed, in 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 mistook : [ To Ouv lA. But nature to her bias drew in that, You would have been contracted to a maid ; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd. 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 3'et the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck : Boy, thou hast said te me a thousand times, [ To Vkk Thou never should'st love woman like to me. Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; And all those swearings keep as true in soul. TWELFTH-NIGHT. 371 As doth that orbed continent the fire That severs day from night. Duke. Give me thy hund ; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, Ilatli my maid's garments : he upon some action, fg now in durance : at Malvolio's suit, A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. OIL He shall enlarge him. My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To thi-nk me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and al 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 mueh against the mettle of your sex. So far beneatn 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. Duke. A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls — Meantime, sweet sister. We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come j For so you shall be, while you are a man ; But, when in other habits you are seen, Orsiao's mistress, and his fancy's queen, Ejrmjsi ir MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Tlie outline of this Play is taken from a novel of Cinthio, the Italian novelist and tragic author, to whom Shakspeare was likewise indehted ibr the story of Othello. Measure for Measure, presents us with one of the most perfect of our author's female tharacters in the person of Isabella. Dr. Blake says, of this beautiful creation, that * Piety, spotless purity, tenderness combined with firmness, and an eloquence the most per- luasive, unite to render her singularly interesting and attractive." Of the general excellence of this Drama, Mr. Verplanck justly remarks, that " there is no composition, of the same length, in the language, which has left more of its expressive phrases, its moral aphor isms, its brief sentences, ciowded with meaning, fixed on the general menaory, and em- aodied by daily use in every form of popular eloquence, argument, and literature." Oar extracts, though necessarily brief, will be found to embody the pnncipaJ striking ^auties of this truly impressive composition. PERSONS REPRESENTED. TicENTio, Duhe 0/ Vienna. Angelo, lord deputy in the Duke's absence. EscALUS, an ancient lord, joined with Angelo in the d'putation. 3laudio, a young gentleman. Lucio, a fantastic. Two other like gentlemen. Varrius, a gentleman, servant to the Duke Provost. Thomas, Peter, two friars. A Justice. Elbow, a simple constable. Froth, a foolish gentleman. Clown, servant to JSIrs. Over-done. Abhorson, an executioner. Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. IsABETXA, sister to Claudio Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Juliet, beloved by Claudio. Francisca, a nun. Mistress Over-done, Itords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE.— Vienna. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 373 The Duke of Vienna, determines to examine in person, the condition of his people. To do this effectually he purposes to resign, for a period, his government into the keeping if Lord Angelo, and Escalus, and in disguise to mix with his subjects and learn theii ictual condition, and ascertain whether the laws are faithfully administered. ACT 1. SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. Duke. Escalus, — Escal. My lord. Duke. Of government the properties to unfold. Would seem in me to 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, you 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. — Ca.. hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [ Exit an Attendant 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, drest him with our love ; And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power : What think you of it ? Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo sudi ample grace and honor, It is lord Angelo. Enter Angelo. 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 the 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 ; Sot 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 touchM. 374 SHAKSl'EARIAN READEE. But to fine 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 : — Morlal'Uy and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart : Escalus, Though first in question, is the secondary : Take thy commission. Ang. Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it. Duke. No more evasion : We have vf\\h. 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 yoa, As time and our concernings shall importune, How it goes with us ; and do look to know What doih befall you here. So, fare you well : To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions. Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. Diike. JNIy haste may not admit it ; Nor need you, on mine honor, have to do With any scruple : your scope is as mine own : So to enforce, or qualify the laws As to your soul seems gjod. 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 ! Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in liappiness. Duke. I thank you : Fare you well. ^ExiL Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you ; and it concerns mo 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 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 375 And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. Escal. I'll wait upon your honor. [^Exeunt The Duke proceeifs to a Monastery in the city, and assumes the disj^tiise of a Fria SCENE.— A Monaslery. Enter Duke, and Friar Thomas. Diike. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought D-glieve 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. IMay your grace speak of it ? Diike. My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever lov'd the life removed ; And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, Where youth, and costs, and witless bravery keeps. I have deliver'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 lawa (The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep Even hke an o'ergrown 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 on 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 876 SHAKSPZ&RIAN READER. When evil deeds have their permissive pass, And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, ray fatlior, T have on Angelo impos'd 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 brother of your order, Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ytlioe Supply me 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, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, Tf power change purpose, what our seemers le [Ejccunt ACT 11. Angelo assumes the government, with rigid seva.hy ; hi jails intu enactment, old laws, long disused, and makes offenders pay the utmo-st penalty for their liansgressions. Claudio, a profligate young gentleman, is condeirmcd to death, nhdci' one of these re- vived laws. He prevails on his sister Isabella, a young novice, to leave the cloistei, snd go in person to Angelo, and endeavor to obtain a pardon from the Lord Deputy. SCENE.— A hall in Angelo's House. Enter Angelo, and Escalus. Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terrcr. 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, (Whom I believe to be most strait 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 sometime 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 tc fall. I not deny, MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 377 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 justicfc, That justice seizes. What know the laws, That thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant, The jewel that we lind, 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 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-morrov7 morning : Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exli Ftovoei 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. SCENE. — Another Room in tlie 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. Enter Angelo. Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost ? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow ? Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? 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 ofSce, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar'd. Re-enter Servant. Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, Desires access to you , 378 SHAKSPEAEIAN READER. 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 Enter Isabella. Prov. Save your honor ! Ang. Stay a little while. — I To Isab.] — You are welcomft' What's your will ? Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honor. Please but your honor hear mc. Ang. Well, what's your suit ? 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 At war, 'twixt will, and will not. Ang. Well ; the matter ? Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it ! Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done : Mine was the very cipher of a function. To find the laults, whose fine stands in record. And let go by the actor. Isab, O just, but severe law ! I had a brother then. — 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 ? 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 sentenc'd ; 'tis too late. 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 sword, 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 Hke him ; But he, like you, would not have been so stem Ang. Pray you, begone. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. i379 Isah. 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. 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 tlie 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 bo thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. Isah. To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him, spare nim : He's not prepar'd for death ! Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 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. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept : Those many had not dar'd to do that evil. If the first man that did the edict infringe. Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake ; Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, (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, Cut, where they live, to end. Isab. Yet show some pity. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice For 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 sentence; And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet For every pelting, petty officer BdO SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but thunder. — . Merciful heaven ! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle ; — 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. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ; But, in the less, foul profanation. That in the captain's but a choleric word. Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ? Isab. Because authority, though it err Wlq others, riath 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. \_Aside.'\ She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well, Isah. Gentle my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-morrow. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, tum bj»cH, Ang. How ! bribe me ? Isal). Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall sNrr with yea. 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 sunrise : prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. Ang. Well : come to mA To-morrow. Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe ! At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordshi -^ '^ Ang, At any *^»me 'fore noon. Isab. Save your Ikhot ! [£Jxet/fU MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 381 ACT III. Isabella visita Angelo, at the lime appointed, and renews her suit. The apparently re;. KING JOHN. King John, is the firs: of that series of Dramas, written by our Poel to illustrate some trf the most important events in English history. The old chroniclers furnished him with abundant material for his labors ; but in this Play he has taken a chronicle historical Drama, entitled "The Troublesome Raigne of John, King of England,* and by his incomparable powers of transmutation, he has presented us with a vivid life-stirring picture of the eventful reign of this, one of the weakest monarchs that ever •wayed the sceptre of England. The clijf interest in this Drama, is centred in the events connected with the Lady Constance and her son Arthur ; we have therefore confined our selections to the scenes in WibioJs th«ir mournful history is portrayed. PERSONS REPRESENTED. King John. Prince Henry, his son ; afterwards King Heniy III. Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, son of Geffrey, late Duke 9/Bre- tagne, the elder brother of King John. William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl of Essex, chief justiciary of England. William Longs word. Earl of Salisbury. Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the King. Robert Faulconbridge, son of Sir Robert Faulconbridge. Philip Faulconbridge, Afs half-brother, illegitimate son to King Richard the First. James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. Fetex, of Pomfret, a prophet. Philip, King 0/ France. Lewis, the Dauphin. Archduke of Austria. Cardinal Pandulth, the Pope's leg;ate. 38C SHAKSPEARIAN READER. MelCxNj a French lord. Chatiluon, ambassador from France to King John. Elinor, the widow of King Henry II., and mother of King Johr Constance, mother to Arthur. Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King of Castile, and niece tf. King John. Lady Faulconbridge. Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds, Officers., Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. SCENE. — Sometimes in England, and sometim s in France. ACT III. We commence onr extracts at the period when King John invades France with a nnmerous army, to chastise Philip for espousing the cause of Prince Arthur, the rightful heir to the English throne. The contending armies of England and France, meet before the city of Angiers ; and after a battle, in which each party claims the victory, a peace is declared between the Sovereigns, to be cemented by the marriage of the French King's son, to Blanch, the niece of John. Philip further engages to break his league with the Lady Constance, and her son. The indignation and grief of the widowed mother, is beautifully depicted in tko fo'lowing scene. SCENE.^Angters. The French King's Tent. Enter Constakce, Arthur, and Salisbury. Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace ! False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends ! Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those provinces ? 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, For I am sick, and capable of fears ; Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of feare • A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; A woman, naturally born to fears ; And though thou now confess, thou didst but jes*. 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 ? KING JOHN. 3^7 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 o'er his bounds ? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ? Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, Tliat give you cause to prove my saying true. Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow. 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 ! O, boy, then where art thou 1 France friend with England ! what becomes of me ?~ Fellow, begone ! I cannot brook thy sight ; This news hath made thee a most ugly man. Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, But spoke the harm that is by others done ? Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is. As it makes harmful all that speak of it. Arih. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, were griir Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains, Lame, foolish, crook'd, swart, 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 may'st with lilies boast. And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O ! She is corrupted, chang'd, 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. Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone, And leave these woes alone, which I alone. Am bound to under-bear. Sal. Pardon me, madam, I may not go v^ithout you to the kings. Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thec I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. To me, and to the state of my great grief, Let kings assemble, for my grief's so great, 08B SHAKISPEARIAN READER. That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can 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, Elinq-s., Faul- CONBRIDGE. AUSTRIA, and Attendants. K, Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed day, Ever in France shall be kept festival : To 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, Shall never see it but a holyday. Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Risirig 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, neither, turn this day out of the week ; This day of shame, oppression, perjury : This day, all things begun come to ill end ; Yet, faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause To curse the fair proceedhigs 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 vigDr 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 perjured 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 'tvvixt these perjur'd kings ! Hear me, O, hear me ! Aust. Lady Constance, peace. CovM. War ! war ! no peace ! peace is to me a war. O liymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward ; Thou little Vfiliant, 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 cold-blooded slave. KING JOHN. 38^ Hast tnoa 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 flill 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 mc I Faul. And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. Faul, And hang a calfs-skin on those recreant limbs. K. John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself. Enter Pandulfh. K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of 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, rehgiously demand. Why thou against the church, our holy mother, kSo wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop Of Canterbury, 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 ki^-^g ? 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 Englai d, 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, 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 Christendom 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 j(ed. This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 390 SHAKSPEARIAN READER, Yet I, alont;, alone do me oppose Against the pope, and count his friends my foes, Pand. Tlien 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 an heretic ; And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Canoniz'd, and worship'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 awhile I 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 ; i\.nd raise the power of France upon his head, Jnless he do submit himself to Rome. Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go thy hand Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ? Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ? K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. I'his royal hand and mine are newly knit : And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, So newly joined in love, so strong in both. Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ? Play fast and loose with faith ? 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 bed Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity ? O 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 bless'd To do your pleasure, and continue friends, Paiid. All form is formless, order orderlcss. Save wnat is opposite to England's love. KING JOHN. 301 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 raay'st 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 makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath. Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; That is, to be the champion of our church ! 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, fiat rebellion ! Faul Will 't not be ? Will not a calf 's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? Lew. Father, to arms ! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? Against the blood that thou hast married ? husband, hear me ! — 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 upholds, His honor : O, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor ! Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. When such profound respects do pull you on. Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head, K. Phi. Thou shalt not need : England, I'll fall from thee. Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy ! K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, adieu ? Which is the side that I must go withal ? 1 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 may'st win ; Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose 392 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Father, I may not wisli 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 together. — \^Exii Faul. France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; A rage, whose heat hath this condition, That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire : Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. K. John. No more than he that threats. — To arms let's hie ! [Exeunt A battle ensues between the French and EngHsh forces, and Arthur is taken prisOD6l by King John. SCENE. — Plains near Anglers. Alarums ; Excursions ; Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Ar- thur, Faulconbridge, 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 grief. K. John. Cousin, — [to Faulconbridge.] — away for England haste before : And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots ; imprison'd angels Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace IVTust by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in its utmost force. Faul. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray (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. [J^xz7 Faulconbridge Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. {She takes Arthur aside, K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her crpditor, KING, JOHN. 398 And with ad-vantage means to pay thy love : And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this Dosom, 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 asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. [ had a thing to say, — But let it go : The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, A-ttended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. To give me audience : — If the midnight bell Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eye^. And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes ;) Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes. Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words , Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, I 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 to my act, By heaven, I'd do't. K. John. Do not I know, thou would'et 1 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, Diat he shdl not offend your majesty. K. John. Death. Hub. My lord ? K. John. A grai'3. 394 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Hvh. 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, go : Flubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt SCENE.— TTie French King's Tent. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and Attendants. K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado of convicted sail Is scatter'J 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 ? Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain : And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ? Lew. What he ha^Ji 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 praiaa, So we could find some pattern of our shame. Enter Constakce. Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, In the vile prison of afflicted breath : — I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Const. Lo, now ! now see the issue of your peace ! K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle Constance I Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress. But that which ends all counsel, true redress. Death, death : — O amiable, lovely death ! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night. Thou hate and terror to prosperity. And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 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, will not, having breath to cry : — KING JOHN. ^ 895 O, that my ton^fue were in tlie 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, NV'hich scorns a modern invocation. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow, Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; r am not mad : this hair I tear is mine ; My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : I am not mad ; — 1 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 deUver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son ; I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses : Sticking together in calamity. Const. To England, if you will. K. Phi. Bind up your haira. Const. Yes, that I will ; And wherefore will I dj ilt I tore them from their bonds ; and cried aloud. 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 neaven • If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; For. since the birth of Cain, the first male child. To him that did but yesterday suspire. There was not such a gracious creature bom But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. And chase the native beauty from his cheek. And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; And so he'll die ; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 1 shall not know him : therefore never, never Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. 18 398 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 out his vacant garments with his form ; Then, have 1 reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 1 could give better comfort than you do. I will not keep this form upon my head, [Tearing off her head-dresi When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. [Exit. ACT lY. Arthur is conveyed to England, wliere he is imprisoned in Northampton Castis Huberi is appointed his keeper, with insiruetions from King John to find some means secretly, to deprive the young Prince of his life. SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle. Enter Hubert, and Tico Attendants. Huh. Heat me these irons hot ; and, look thou stand Within the arras : when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : And bind the boy, which you shall find with me. Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. \st Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : Look to't. [Exeunt Attendaiitg Young lad, come forth ; 1 have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Arih. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on m e ! Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Voung gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, So I were out of prison, ana kent sheep, KING JOHN. 397 I should be as merry as the day is long- ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me : tie is afraid of me, and I of him : [s 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 be sudden and dispatch. [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 you 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 vou ? Hub. _ ' And I will. Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but acha r knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it for me,) And 1 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 grie^ ? Or, what good love may I perform for you ? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, Ajid call it cunning ; Do, an if you will : If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill. Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it ; And with hot irons must I, burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it i The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Anproaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. 398 SIlAKSrEARIAN READER. 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, Ar.d told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. [Slamys Re-enier Attendants, wilh cords, irons, cf-t'. Do as 1 bid you do. Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are oni, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 1 will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. Nor look upon the iron angerly : Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you. Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone v/ith him. 1st 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 yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy ? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Vour 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 woulc not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. KING JOHN. 39& Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd extremes : See else yourself; There is no mahce in this 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 dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office : only you do lack 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 : Yet T am sworn, and I did purpose, boy. With this same very iron to burn them out. Arlh. O, now you look like Hubert ! You were disguised. Hub. Peace : no more. Adiou. 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. Arlh. O heaven ! — ^I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me. Much danger do I undergo for thee. [I^xeuni King John is crowned the second time, in hopes to give assnraBce, by this double coronation, of his title to the English crown. The Nobles and People are disaffected, and Philip breaks the league, and prepares to invade England. John, alarmed at his position, repents of his conduct towards young Arthur, and accuses his confidant, Hubert, with tempting him to accede to the murder. SCENE II.— A Room of State in the Palace. Enter King John, croumed; Pembroke, Salisbury, and vthe^ Lords The KixXG takes his State. K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pern. This once again, but that your highness pk-as'd, Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 100 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. With any long'd-for change, or better state. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before. To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooih the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. Pern. But 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 tbis, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured ; And, like a shitted wind unto a sail. It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; Startles and frights consideration ; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Pern. When workmen strive to do better than wcli. They do confound their skill in covetousness : And, oftentimes, excusing of a foult. Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; As patches, set upon a httle breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault. Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this efl^ect, before you were new-crown'd. We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highneas 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 : Meantime, 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 thesG To sound 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 KIx\G JOHN. 4.01 The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich advantage of good exercise ? That the time's enemies m.ay 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, That whereupon our weal, on you depending. Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. K.John. Let it be so ; I do commit this 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 Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 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 : — Great 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. Pern. 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. K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me 1 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. Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee, And find the inheritance of this poor child, His little kingdom of a forced grave. That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while ! This must not be thus borne : tliis will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. {^Rjceunt Lorda K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent ; 402 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 ? Mtss. From France to England. — Never such a power For any foreign preparation, Was levied in the body of a land ! The copy of your speed is learned by them ; For, when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings come, that t"hey are all arriv'd. K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been druisk? 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 tongue I idly heard ; If true, or false, I know not. K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd My discontented peers ! — my mother dead ? Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen to-nigkll Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wondrous motion. K. John. Five moons ? Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets, Do prophesy upon it dangerously ; Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear ; And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist j Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action. With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyce. I saw a srTiicn stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth swallowing a tailor's nev»'s ; 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 warHke French, That were embattailled and rank'd in Kent : Another lean unwash'd artificer Cuts ofiT his tale, and talks cf Arthur's deail KING JOHN. i03 K. Jolin. W hy seek'st thou to possess me with these fears ? Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's deaUi ? Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub, Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke 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 frowns More upon humor than advis'd respect. 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 ! Hadst 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 miud : 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, or made a pau.se When I spake darkly what I purposed ; Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face. And bid me tell my tale in express words : Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break 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 brav'd, 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 civic tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine, i04 SIIAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 notion 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. K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers. Throw this report on their incensed rage. And make them tame to their obedience ! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more liideous than thou art. O, answer not ; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste : I conjure thee but slow^ly ; run more fast. [ExeitiiL SCENE III.— The same. Before the Castle. Enter Arthur on the walls, 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 doion me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies Enter Pembroke, Salisbury and BiGcr. 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. E?iter Faulconbredge. Paul. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd lords ! The king by me, requests your presence straight. KING JOHN. 405 Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honors, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst. Faul. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, weie best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Faul. But there is little reason in your grief ; Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Faul. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? [Seeing Artiutb Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! Tlie 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 too precious-princely for a grave. Sal Sir Richard, what think you ? 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, Form such another ? this is the very top. The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke, That ever wall-eye'd wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the tears of soft remorse. Pern. All murders past do stand excus'd in thi& '. And this so sole, and so unmatchable. Shall give a holiness, a purity. To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Faul. It is a cursed 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 ? — 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 holy vow, Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight. Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 406 SHAKSPEARIAN KEADF.R. Till I have set a glory to this hand, By giving it the worship of revenge. Pern. Big- Our souls religiously confxrm thy vi^orrfs. Enter Hubert. Huh ' Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking yo« Arinnr doth live ; the king hath sent for you. Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! Hub. I am no villain. Sal. Must I rob the law ? \^Drawing his nttml Faul. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I 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 defence ; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ? 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. Faul. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Faul. Thou wert 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 betime. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge ? 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 eyes, For villany is not without such rheum ; And he long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse and innocency. Away, with me, all you w^hose souls abhor The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house : F'or I am stifled with the smell of sin. Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there ! Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. \ Exeunt Lords KING JOHN. 407 FauL Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this fair mirk ? l-ieyond 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. Paul Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; Thou art stained as black — nay, nothing is so black As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. Huh. Upon my soul, Faul. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted. Will serve to strangle thee ; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on ; or would'st thou drown thvself, Put but a httle water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean. Enough to stifle such a villain up. I do suspect thee very grievously. Huh. I left him well. Faul. Go, bear him in thine arras. — 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 scramble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty. 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 eminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest. — Bear away that child. And follow me with speed ; I'll to the king : A thousand businesses are brief in hand, And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exewii ACT V. SCENE \.—The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter King John, Pandulph witli the crown, and Attendants. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. i08 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Parid. Take again {^Giving John the '^'own. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Yoxix sovereign greatness and authority. K. John. Mow keep your holy word : go meet the French ; And from his holiness use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are infiam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt ; Our people quarrel with obedience ; Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of mistemper'd humor Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, That present medicine must l)e rainister'd. Or overthrow incurable ensues. Pand. Jt was my breath that blev/ this tempest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope ; But, since-you are a gentle convertite, My tongue shall 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. " Exil K. John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, My crown I should give off? Even so I have : I did suppose, it should be on constraint ; But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. Enter Faulconbridge. Faul. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out, But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd, Like a kind host, the dauphin and his powers : Your nobles v/ill 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. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive ? Faul. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ; An empty casket, where the jewel of hfe By some vile hand was robb'd and ta'en away. K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Faul. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 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 5re : KINO JOHN. 4U9 Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragg-ing 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.. Av/ay ; and glister like the god of war. When he intendeth 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 there ? O, let it not be said ! — Forage, and ran To meet displeasure further from the doors ; And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with mc And I have made a happy peace with him ; And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers Led by the daupliin. Faul. O inglorious league ! Shall we, 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, A silken wanton brave our fields, And flesh his spirit in a wariike 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. Faul. Awa^' then, with good courage ; yet, I know. Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [ExeuTr The Dauphin, aided by the disaffected Nobles of England, gives battle to John fi Bt. Edmund's Bury ; the King's troops are repulsed, and John is conveyetl to Swinstead Abbey, sick of a fever. SCENE. — An open Place in the neighborhood o/*Swinstead- Abbey. Enter Faulconbridge and Hubert, meeting. Hub. Who's there ? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or I shoot. Faul. A friend.— What art thou ? Hub. Of the part of England Faul. Whither dost thou go ? Hub. What's that to thee ? Why may I not demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? Faul. Hubert, I think. Uub. Thou hast a perfect thought : 410 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well' Who art thou? Faul. Who thou wilt : an if thou please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless night, Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Faul. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news abroai: ? Huh. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. To find you out. Faul. Brief, then ; and what's the news ? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the niglit, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Faul. 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. Faul. How did he take it ? who did taste to liim ? Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain. The king yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. Faul. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ? Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all come bacl(, And brought prince Henry in their company ; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them. And they are all about his majesty. Faul. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, And tempt us not to bear above our power ! ril 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 escap'd. Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. \Exeu7ii SCENE.— TTie OrcT? a?- J o/Swinste ad- Abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 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-housej Doth, by the idie comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality. KING JOHN. 41] 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 Biarnr 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 goads and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies ; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest. Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, wlio bring in Kik« John, ir a chair. K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room ; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom. That all my bowels crumble up to dust : I am a scribbled form, drawn w^ith 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 conrse 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 412 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Is, as a fiend, conlin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood. Enter Faulconbridge. Faul. 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 bum'd ; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, Are turned to one thread, one Httle hair : My heart hath one poor string to stay it 'py, Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ; And then all this thou seest is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward ; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him ■ For, in a night, the best part of my pov/er. As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes, all unwarily Devour'd by the unexpected flood. i Ty Kmo d'uK Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay ! Faul. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge ; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. As it on earth hath been thy servant still. Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, Where be your powers ? Show now your mended faiths ; And instantly return with me again. To push destruction, and perpetual shame. Out of the weak door of our fainting land : Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought ; The dauphin rages at our very heels. Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest. Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; And brings from him such offers of our peace As we with honor and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war. Faul. 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 seaside, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal. With V. hom yourself, myself, and other lords. KING JOHN. 413 If you think meet, this afternoon will post To c6nsiimmate this business happily. Faul. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince, With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral. P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ; For so he wiil'd it. Faul. 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 you thanks. And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Faul. 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 sha" make as ruo, If Englaiid to itself do rest but true. [ Sxeii^il KING HENRY IV The chmnicles of Hollingslied and Slowe, appear to have been the sonrcf» j'ronj which Shakspeare drew the materials for constructing liis series of English flistorica. Plays, adding, however, characters and incidents from his own teeming imagination, and heightening the real personages he introduces, with all the vivid touches of his excelling skill. In the first and second parts of Henry IV, appears that marvel of his creative genius, Falstaff,— who is aptly made the leader of the dissolute set of ])rofligates which surrounded the young Prince, afterwards Henry V. An isolated extract could not do justice to this inimitahle creation ; we have, therefore, preferred to confine our selections to the historical incidents of the Play. " The transactions contained in it are comprised within the period of about ten months. The action commences with the news brought of Hotspur having defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or Halidown-hill), which battle was fought on Holyroodday (the 14th of Sei)tember), 1402 ; and it closei with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrewsbury ; which engagement happened ol Saturday the 21st of July (the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen), in the year 1403." PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Fourth. Henry, Pnnce o/ Wales, > ^ w rr- Prince John «/ Lancaster, I ^ons to the Kmg. Earl of Westmorland, } r ■ j . .i t^- Sir Walter Blunt, 5 f''^'"^' ^' *^' ^'"S- Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. Henry Percy, Earl o/ Northumberland. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. Scroop, Archbishop of York. Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop. Archibald, Earl of Douglas. Owen Glendower. Sir Richard Vernon. S.r John Falstaff. POINS. Gadshill. Peto. Bardolfh. KING HENRY IV. 415 Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sistet to Mortimer. Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimei Mrs. QuiCKLV, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. hoiifs, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamherlain, Drawers, Two CarrierSt Travellers, and Attendants. SCENE,— England ACT I. King Heniy sends for Hotspur, to give r.r at» cant of his eonJuot at the Baltle oi lloimcJon. SCENE. — London, a Eyom in the Palace. £JnJ6) King Henry, NoRTHUMBEELy^NB, Worcester, IIoTsruR, Sir Walter Blunt, and others. K. Hen. My blood hath be^:i too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me ; for, accordingly, You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ; Which 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 deserves 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 : 6, sir, iTour presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endtire 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, YoTi were about 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. 416 SHAKSPEAHIAN READER. But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I Vr'as 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 imrvest-home ; He was perfumed like a milliner ; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, 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 smil'd and talk'd; And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies b}'-, He call'd them — 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 ; among the rest, demanded My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 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 waiting gentlewoman, v~)f guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark i) And telUng 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. 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 hini wrong, or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now. ' ' - K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners ; But with proviso, and exception, — KING HENRY IV. 41" That we, at our own cliarofe, 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, curs'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 ? Shall we buy treason ? and indent with fears, When they have lost and forfeited them.selves ? No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; For I shall never hold that man my friend. Whose tongue shall ask me for one penn} 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 l/rc, Needs no more but one tongue for all those woun^sL. 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 dn*"vJ* Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ;_ Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks. Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. Never did bare and rotten policy Color her working witn 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 dost b^^lie hin^ 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 asham'd ? But, sirrah, henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer ; Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, Or you shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your son . — Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. [Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them : — I will after straight. 419 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause awhile ; Here comes your uncle. Re-enter Worcester. Hot. Speak of Mortimer ? 'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul Wanl mercy, if 1 do not join with him : Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, And shed my 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 WORCESTI Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone *? Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; And when I urg'd 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 : And 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, and, shortly, murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's Vvide niouiij Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown ? North. He did ; myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king; That wish'd 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 ?- O, pardon me, that I descend so low, To snow the Une, and tne predicament, Wherein you range under this subtle king.^ — Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, KING HENRY IV. 419 Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nohility and power, Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf, — As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ? And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken, That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off By him, for whom these shames ye underwent 1 No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem Your banish'd honors, and restore yourselves Into the good thoughts of the v/orld again : Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt. Of this proud king ; who studies, day and night, To answer all the debt he owes to you. Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. Therefore, I say, Wo?'. Peace, cousin, say no moro And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents I'll 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 'f Send danger frem the east unto the west, So honor cross it from the north to south. And let them grapple ; — O ! 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-fac'd moon ; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pludc up d-owned honor by the locks ; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear Without corrival. all her dignities : But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! Wor. lie apprehends a world of figures here, 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 ScoiSt That are your prisoners, Hot. I'll keep them all ; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : I'll keep them, by this hand, Wor. You start away, 19 i'^b SHAKSPEARIAN READER. And lend no ear unto my purposes. — Those prisoners you shall keep. Hoi. Nay, I will ; that's fiat :— He said, he would not ransom Mortimer ; Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer But I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer 1 Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion. War. 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 Wa.es, 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 foo' Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ; Tying thine Par to no tongue but thine own ? Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd wit-h roda. Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ? — A plague upon't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; His uncle York ; — where I first bow'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 came to age, And, gejiile Harry Percy, — and, kind cousin, — O, the devil take such cozeners ! — Heaven forgive me !— Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ; Well stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisonertj. Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And make the Douglas' son your only mean For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons, Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd, KING HENRY IV. 421 Will easily be gfrcnted. — You, my lord, — [To Northumb>.k:.ane Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, — Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop. Hot. Of York, is't not ? War. 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 ? iVor. And sf» 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 unsaUsfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us hom.e. And see already how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does ; we'll be reveng'd on hira. 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 with much uncertainty. North. Farewell, good brother, we shall thrive, I trust. Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short, Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport. [E^reun*. Hotspur and Iiis coafederates meet in consukatioa, prepai^tory (o tl.e battle -jf 3hrewsbury. ACT HI. SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's House. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower. Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. i22 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. Hot. Lord Mortimer, — and cousin Glendower, — Will you sit down ? And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon't ! I have forgot the map. Glend. 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 of. Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. Of burning cressets ; 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 motlier'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 tremblo* Hot. O 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. Which shake old beldame earth, and topple down Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, Our grandam 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 ; 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 better Welsh. — Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you ; F(.r I v/as train'd up in the English court : KING HENR- IV. 42J* Where, being but young, I framed to tlie 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 't with all my heart : I had rather be a kitt/n and cry — mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers • I had rather hear a brazen canstick 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 forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make him mad Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : But will they come, v/hen you do call for them ? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The dei-i!. 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. O, 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 Wyne, And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too ! How 'scapes he agues ? The following scene is admirably descriptive cf tha characters cf Henrj' IV atJ bt young Prince of Wales. SCENE II.— London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and 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. — [Ex. 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-trcadings. Tell me else, 424 SHAKSPEARIATI READER. Could such inordinate, and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mecn attempta. 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 as clear excuse, As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge Myself of many I am charg'd 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 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. Heaven pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, Harrv', 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 forethink 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 repuleless banishment, A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir, But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : That men would tell their children. This is he ; Others would say, — Where 1 ichich is Bolinghrokef And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress'd myself in such humility, That I did pluck allegiance from men's heartS; Loud shouts and salutations 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 KKs^G HENRY IV. 425 With sha^Io^^'■ jesters, and rasli bavin wits, Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state ; Mingled 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, Enfeoff 'd himself 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 littlo 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 render'd such aspect As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, 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 sight. 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 lonlj, 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 tliou, the shadow of succession : For, of no right, nor color like to right. He doth fill fields with harness 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 nonor hath he got Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds. 42fc! shakspeaeia:^ leader. 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 1 Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior in his enterprises Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once, Enlarg'd 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 against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, — To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. To show how much degenerate thou art ? P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ; And Heaven 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, 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 tills same child of honor and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. And your unthought-of Harr^*, chance to meet. For every honor sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes ; and on my head My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord. To engross 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 liis time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of Heaven, I promise heii? , The which if it be pleas'd I shall perform, [ do beseech your majesty, may salve KING HENRY IV. 421 The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : If not, the end of Ufe 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 tliis : — Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, hereiu. KING HENRY VIIJ Many of tlie incidents of this Play, and much of the dialogue, were taken Dy ShiiJcs peare from chronicles of Hollingshed and Stowe, who were themselves indebted to " Cav sndish's Life of Wolsey " for most of the particulars they gave of the Cardinal's history Shakspeare has depicted the character of the gentle and noble-hearted Katharine oi Arragon, with such felicitous skill, that the scenes in which she is introduced are con- lidered among the finest efforts of the Poet's genius. The haughty Wolsey, is also a powerfully drawn picture. Our selections are devo*'>d lo the display of these two master-pieces of historical dramatic composition. PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henrt the Eighth. Cardinal Wolsey. Cardinal Campeius. Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor ^ Charles V. Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Buckingham, Duke of Suffolk. Earl of Surrey. Lord Chamberlain. Lord Chancellor. Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. Bishop of Lincoln. Lord Abergavenny. Lord Sands. Sir Henry Guilford, Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Anthony Denny. Sir Nicholas Vaux. Secretaries to Wolsey. Cromwell, servant to Wolsey, Griffith, Gentleman- Usher to Queen Kathariiw. Three other Gentlemen. KING HENRY VIII. 429 Doctor Butts, physician to the King. Garter King at Arms. Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. Doorkeeper of the Council-Chamber. Porter, and his man. Page to Gardiner. A Crier. Queen Katharine, wife to King Henry, aftejMsards divorced. Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honor, afterwards Queen. An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. Patience, looinan to Queen Katharine. Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending upon the Queen ; Spirits which appear to her ; Scribes, Officers, Guards^ and other Attendants. SCENE, — chiefly in London and Westminster, once at Kimbolton. ACT 1. dueen Katharine incurred the jealousy and hatred of Wolssy, by her oppositions his overbearing arrogance, and the exactions he was continually enforcing on the people. Shakspeare introduces the dueen, as a suitor to the King, on the sabject of these oppressions of the people. SCENE \l.—The Council- Chamher. Cornets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, Officers, and Attendants. The Kjng 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. The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council take their several places. The Cardinal places himself under the King's /ee/, on his right side, A noise within, crying. Room for the Queen ! Enter the Queen, ushered hy the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk : she kneels. The King rises from his State, takes her up, kisses, and places her hy 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. 430 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. 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 have been commissions Sent down among them, which have 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 noi Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks. The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. Nor. Not almost appears, Ft doth appear : for upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them 'longingf, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger. And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And Danger serves among them. K. Hen. Taxation ! Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal, Yovi that are blam'd for it alike with us, .Know you of this taxation ? ^Vol. 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 w^holesonas To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. 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 jvhat kind, let's know, Is this exaction ? Q. Kath. I am much too venturous KING HENRY VIII. 431 In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd Under your promis'd pardon. The subject'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 nam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold mc'lhs : 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 business. K. Hen. By my life. This is against our pleasure. Wol. " And for me, I have no further gone in this, than by A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am traduc'd 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 That virtue must go through. We must not stiii! 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 weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd ; 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 comm.ission ? 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 every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber, And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'c!^ The air will drink the sap. To every county, Where this is question'd, send our letters, with Free pardon to each man that has denied 4^*4 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ; I put it to your care. WoL A word with you. [ To the Secretarv Let there be ietters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd common's Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd, '/hat, through our intercession, this revokement And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. ACT II. King Henry VIII. having determined to divorce Katharine, obtains a commission from Rome, to try the causes which have induced him to dissolve his marriage. The Pope sends Cardinal Campeius, who in conjunction with Wolsey are appointed to act as judgei at the Q,ueen's trial. SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. Court assembled for the Trial. IVol. 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, come into court. K. Hen. Here. Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into court. Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into court. [ Tlie Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet ; then speaks. Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me 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, And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable : Ever in fear to kindle vour dislike, KING HENRY VIII. 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 discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upwards of twenty years. 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 prince most prudent, of an excellent 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 many 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 : Wherefore I huralu 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 bootleso, 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, madamj It's fit this royal session do proceed ; And that, without delay, thei»* arguments Be now produc'd, and heard. Q. Kath, Lord cardinal,— To you I speak. Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? Q. Kath. Sir, C am about to weep ; but, thinking that 433 4y4 SRAKSPEArJAr> READEK. We are a queeii. (or long have dreamM 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 Heaven will punish me. I do believe, Induc'd by potent circumstances, that You are mme enemy ; and make my challenge ; You shall not be my judge : for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me. — Therefore, I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul. Refuse you for my judge : whom, yet once more, I hold my most maUcious 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 wrurifl ; 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 these thoughts from you ; the which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, And to say no more. Q. Kath, My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and humble-moutn'd J You sign your place and calhng, in full seeming With meekness and humility : but your hear* Is 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 your retainers : and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, Vou tender more your person's honor, than KING HENRY YIII. 435 l^our liigh profession spiritual : That again 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 judg'd by him. [She curi''sies 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. J{. Hen. Call her again. Crier. Katharine queen of England, come into the court. Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. Q. Kath. What need you note it ? pray you, keep your way When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help. They vex me past my patience ! — pray you, pass on : I will not tarry : no, nor ever more. Upon this business, my appearance make In 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 A better wife, let him in nought be trusted. For speaking false in that : Thou art alone, (If thy 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,) The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ; And, like her true nobility, she has Ca'-riod herself towards me. ACT III. Qneen Katharine is divorced, and Henry marries Anne Bullen. The power of Woissj over the King gradually declines, and the nobles of the Court plot against him. The lords of Suftblk and Norfolk are particularly Iiis enemies ; and learning that Wolsey has by accident given several documents to the King, containing private memorandums of his intrigues, and statements of liis vast wealth, they are waiting to learn the effect of this disclosure. Wolsey and Crojiwell, Suffolk and Norfolk. Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king ? Crom. To his ow^n hand, in his bedchamber. Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper '/ Crom. Presently He did unseal them : and tlie first he view'd, He di(? it with a serious mind ; a heed 400 SHAKSPEARIAN HEADSH. Was in liis countenance ! You, he bade Attend him here this morning. Wol. Is he ready To come abroad ? Crom. I think, by this lie is. Wol. Leave me a while, — It shall be to the duchess of Alen9on, The French king's sister : he shall marry her. — Anne Bullen ! No ; Til 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 Pembroke ! 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 daugrlitor. 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 virtuouo, Vnd well deserving ? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholesome to Our cause. Again, there is sprung up An 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 King, reading' a schedule; and Lovell. Suf. The king, the king. K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift Does he rake this together ! — Now, my lords ; Saw you the cardinal ? Nor. j\Iy lord, we have Stood here observing him : Some strange commotion 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 ; 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 KING HENRY VIII. 437 Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I requir'd ; And, wot 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 out-speaks Posession of a subject. Nor. It's Heaven's will ; Some spint 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 still Dwell in his musings : but, I am afraid. His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. [He takes his seat, and whispers Lovell, who goes to Wolseb Wol. Heaven forgive me ! Ever Heaven bless your highness ! K. Hen. Good my lord. You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory Of your best graces in your mind ; the which You were 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 stale ; 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 togethei As I will lend you cause, my doing w-ell With my well-saying. K. Hen. 'Tis well said again ; And 'tit 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 Emplo}r'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 ? •138 SHAKSIEARIAN -lEADER. A". Hen. Have I not made . cu The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you liave 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 grace's, 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, fill'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 ; x\ 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 moiV On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart, Your brain, and every function of your power, Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, As '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 tc 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 loyal breast. For you have seen him open 't. — Read o'er this ; [Giving him fnipt^s And, after, this : and then to breakfast, Vv'ith What appetite you have. [Exit Kma, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsf.y; llit Nobles throng after him smiling^ and ichispering. KING HENRY Vlli; 4JJ9 Wol. What should this mean ? What sudden anger's this ; how have I reap'd it ? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin LeapM from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion !Jpon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; riien'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 Pops? The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farev/ell ! 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 Nokfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surkkv, 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, my lord of Winchester's, Till you hear further from his highness. Wol Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot 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, [ 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 doub.. In time will find their fit revv^ards. That seal, You ask with such a violence, the king, 440 SHAKSPEARIAN READER. (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: New, who'll take it? Sur. The king that gave it. WoL It must be himself thai;. Sur~ 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. My lords, Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap, like larks. 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. WoL How much, methinks, I could despise this lUAii, But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 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 'prccmunire^ — 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 httle good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all hut \\\ lsev 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 day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nip's 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 deptii : my high-blowii or'wlft KING HENRY VIII. 441 At length broke under me ; and now has left me» Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : 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; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Nov3r to hope again, — Enter Cromwell, amwedly. Why, how now, Cromwell ? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes ? can thy sj irit w^onder, A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed, Crom. How does your grace ? WoL Why wcU: Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. [ know myself now ; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd 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 : O, '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, metiiinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) Vo endure more miseries, and greater far. Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad ? Crom. The heaviest and the worst, [s your displeasure with the khig. 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 wept on 'em ! What more ? 442 SHAKSPEARIAN .DEADER. Crum. That Cranmeris retarn'd with welcome, Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. That's news, indeed. Cram. Last, that 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. Cror^iwell The king has gone beyond me : all my glories In 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, Cromwel' ; 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 : ne will advance thee j Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell, Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety. Crom. O my lord, Must I then leave you ? must I needs forego 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 forc'd 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 deptlis 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 env1ou<^ tongues, Be just, and fear not: KING HENRY VIII. 443 Let all the ends, ilioii aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 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. Farev;ell The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do well. [Exeunl. The following Scene vei^ beautifully details the last incidents of Wohey life — and exhibits the divorced Q,ueen, in her closing moments, a pattern of virtuous resignatiou ACT IV. SCENE II.— Kimbolton. Enter Katfarine, Dowager, sick ; led between Griffith and P^.- TIENCE. Gi'if. How does your grace ? Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death : My limbs, 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'ythee, good Griffith, tell mc how ho died If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, For my example. Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam : For 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 grew so ill, He could not sit his mule. Kath. Alas, poor man ! Gi-if. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester Tjodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honorably receiv'd him ; To whom he gave these words,— O/a^/ier abbots 471 old marx broken with the st ms of state, 20 444 SHAKSPrlARIAN KEADEX. Is come to lay his iceary hones among ye ; Give him a liule earth for 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 hinriself Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honors to the world again, Kis blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him, And thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak of hiiiu 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 Vv-as 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. 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 higlmeas To hear me speak his good now ? Kath. Yes, good Griffith ! I were malicious else. Grif. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much honor. From his cradle, He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; Kxceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summSTi 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 rais'd in you, Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of which fell with liii '^ 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 : KING HENRY VIll. 4 ^'i And, to add greater lienors to his age Than man could give him, he died tearing God. Kalh. After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my hving actions, To keep mine honor from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griifith. Whom I most hated living, thou hast made m.e, With thy religious trutli, and modesty, Now in his ashes honor : Peace be with him ! — Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 1 have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to. Sad and solemn nnisic. Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down quiet, For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. Kath. (Wakes.) Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are yi; 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 not, even now, a blessed troop Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? They promis'd me eternal happiness ; And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I 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 cea^di Pat. Do you note, How much her grace is alter'd on a sudden , How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks, And of an earthly cold ? Mark you her eyes ? Grf. She is going ; pray, pray. Pat. Heaven comfort her! Enter a Messenger. Mess. An't like your grace, — Kath. You are a saucy fellow- iJcserve we no more rcverrnce ? Grif. You are to blame 446 SHAKSPEAKiAN READER. Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness To use lo 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 cf- MessiMifrcr. Re-enter Griffith, with Cafucius. 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, Tlie times, and titles, now are altered 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 latt ; 'Tis hke a pardon after execution : That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd 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 Ka tuabikb. Kath. Sir, I most humbi> pray you to deliver This to my lord the king. Cap. Most willingly, madam. Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter : — 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 folio w'd both my fortunes faithfully : Of which there is not one, I dare avow, •"And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, KING HENRf VIII. 447 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 tlioni. 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. 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