B 424611 ARTES: 1817 SCIENTIA VERITAS LIBRARY OF THE | UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN TCEROR VERIS PENINSULAM CIRCUMSPICE 8228 $53 2881 12 23564 SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS. DRAMATIC AND POETIC. WITH GLOSSARIAL NOTES, AND A LIFE BY REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. Illustrated. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. CENERIE NEW YORK: R. WORTHINGTON, 770 BROADWAY. 1882. THE OF HADE HEL | SHAKESPEARE BEFORE THE COURT OF QUEEN ELIZABETH RECITING MACBETH. ایا جانا CONTENTS. LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. BY ALEXANDER FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV...... 385 DYCE.. ... iii TEMPEST. Two TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA....... MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR..... TWELFTH NIGHT.. 47 7 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV... 411 KING HENRY V.... 439 MEASURE FOR MEASURE ....... 27 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI....... 467 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI..... 491 72 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI...... 520 94 KING RICHARD III.. 548 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.. ........ 118 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.. ....... 140 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.... MERCHANT OF VENICE.. AS YOU LIKE IT.... 158 182 CORIOLANUS KING HENRY VIII...... TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 580 ....... 608 TIMON OF ATHENS.. .. 638 660 204 JULIUS CAESAR.. 692 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL..... 227 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 714 TAMING OF THE SHREW.. ... 252 CYMBELINE. 745 WINTER'S TALE.. COMEDY OF ERRORS.. 275 TITUS ANDRONICUS.. 776 302 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.. 798 MACBETH... 318 KING LEAR... 819 KING JOHN..... 339. ROMEO AND JULIET.. 851 KING RICHARD II...... 361 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK 878 ...... OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE.. 913 POEMS. 943 SONNETS. 952 THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.. VENUS AND ADONIS.. RAPE OF LUCRECE.... A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.... 986 ..... 966 982 Houbraken. UNIV OP ICH William Shathprer SHAKESPEARE. J.C.Buttre. LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. BY ALEXANDER DYCE, M.A. "ALL that is known with any degree of cer- tainty concerning Shakespeare is: that he was born at Stratford-upon-Avon; married and had children there; went to London, where he commenced actor, and wrote poems and plays; returned to Stratford, made his will, died, and was buried." Such is the remark made long ago by one of the most acute of his commentators; and even at the present day-notwithstanding some addi- tional notices of Shakespeare which have been more recently discovered-the truth of the remark can hardly fail to be felt and acknowledged by all, except by professed antiquaries, with whom the mere mention of a name in whatever kind of document assumes the character of an important fact. Shakespeares abounded in Warwickshire: they were settled there as early as the four- teenth century, and soon after they spread themselves, in various branches, through the country; but genealogical inquiry has as yet been able to throw little light on the pedi- gree of the dramatist. We have every rea- son to believe that his father, John Shakes- peare, was the son of Richard Shakespeare, a substantial farmer at Snitterfield. In 1552 we find John Shakespeare resident in Hen- ley street, Stratford-upon-Avon; but his em- ployment at that period is not recorded. In 1556 he was carrying on the business of a glover. He did not, however, confine him- self to glove-making-he was also engaged in agricultural pursuits; and it would seem that eventually he abandoned the glove-trade entirely, for he is styled "yeoman" in a deed dated 1579; his name occurs in a list of "the gentlemen and freeholders" in Bar- lichway Hundred, 1580; and he is again called "yeoman" in a deed dated January, 1596-97. According to Aubrey, he was "a butcher;" according to Rowe, "a consider- able dealer in wool;" and perhaps these several traditions are not utterly at variance either with each other or with what has been just mentioned; for, if he was a yeoman, he might have raised for the market both sheep and cattle, which might occasionally have been killed on his own premises, and, in that case, he would have had wool to sell. But such a hypothesis is unsatisfactory; and, as John Shakespeare appears to have tried sundry occupations, it is not unlikely that at one period he was a butcher, and at another a wool-stapler. On April 30, 1557, he was marked one of the jury of the court leet, but not sworn; and on September 30, 1558, he was one of a like jury. In the former year he was also appointed an ale-taster, and soon after Mi- chaelmas he was chosen a burgess. On Sep- tember 30, 1558, and again on October 6, 1559, he was elected constable. On the day last mentioned, and again in May, 1561, he was made an affeeror. In September, 1561, he was elected one of the chamber- lains, and filled the office two years. July 4, 1565, he was chosen an alderman. From Michaelmas, 1568, to Michaelmas, 1569, he served as high-bailiff. On Septem- ber 5, 1571, he was elected chief alderman for the ensuing year. It may be added that in those days few of the Corporation of Strat- ford could write their names, and that among the markmen was John Shakespeare. On He married Mary, the youngest daughter of Robert Arden, of Wilmecote, then de- ceased, who, though described in documents of the time as "husbandman," appears to have been a considerable landed proprietor. iv ALEXANDER DYCE'S The marriage, it would seem, took place to- ward the close of 1557, for Mary Arden was unmarried on November 24, 1556, the date of her father's will (which was proved on the 16th of the December following), and her first child, Joan, was baptized September 15, 1558-her first child, at least, of whom there is mention in the Stratford baptismal regis- ters, which do not commence till March of that year. Mary Arden inherited, under her father's will, a small estate at Wilmecote, called Ashbies, and the sum of six pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence: she also brought to her husband the interest in two tenements at Snitterfield; and, besides the estate of Ashbies, she appears to have had an interest in certain other land at Wilmecote. There can be little doubt that, during the earlier part of his career, John Shakespeare's circumstances were easy, though not afflu- ent. On October 2, 1556, the copyhold of a house in Greenhill street, and that of an- other in Henley street, were assigned to him; the former house having a garden and croft attached to it, the latter a garden only. In 1564, when Stratford was visited by the plague, his donations toward the relief of the poor "seem to denote a moderate, though not the lowest, rank among the contributors." In 1570 he rented a farm of about fourteen acres, known by the name of "Ingon, alias Ington meadow;" and in 1575 he purchased for forty pounds a property consisting of two freehold houses in Henley street, with gar- dens and orchards annexed. But before 1578 his affairs had become greatly embarrassed. In that year he and his wife mortgaged to Edmund Lambert, for forty pounds, the estate of Ashbies. They also sold to Robert Webbe their interest in the tenements at Snitterfield. According to the indenture of sale, dated October 15, 1579, the purchase-money was four pounds; but, from a fine preserved in the Chapter House, Westminster, dated in Easter Term, 22 Eliz., 1580, it appears that the reversion- ary interest on the same property was parted with to the same Robert Webbe for forty pounds. We find, too, in the notes of the proceedings of the Corporation, and in the registry of the Court of Record at Stratford, a series of entries, which, taken together, suf- ficiently indicate John Shakespeare's failing fortunes. When it was agreed, January 29, 1577-78, that every alderman should "paye towardes the furniture of thre pikemen, ij billmen, and one archer, vjs. iiijd.," John Shakespeare was required to pay only "iijs. iijd." On the 19th of November next, when it was ordered that every alderman should contribute fourpence a week for the relief of the poor, it was determined that he should "not be taxed to paye anythynge." In an account of money levied on the inhabitants of Stratford, March 11, 1578-79, for the pur- chase of armor and defensive weapons, his name occurs among the defaulters. On "Jan. 19, 28 Eliz.," the return made to a distringas was, "quod prædictus Johannes Shackspere nihil habet unde distringi potest. Ideo fiat capias versus eundem Johannem Shack- spere," etc.; and on February 16th, and again on March 2d, a capias was issued against him. In the same year he was de- prived of his alderman's gown: "[Sept. 6, 1586.] At thys halle William Smythe and Richard Courte are chosen to be aldermen in the places of John Wheler and John Shax- pere; for that Mr. Wheler dothe desyre to be put owt of the companye, and Mr. Shaxpere dothe not come to the halles when they be warned, nor hathe not done of longe tyme." On "Mar. 29, 29 Eliz.," he produced a writ of habeas corpus in the Stratford Court of Record "Johannes Shakesper protulit breve dominæ reginæ de habeas corpus cum causa," etc., from which it may be gathered that he was in custody or imprisoned for debt; and the registry of the same court might be cited to show that several years later he was still in difficulties. Such is also the testimony of a document derived from a different source, which moreover exhibits him as lying under the suspicion of noncon- formity. Eight commissioners (Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir Fulke Greville, etc.) were ap- pointed to make inquiries respecting Jesu- its, priests, and recusants, in Warwickshire; and the result of their inquiries, dated Sep- tember 25, 1592, is extant in the State Paper Office. The return for "the hundred of Bar- lichewaye in the parrishe of Stratford upon Avon" is headed: "The names of all sutch recusantes as have bene hearetofore presented for not comminge monethlie to the churche according to hir Majesties lawes, and yet are thoughte to forbeare the church for debtt and for feare of processe, or for soom other worse faultes, or for age, sicknes, or impo- tencye of bodie;" and among the names of nine men subjoined, with a memorandum opposite to them, "It is sayd that these laste nine coom not to churche for feare of pro- cesse for debtte," the name of "Mr. John Shackespere" stands third. Hence, it cer- tainly would seem that dislike of the estab- lished worship was not the cause of his absenting himself from church; and we must recollect, too, that as a member of the Cor- poration he had taken the customary oath. In concluding this account of his embarrass- ments, it is proper to mention that they were LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. V never so extreme as to compel him to part with the freehold houses (or house) in Hen- ley street. probability John Shakespeare sought this distinction at the instance of his son William, whose profession of actor prohibited him from directly soliciting it for himself; and we certainly need not doubt that before 1599 the prosperity of the son had secured the father, during the remainder of his days, against any recurrence of those difficulties which had so long beset him. According to Rowe, John and Mary Shake- speare had "ten children in all;" but no more than eight are known from the Strat- ford registers, which give the dates of their baptisms in the following order: Joan, Sep- tember 15, 1558; Margaret, December 2, 1562; William, April 26, 1564; Gilbert, October 13, 1566; Joan, April 15, 1569; Anne, September 28, 1571; Richard, March 11, 1573-74; Edmund, May 3, 1580. first Joan must have died an infant, though the entry of her burial has not been dis- covered in the register. Margaret and Anne were cut off immaturely: the former was buried April 30, 1563, the latter April 4, 1579. Gilbert, the second Joan, Richard, and Edmund, will afterward be mentioned in the course of this Memoir. The In 1597, John and Mary Shakespeare filed a bill in Chancery for the recovery of the estate of Ashbies, against John Lambert, son of the Edmund Lambert to whom, in 1578, they had mortgaged that property for forty pounds, on the condition that it should re- vert to them if they repaid the money on or before Michaelmas-day, 1580. They alleged that the money in discharge had been ten- dered to Edmund Lambert, who had refused to receive it unless other moneys which they confessed they owed him were also paid; and it was only to be expected that they should contrast the palmy state of the de- fendant with their own less fortunate con- dition: "the sayde John Lamberte ys of greate wealthe and abilitie and well frended and alied amongest gentlemen and freehold- ers of the countrey in the saide countie of Warwicke where he dwelleth, and your saide oratours are of small wealthe and verey fewe frends and alyance in the saide countie." In his answer to this bill John Lambert denied that the money had been tendered, and main- tained that by his father's death he had be- The baptism of William Shakespeare at come legally possessed of the estate. His Stratford-upon-Avon is thus recorded in the answer drew forth a replication from the register: complainants, in which they reiterated their former statements. How the business ended is not known: perhaps it was settled by some private arrangement, for no decree in the case has been discovered. That John Shakespeare and his wife should have at- tempted to carry on so expensive a lawsuit without pecuniary assistance from their son the dramatist, is altogether unlikely. He was then in the receipt of a considerable income, and perhaps it was solely by his advice that the proceedings were instituted. "1564, April 26, Gulielmus filius Johan- nes [sic] Shakspere"; but the day on which he first saw the light cannot be exactly fixed. If we trust a faint tradition that he died on the anniversary of his birth, we are to believe that he was born on the 23d of the month; nor is the interval which this supposes between his birth and baptism inconsistent with the custom of the time. When he was only a few weeks old, the plague (which had been making great havoc in London) broke out in his native town; but, though it raged there during several months with fatal violence, not a single in- dividual of the name of Shakespeare appears to have become its victim. In the Heralds' College are two drafts of a grant of arms by Dethick to John Shake- speare, dated 1596, and a draft of another grant by Dethick and Camden, dated 1599, the second grant authorizing him to impale with his own bearings those of Arden. The mention made in these documents of the The fact of his father's being a member of ancestors of John Shakespeare having been the Corporation sufficiently confirms Rowe's advanced and rewarded for their services by statement that he was sent to the Free King Henry the Seventh is not a little per- school at Stratford, where the successive plexing: we find no memorial of any honors masters from 1572 to 1578-the period dur- or rewards bestowed by that monarch on any ing which we may assume that Shakespeare person named Shakespeare. Are we, there- attended it-were Thomas Hunt and Thomas fore, to refer the expressions, not to the Jenkins. What was the extent of our poet's ancestors of John Shakespeare, but to those "learning" is a question which has given of his wife? or must we regard them as rise to much discussion, some of it not a mere flourishes of the heralds, by whom ap- little foolish. In opposition to those critics plicants were sometimes furnished with an-Gildon, Upton, etc.-who asserted the cestors as well as with coat-armor? In all wide erudition of Shakespeare, Farmer has vi ALEXANDER DYCE'S incontrovertibly shown that, while compos- ture into the poet's earlier years: he was a ing several of his dramas, he had recourse to wool-stapler, a butcher, a schoolmaster, and North's Plutarch, and to other vernacular an attorney's clerk. books, instead of consulting the ancient authors in the original (which, by the by, even with competent scholarship, he might be excused for doing). The line in Ben Jonson's admirable verses to his memory- "And though thou hadst small Latin, and less Greek"- security of the bishop of the diocese in li- censing the parties to be married with once asking of the banns. To turn from uncertainties to facts. While under the age of nineteen, Shake- speare took to wife Anne Hathaway, who was about eight years older than himself. Neither the date of the marriage, nor the place where it was celebrated, have been discovered; but the following preliminary bond, preserved in the registry at Worces- if taken literally, allows him at least a smat-ter, was given November 28, 1582, for the tering of the latter language; and perhaps it may be urged that considerable attain- ments in learning would have appeared slight to Jonson, who, having devoted many "Noverint universi per præsentes nos a laborious hour to the study of the classics, Fulconem Sandells de Stratford in comitatu had stored his mind with all the treasures Warwici agricolam, et Johannem Rychard- of antiquity. I believe, however, Jonson's son ibidem agricolam, teneri et firmiter meaning to be that, to his comparatively obligari Ricardo Cosin generoso, et Roberto slender knowledge of Latin, Shakespeare never added any acquaintance with Greek; and such, I am persuaded, was the case. Aubrey having related, on the authority of a Mr. "Beeston," that Shakespeare "under- stode Latine pretty well, for he had been in his younger yeares a schoolmaster in the countrey," Mr. Collier conjectures that he might have been employed by the master of the Free school at Stratford, to aid him in the instruction of the junior boys. The conjecture is not very probable; and yet "small Latin" would have qualified him for such a task. Of French and Italian, I apprehend, he knew but little. We are further informed by Rowe that, in consequence of "the narrowness of his father's circumstances," the youthful poet was withdrawn from school, his assistance being required at home; the truth of which account is weakly disputed by Malone, who as unsuccessfully endeavors to establish, from the frequent occurrence of law-terms in our author's dramas, that he was placed for two.or three years in the office of a Stratford at- torney. Rowe proceeds to say that "upon his leaving school, he seems to have given en- tirely into that way of living which his father proposed to him," meaning that he became a dealer in wool; while Aubrey, to the express assertion that Shakespeare was the son of a butcher, adds, "and I have been told here- tofore by some of the neighbours that when he was a boy he exercised his fathers trade, but when he kill'd a calfe, he wold doe it in a high style, and make a speech." The con- flicting statements of Rowe and Aubrey about his father's occupation have been al- ready considered, and here I need hardly remark what an amusing variety of business has been crowded by tradition and conjec- Warmstry notario publico, in quadraginta libris bonæ et legalis monetæ Angliæ sol- vend. eisdem Ricardo et Roberto, hæred. execut. vel assignat. suis, ad quam quidem solucionem bene et fideliter faciend. obliga- mus nos et utrumque nostrum per se pro toto et in solid. hæred. executor. et administrator. nostros firmiter per præsentes sigillis nostris sigillat. Dat. 28 die Novem. anno regni dominæ nostræ Eliz. Dei gratia Angliæ, Franc. et Hiberniæ reginæ, fidei defensor. &c. 25°. "The condicion of this obligacion ys suche, that if herafter there shall not appere any lawfull lett or impediment, by reason of any precontract, consangui[ni]tie, affinitie, or by any other lawful meanes whatsoever, but that William Shagspere one thone partie, and Anne Hathwey of Stratford in the dioces of Worcester, maiden, may lawfully solen- nize matrimony together, and in the same afterwardes remaine and continew like man and wiffe, according unto the lawes in that behalf provided: and moreover, if there be not at this present time any action, sute, quarrell, or demaund, moved or depending before any judge ecclesiasticall or temporall, for and concerning any suche lawfull lett or impediment: and moreover, if the said Wil- liam Shagspere do not proceed to solemniza- cion of mariadg with the said Anne Hathwey without the consent of hir frindes : and also, if the said William do, upon his owne proper costes and expenses, defend and save harmles the right reverend Father in God, Lord John Bushop of Worcester, and his offycers, for licencing them the said William and Anne to be maried together with once asking of the bannes of matrimony between them, and for all other causes which may ensue by reason or occasion thereof; that Engraved by AL Dick UNIV OF Painted by George Harvey R.SA. SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY. viii ALEXANDER DYCE'S handed down; and that it has some founda- tions, such as they were, represented by the tion in truth cannot surely be doubted, not- best actors then alive; and it is not unlikely withstanding what has been argued to the that, his inclination for the theatre having contrary by Malone, whose chief object in early manifested itself, he had formed an writing the life of our poet was to shake acquaintance with some of the players at the credibility of the facts brought forward Stratford. Even supposing that he was not by Rowe. There is no mistaking the al- then under the mortal displeasure of Sir lusion to the Lucy family in the opening Thomas Lucy, his own circumstances must scene of "The Merry Wives of Windsor," at the time have been affected by the unpros- where Justice Shallow is highly indignant perous state of his father's affairs: it was at Falstaff for having "killed his deer." Slender informs us that the arms of the Shallows are a "dozen white luces," which the broken English of Sir Hugh Evans transforms into a "dozen white louses." Various sets of players-the Queen's com- pany, the servants of Lord Worcester, of Lord Leicester, of Lord Warwick, and of other noblemen-had been in the habit of resorting to Stratford and usually exhibit- ing their performances in its Guildhall. Be- fore Shakespeare forsook his home, he had doubtless seen the best dramatic produc- natural, therefore, that he should have re- course to the theatre as a means of subsist- ence; and, in all probability, he was nothing loth to exchange the dull uniformity of his original occupation (whatever that was) for the more exciting profession of the stage. His arrival in London may be fixed about the year 1586. According to Rowe, "he was received into the company, at first in a very mean rank;" which agrees with the account given by the old parish-clerk of Stratford to Dowdwall in 1693, that he "was received into the playhouse as a serviture." Another tradition-that he used to hold the the editor's hands many years ago by an ingenious horses of those who rode to the theatre with- gentleman (grandson of its preserver) with this ac-out attendants, till the performance was con- count of the way in which it descended to him. cluded-is extremely improbable; for we can Mr. Thomas Jones, who dwelt at Tarbick, a village hardly suppose his situation to have been in Worcestershire, a few miles from Stratford-on- Avon, and dy'd in the year 1703, aged upwards of desperate enough to subject him to so de- ninety, remember'd to have heard from several old grading an employment. It is most likely people at Stratford the story of Shakespeare's rob- that he gained access to the stage by means bing Sir Thomas Lucy's park; and their account of of some of the players, with whom he had it agreed with Mr. Rowe's, with this addition that become acquainted during their visits to the ballad written against Sir Thomas by Shake- speare was stuck upon his park-gate, which ex- Stratford; but, however subordinate may asperated the knight to apply to a lawyer at War- have been his rank at first, he quickly raised wick to proceed against him. Mr. Jones had put himself to distinction. If we now lose sight down in writing the first stanza of this ballad, of him for a period, it is only to meet with Wilkes (my grandfather) transmitted it to my father him again as a successful actor and a popu- by memory, who also took it in writing, and his copy lar dramatist. There is no proof that he was is this," etc. "Notes and Various Readings" etc. ever attached to any other company than ii. 75.-Except that it has "Sing O lowsie Lucy," that which owned the Blackfriars and the etc., Capell's version of the stanza agrees exactly with that given by Oldys. Though it is quite good Globe, the latter of which was first opened, enough for the occasion, we may hesitate to believe if not in 1594, early in 1595. it genuine. That the entire ballad, said to have been found in a chest of drawers at Shottery, and the two stanzas of a different pasquinade on Sir Thomas Lucy by Shakespeare in Chetwood's "MS. History of the Stage" (see Malone's "Shakespeare" by Boswell, ii. 144, 565), are rank forgeries, no one can doubt. which was all he remember'd of it, and Mr. Thomas 1863.-It appears that a Manuscript Pedigree of the Lucys exists at Charlecote, which contains a note about "the deer stealing" and its consequences to Shakespeare; but, as far as I can learn, the said note is of comparatively recent date, and therefore of no authority. I first became aware of the existence of this document from the "History of William Shakespeare," etc., by S. W. Fullom-a most preposterous and disgusting piece of "book- making," which Mrs. Lucy thus mentions in a let- ter to me, dated August 4, 1862: "Mr. Fullom had no note whatever from me, or from the Manuscript Pedigree of the Lucys, to justify the absurd and untruthful story he has published in his 'History of William Shakespeare."" The following buildings were used for the representation of plays in London between the time of Shakespeare's first arrival there and his final retirement to Stratford; it must be understood, however, that some of them were constructed subsequent to his ap- pearance in the metropolis. The Theatre (so called by distinction), and The Curtain, in Shoreditch; Paris Garden, The Globe, The Rose, The Hope, The Swan, on the Bankside, Southwark; The Black- friars, near the present site of Apothecaries' Hall; The Whitefriars; The Fortune, in Gol- den or Golding Lane; St. Giles's, Cripple- gate; and The Red Bull, at the upper end of St. John street. There was also The Newington Butts Theatre, frequented by the citizens during summer. LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. ix Nearly all these buildings, it is probable, were of wood. Those termed (we know not why) private theatres were entirely roofed-in from the weather, while the public theatres were open to the sky, except over the stage and galleries. On the outside of each was exhibited a sign indicative of its name, and on the roof, during the time of performance, was hoisted a flag. Their interior arrangements resembled those of the present day. There were tiers of galleries or scaffolds; beneath these, the boxes or rooms intended for persons of the higher class, and which at the private thea- tres were secured with locks, the keys being given to the individuals who engaged them; and there was the centre area (separated, it seems, from the stage by pales), at private theatres termed the pit, and furnished with seats, but at the public theatres called the yard, and affording no such accommodation. Cressets, or large, open lanterns, served to illuminate the body of the house, and two ample branches, of a form similar to those now hung in churches, gave light to the stage. The band of musicians, which was far from numerous, sat, it is supposed, in an upper balcony, over what is now called the stage-box: the instruments chiefly used were trumpets, cornets, hautboys, lutes, recorders, viols, and organs. The amusements of the audience, previous to the beginning of the play, were reading, playing at cards, smoking tobacco, drinking ale, and eating nuts and apples. Even dur- ing the performance, it was customary for wits, critics, and young gallants who were desirous of attracting attention, to station themselves on the stages; either lying upon the rushes, or seated on hired stools, while their pages supplied them with pipes and tobacco. matted. We have reason to believe that when tragedies were performed it was hung with black. Movable painted scenery there was none. "The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest- The forest-walks of Arden's fair domain, Where Jaques fed his solitary vein; No pencil's aid as yet had dar'd supply, Seen only by the intellectual eye." A board containing the name of the place of action, in large letters, was displayed in some conspicuous situation. At times, when a change of scene was necessary, the audience was required to suppose that the performers, who had not quitted the stage, had passed to a different spot. A bed thrust forth showed that the stage was a bed-chamber; and a table with pen and ink indicated that it was a counting-house. Rude contrivances were employed to imitate towers, walls of towns, hell-mouths, tombs, trees, dragons, etc.; trap-doors had been early in use; but to make a celestial personage ascend to the roof of the stage was more than the me- chanics of those days could always accom- plish. Much money was often expended on the- atrical apparel; but the dresses were, of course, less costly at some theatres than at others. The performers of male characters occasionally wore periwigs. Female parts were played solely by boys or young men, who sometimes used visards. The person who spoke the Prologue, and who entered immediately after the third sounding, was usually dressed in a black velvet cloak: an Epilogue does not appear to have been a regular appendage to a play. During the performance the clown would break forth into extemporaneous buffoonery; there was dancing and singing between the acts; and at the end of the piece was a song or a jig-a farcical rhyming composition of considerable length, sung or said by the clown, and accompanied with dancing and. playing on the pipe and tabor. A prayer for the queen, offered by the actors on their knees, concluded all. At the third sounding, or flourish of trum- pets, the exhibition began. The curtain, which concealed the stage from the audi- ence, was then drawn, opening in the middle and running upon iron rods. Other cur- tains, called traverses, were used as a substi- tute for scenes. At the back of the stage was a balcony, the platform of which was raised about eight or nine feet from the The price of admission appears to have ground; it served as a window, gallery, or varied according to the rank and estimation upper chamber; from it a portion of the of the theatres: it would seem that in dialogue was sometimes spoken; and in Shakespeare's days a shilling was charged front of it curtains were suspended, to con- for a place. in the best boxes or rooms; and ceal, if necessary, those who occupied it, that the entrance-money was the same to the from the audience. The internal roof of the pit as to the galleries, viz., sixpence, two- stage, either painted blue, or adorned with pence, or a penny (a matter the more diffi- drapery of that color, was termed the heav-cult to determine, because "gallery" was ens. The stage was generally strewed with frequently synonymous with "room"). The rushes, but on extraordinary occasions was performance commenced at three o'clock. X ALEXANDER DYCE'S During the reign of Elizabeth, plays were acted on Sundays as well as on other days of the week; but, in the time of her successor, dramatic exhibitions on the Sabbath appear to have been tolerated only at court. Of the dramatists who immediately pre- ceded Shakespeare, the most distinguished were Lyly, Peele, Greene, Marlowe, Kyd, Nash, and Lodge. The plays of Lyly are, on the whole, frigid and artificial, and it must be remembered that they were not in- tended for the public theatre. Neither Peele nor Greene were able to draw character with much strength or discrimination; their style is sometimes turgid, sometimes mean; and their blank verse, sweet and flowing as it is, fatigues the ear by its monotony. But in Peele's best drama, "David and Bethsabe," there is no inconsiderable portion of tender- ness and poetic beauty; and, till chance has discovered to us some common original of "Comus" and of "The Old Wives' Tale," he must be allowed the honor of having afforded hints to Milton. Greene, too, has his re- deeming points: though less rich in fancy than Peele, he is occasionally elegant and spirited; and his "Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay," and his "George-a Green, the Pin- ner of Wakefield," may be pronounced the most pleasant comedies of the time. After all, however, he is happiest in some of those lyric pieces, scattered through the vast va- riety of prose pamphlets which he produced with surprising facility. "The Spanish Tra- gedy" of Kyd excited great contemporary ap- plause, and it was long remembered by the parodies which its more ridiculous passages called forth. Doubtless it is here and there absurd enough; but, if not so poetical as the plays of Peele and Greene, it excels them in touches of passion and in depth of thought. To the three writers last mentioned, Nash, as a dramatist, was decidedly inferior: as a prose satirist he was justly celebrated; and in his controversy with Gabriel Harvey he exhibited such specimens of coarse wit and virulent invective as may have been equalled, but have never been surpassed, in any lan- guage. Lodge, like Nash, was more eminent in other walks of literature than in the drama: his satirical poetry is not without force; and several copies of verses inter- spersed among his different prose tracts are picturesque and graceful. Marlowe was gifted with a genius of far higher order-an intellect far more vigorous than any of these playwrights. In delineating character he reaches a degree of truth to which they make comparatively slight approaches, and in "Faustus" and "Edward the Second" he attains to real grandeur and pathos. Even in his earlier tragedy, "Tamburlaine," amid all its extravagance of incident and inflation of style, we recognize a power which none of his contemporaries possessed. He is, on good grounds, supposed to have been the first who introduced blank verse on the pub- lic stage, and he certainly was the first who harmonized it with variety of pause. To the list of dramatic poets preceding Shakespeare may be added the names of Chettle, Munday, and Wilson, who also con- tinued to write when his reputation as an author was established. Plays are still ex- tant by the first two, containing scenes of some merit; but, from what remains of Wil- son's productions, we cannot entertain a fa- vorable opinion of his talents. In The probability is that Shakespeare had been some time an actor before he displayed his powers as a writer for the stage. those days dramatists were frequently em- ployed by managers to alter and make addi- tions to pieces which had ceased to attract the public, and there is every reason to be- lieve that he commenced author by remould- ing the works of others, and not by original composition. Of his early performances in this way two yet remain-"The Second and Third Parts of King Henry the Sixth," which he formed on the still-extant dramas entitled "The First Part of the Contention betwixt the two Famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster," and "The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke"; and it is far from unlikely that some of his rifacimenti may have perished along with that host of plays which, after serving the immediate purposes of the theatre, were laid aside to rot in manu- script. Among his first productions as an original dramatist we need not hesitate to reckon "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" and "Love's Labour's Lost." In "The Comedy of Errors" and in "Titus Androni- cus," which certainly belong to the early part of his career, we know not how much he may have been indebted to the labors of his predecessors. If the following stanzas were intended to apply to Shakespeare, they contain the first notice of him which has yet been found in print: "And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made To mock herselfe, and truth to imitate With kindly counter under mimick shade, Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late: With whom all ioy and iolly meriment Is also deaded and in dolour drent. In stead thereof, scoffing scurrilitie, And scornfull follie, with contempt, is crept, Rolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie, Without regard or due decorum kept; LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xi Each idle wit at will presumes to make, And doth the learned's taske vpon him take. But that same gentle spirit, from whose pen Large streams of honni and sweete nectar flowe, Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men, Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell." So speaks Thalia, grieving for the deteriora- tion of comedy, in Spenser's "Teares of the Muses," 1591, and the passage has caused much dispute. "Mr. Dryden," says Rowe, "Mr. Dryden," says Rowe, "was always of opinion that these verses were meant of Shakespear:" but Dryden's opinion carries no weight, since it is noto- rious that he scarcely ever mentions the poets of Elizabeth and James's days without be- traying his ignorance of all that concerns them; and Rowe, in a subsequent edition of the memoir, omitted the statement just quoted. Todd conjectures, and not improb- ably, that "The Teares of the Muses" was composed about 1580, and he thinks that Willy" means Sir Philip Sydney, who was a writer of masques (one of which is still extant) who is elsewhere styled by Spen- ser "gentle shepherd of gentlest race," and "the right gentle minde"-and who is la- mented, under the name of "Willy," in "An Eclogue" in Davison's "Poetical Rhap- sody": 66 Willy is dead Phoebus himself, that conquer'd Pan, Striving with Willy, nothing wan. The learned Muses flock'd to hear his skill, Of none but Willy's pipe they made account," etc.- Malone once thought that Spenser pointed to Shakespeare; but he afterward labored to show that the person in question was Lyly. Mr. Collier maintains that "Willy" can be no other than Shakespeare, who, "although he had not composed any of his greatest works before 1591, may have done enough, besides what has come down to us, amply to warrant Spenser in applauding him beyond all his theatrical contemporaries. But, as has been observed, "The Teares of the Muses" was, in all likelihood, written about ten years previous to the date of its publication. Mr. Collier proceeds: "With regard to the lines which state that Willy 'Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell,' we have already shown that in 1589 there must have been some compulsory cessation of theatrical performances, which affected not only offending, but unoffending companies: hence the certificate, or more properly re- monstrance, of the sixteen sharers in the Blackfriars. The choir-boys of St. Paul's were actually silenced for bringing 'matters of state and religion' on their stage, when they introduced Martin Mar-prelate into one of their dramas, and the players of the Lord Admiral and Lord Strange were prohibited from acting, as far as we can learn, on a similar ground. The interdiction of per- formances by the children of Paul's was persevered in for about ten years; and al- though the public companies (after the com- pletion of some inquiries by commissioners specially appointed) were allowed again to follow their vocation, there can be no doubt that there was a temporary suspension of all theatrical exhibitions in London. This sus- pension commenced a short time before Spenser wrote his 'Tears of the Muses,' in which he notices the silence of Shakespeare." Now, these lines afford not the slightest ground for such an interpretation, or rather, they are. directly at variance with it; they tell us plainly enough that Willy, scorning to imitate the rude and ribald style of the poets who had then caught the public ear, "DOTH RATHER CHOOSE to sit in idle cell," etc.-his retirement from the scene being altogether voluntary. And how ill does such a description agree with what we know of Shakespeare with his unwearied diligence from first to last! But enough of this sub- ject. I do not pretend to determine who it is that lurks under the name of "Willy"; though I would not deny that it may be Shakespeare, whose endowments are well characterized in the opening lines of the cannot mean Sidney, for, of the boundless passage; yet I am not convinced that it admiration which Sidney's poetry excited among his contemporaries, many proofs might be adduced besides the verses cited above from Davison's miscellany, and the following hexameters from the same collec- tion: "See where Melpomene sits hid for shame in a corner: Hear ye the careful sighs fetch'd from the depth of her entrails? There weeps Calliope, there sometimes lusty Thalia. Ah me! alas, now know I the cause, now seek I no further: Here lies their glory, their hope, their only rejoicing: Dead lies worthy Philip, the care and praise of Apollo: Dead lies his carcase, but fame shall live to the world's end." On September 3, 1592, Robert Greene, xii ALEXANDER DYCE'S having run his reckless course, expired in utter destitution and neglect at the house of a poor shoemaker near Dowgate. It appears that he had devoted his last days to the writing of a pamphlet entitled "A Groats- worth of Wit bought with a Million of Re- pentance," which, soon after his decease, was given to the public by Henry Chettle. To- ward the conclusion of the tract Greene ex- horts his fellow-dramatists, Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, to amend their lives, and to abandon the vain occupation of catering for the stage, and in this interesting address the following memorable passage occurs: "Base-minded men all three of you, if by my misery yee bee not warned: for vnto none of you (like me) sought those burs to cleaue; those puppits, I meane, that speake from our mouths, those anticks garnisht in our colours. Is it not strange that I to whome they all haue bin beholding, is it not like that you to whom they all haue bin beholding, shall, were yee in that case that I am now, be both of them at once for- saken? Yes, trust them not: for there is an vpstart crow beautified with our feathers, that, with his Tygres heart wrapt in a players hyde, supposes hee is as well able to bom- bast put a blanke verse as the best of you; and, beeing an absolute Johannes Fac-totum, is, in his owne conceyt, the onely Shake- scene in a countrey." Here is a manifest allusion to Shakespeare; and it would seem, by the expression "beautified with our feathers," that he had remodelled certain pieces in the composition of which Greene, Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele had been either separately or jointly concerned; it would seem too that Greene more particularly alludes to the two old dramas entitled "The First Part of the Contention betwixt the two Famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster" and "The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke," on which (as be- fore mentioned) Shakespeare formed "The Second and Third Parts of King Henry the Sixth, for the words "his Tygres heart wrapt in a players hyde" are a parody upon a line in "The True Tragedie": "Oh, tygers hart wrapt in a womans hide!" That this address of the dying man gave offence both to Marlowe, whom it charged with atheism, and to Shakespeare, at whom it so sarcastically pointed, we learn from Chettle's epistle "To the Gentlemen Read- ers" prefixed to his "Kind-Harts Dreame," etc., n. d. "About three moneths since," says Chettle, "died M. Robert Greene, leau- ing many papers in sundry bookesellers hands; among other, his 'Groatsworth of Wit,' in which a letter written to diuers play-makers is offensiuely by one or two of them taken; and because on the dead they cannot be auenged, they wilfully forge in their conceites a liuing author; and after tossing it two [to] and fro, no remedy but it must light on me. How I haue all the time of my conuersing in printing hindred the bitter inueying against schollers, it hath been very well knowne, and how in that I dealt I can sufficiently prooue. With nei- ther of them that take offence was I ac- quainted, and with one of them [i.e., Mar- lowe] I care not if I neuer be: the other [i.e., Shakespeare], whome at that time I did not so much spare as since I wish I had, for that as I haue moderated the heate of liuing writers, and might haue vsde my owne discretion (especially in such a case) the author beeing dead, that I did not, I am as sorry as if the originall fault had beene my fault, because myselfe haue seene his de- meanor no lesse ciuill than he exclent in the qualitie he professes; besides, diuers of worship haue reported his vprightnes of dealing which argues his honesty, and his facetious grace in writting that approoues his art. For the first, whose learning I reu- erence, and, at the perusing of Greenes booke, stroke out what then in conscience I thought he in some displeasure writ, or, had it beene true, yet to publish it was intoller- able; him I would wish to vse me no worse than I deserue. I had onely in the copy this share; it was il written, as sometime Greenes hand was none of the best; licensd it must be, ere it could bee printed, which could neuer be if it might not be read: to be briefe, I writ it ouer, and, as neare as I could, followed the copy, onely in that letter I put something out, but in the whole booke not a worde in; for I protest it was all Greenes, not mine, nor Master Nashes, as some vniustly haue affirmed." A striking testimony indeed, not only to Shakespeare's ability as an actor and as an author, but to his worth as a man. In 1593 Shakespeare's "Venus and Ado- nis," and in 1594 his "Lucrece," issued from the press, both dedicated to Henry Wri- othesly, Earl of Southampton, who was Shakespeare's junior by more than nine years. That the "Venus and Adonis (which the author styles "the first heir of my invention") was not a recent composition in 1593, is probable enough. Mr. Collier "feels morally certain that it was in being anterior to Shakespeare's quitting Strat- ford," and it may have been; but I cannot agree with him in thinking that the scenery LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xiii of the poem is any evidence that such was the case. "It seems," he says, "to have been written in the open air of a fine coun- try like Warwickshire, with all the freshness of the recent impression of natural objects." Mr. Collier might as well argue that, be- cause "As You Like It" has so much of pas- toral life, it was written at a distance from the metropolis: and I have yet to learn that the fancy of Shakespeare could not luxuri- ate in rural images even amid the fogs of Southwark and the Blackfriars. Such was the popularity of "Venus and Adonis" that it had reached a fifth edition in 1602-the editions of the "Lucrece" appear to have followed each other less rapidly; yet both are mentioned together with equal praise by several contemporary writers-for in- stance, by Barnfield in a copy of verses en- titled "A Remembrance of Some English Poets": 66 "And Shakespeare, thou, whose hony-flowing vaine (Pleasing the world) thy praises doth obtaine, Whose Venus,' and whose 'Lucrece' (sweete and chaste), Thy name in fames immortall booke haue plac't; Liue euer you, at least in fame liue euer: Well may the bodye dye, but fame dies neuer." Whether the dedication of the "Venus and Adonis" first introduced Shakespeare to the amiable and accomplished South- ampton, or whether their acquaintance originated in the fondness of the latter for theatrical exhibitions, it appears that be- fore long they were on terms as friendly and familiar as the usages of society would allow at a period when the profession of a player was reckoned far from reputable. "There is," says Rowe, "one instance so singular in the magnificence of this patron of Shake- speare's, that if I had not been assured that the story was handed down by Sir William Davenant, who was probably very well ac- quainted with his affairs, I should not have ventured to have inserted: that my Lord Southampton at one time gave him a thou- sand pounds to enable him to go through with a purchase which he heard he had a mind to." The general truth of this need hardly be questioned: Southampton was the liberal encourager of poets; and, in the case of one whom he so esteemed and ad- mired, we can easily believe that his gene- rosity would exceed its wonted limits; but, since the sum above mentioned was equiva- lent to nearly five thousand pounds in our own day, there is no rashness in affirming that tradition has magnified the gift. However uncertain we may be about any allusion to Shakespeare in the passage of Spenser's "Teares of the Muses," already considered, we can scarcely doubt that he is alluded to in the following lines of the same poet's "Colin Clout's Come Home Again," composed during 1594: "And there, though last not least, is Ætion; A gentler shepheard may no where be found; Whose Muse, full of high thoughts' invention, Doth, like himselfe, heroically sound." Malone observes, "It may be conjectured that before this poem was written, Shake- speare had produced on the stage one or more of his historical plays, probably 'King Richard the Second' and '[King Richard the] third,'" which tragedies might, with propriety, be said to "sound heroically" like the surname of their author, Shake-spear. The Lord Chamberlain's servants of whom Shakespeare was one-were in the habit of performing at the Globe on the Bankside (first opened either late in 1594 or early in 1595) and at the Blackfriars (built in 1576); during summer they acted at the Globe, and during winter at the Blackfriars, which, though smaller than the Globe, was more effectually sheltered from the weather. Though his occupation obliged him to re- side almost constantly in London-and in 1596, at least, he appears to have been living in Southwark, near the Bear Garden-it is evident that Shakespeare never ceased to turn his thoughts toward his birthplace, as the spot where he hoped to spend the even- ing of his days in honorable retirement. We are told-and why should we discredit the tradition?-that he was in the habit of annually visiting Stratford, from which it would seem that his family never removed; and we may conclude that he was present, on August 11, 1596, at the burial of his only son Hamnet, who died in his twelfth year. As actor and dramatist, and perhaps as play-house proprietor, Shakespeare was now in the receipt of a considerable income, and he proceeded to lay out a portion of his well-earned gains on the purchase of a prop- erty at Stratford. Early in 1597 he bought for sixty pounds, from William Underhill, one of the best houses in that town, called New Place, said to have been originally built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the reign of Henry the Seventh; it was situated in Chapel street ward, close to the Chapel of the Holy Trin- ity, and consisted of one messuage, two barns, and two gardens, with their appurte- nances. The following note of the fine levied on the occasion is in the Chapter House, Westminster: "Inter Willielmum Shakespeare quer. et Willielmum Underhill generosum deforc. de xiv ALEXANDER DYCE'S uno mesuagio, duobus horreis, et duobus gardinis, cum pertinentiis, in Stratford super Avon, unde placitum convencionis sum. fuit inter eos, &c. scilicet quod prædictus Willi- elmus Underhill recogn. prædicta tenementa cum pertinentiis esse jus ipsius Willielmi Shakespeare ut illa quæ idem Willielmus habet de dono prædicti Willielmi Underhill, et ill. remisit et quietclam. de se et hæred. suis prædicto Willielmo Shakespeare et hæ- red. suis in perpetuum; et præterea idem Willielmus Underhill concessit pro se et hæred. suis quod ipsi warant. prædicto Willielmo Shakespeare et hæred. suis præ- dicta tenementa cum pertinentiis in perpe- tuum. Et pro hac, &c. idem Willielmus Shakespeare dedit prædicto Willielmo Un- derhill sexaginta libras sterlingorum. [Pasch. 39 Eliz.]" Of Shakespeare's prosperity we have fur- ther evidence in letters written by several of his townsmen. On January 24, 1597-98, Abra- ham Sturley, writing from Stratford to a friend in London (who, though not men- tioned by name, is undoubtedly Richard Quiney), commences his long epistle thus: wyllyd to com to you. Mr. Layne by report hath receved a great summ of money of Mr. Smyth of Wotten, but wylle not be knowyn of hyt, and denyd to lend your wyff any, but hys wyffe sayd that he had receved v.li. which was gevyn hyr, and wysshd hym to lent that to your wyff, which he dyde; she hopyth to mayk provyssyon to paye Mr. Combes and alle the rest. I wrot to yow con- cernyng Jhon Rogerss; the howsse goythe greatlye to dekaye; ask secretli therein, and doo somewhat therein, as he ys in doubt that Mr. Parsonss wylle not paye the 3li. 13s. 4d. Wherfor wryte to hym yff yow maye have carryage to bye some such warys as yow may selle presentlye with profet. Yff yow bargen with Wm. Sh --- or receve money therfor, brynge your money home that yow maye. And see howe knite stockynes be sold; ther ys gret byinge of them at Ayssham. Edward Wheat, and Harrye youre brother man, were both at Evysham thys daye senet, and, as I harde, bestow 20li. ther in knyt hosse; wherfor I thynke yow maye doo good, yff yow can have money." Great interest is attached to the following. "Most lovinge and belovedd in the Lord, letter as being addressed to the dramatist in plaine Englishe we remember u in the himself, and the only one remaining of the Lord, and ourselves unto u. I would write many letters which he must have received. nothinge unto u nowe, but come home. I The writer, Richard Quiney-father of the prai God send u comfortabli home. This is Thomas Quiney who afterward became the one speciall remembrance ffrom ur ffathers husband of Shakespeare's youngest daughter motion. It semeth bi him that our countri--was then in London on the business of man, Mr. Shakspere, is willinge to disburse the Stratford Corporation; and it is plain some monei upon some od yarde land or that when he requests the loan of thirty other att Shottri or neare about us; he pounds-no trifling sum in those days-he thinketh it a veri fitt patterne to move him does not anticipate a refusal : to deale in the matter of our tithes. Bi the instruccions u can geve him theareof, and by the frendes he can make therefore, we thinke it a faire marke for him to shoote att, and not unpossible to hitt. It obtained would advance him in deede, and would do us much good. Hoc movere, et quantum in te est permovere, ne necligas, hoc enim et sibi et nobis maximi erit momenti. Hic la- bor, hoc opus esset eximiæ et gloriæ et lau- dis sibi." "Loveinge contreyman, I am bolde of yow, as of a ffrende, craveinge yowr helpe with xxx.li. uppon Mr. Bushells and my securytee, or Mr. Myttons with me. Mr. Rosswell is nott come to London as yeate, and I have especiall cawse. Yow shall ffrende me muche in helpeing me out of all the debettes I owe in London, I thanck God, and muche quiet my mynde, which wolde nott be indebeted. I am now to- wardes the Cowrte, in hope of answer for the dispatche of my buysenes. Yow shall nether loose creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde wyllinge; and nowe butt perswade yowreselfe soe, as I hope, and yow shall nott need to feare butt with all heartie thancke- fullnes I wyll holde my tyme, and content yowr ffreende, and yf we bargaine farther, yow shalbe the paie-master yowrselfe. My "You shalle, God willyng, receve from tyme biddes me hasten to an ende, and soe youre wyfe by Mr. Baylye thys brr. asowr- I committ thys [to] yowr care and hope of ance of x.s., and she wold have yow to bye yowr helpe. I feare I shall not be backe sume grocerye, yff yt be resonable; yow thys night ffrom the Cowrte. Haste. The maye have carryage by a woman who I Lorde be with yow and with us all, Amen! A letter endorsed "To my lovynge sonne Rycharde Qwyney, at the Belle in Carter Leyne, deliver thesse in London"-without date or signature, but probably written in 1598, and ascertained to be from the pen of Adrian Quiney-contains a not very intel- ligible allusion to some pecuniary transac- tion with Shakespeare: HAMLET AND THE PLAYERS. HAMLET. "I heard thee speak me a speech once." A Hopkins "Hamlet," Act II., Scene II. OF WICH LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. XV ffrom the Bell in Carter Lane, the 25. | son's labors contains these words concerning October 1598. Yowrs in all kyndenes, To my loveinge good ffrend and contreyman Mr. Wm. Shackespere deliver thees. Ryc. Quyney. The next quotation is the beginning of a letter dated November 4, 1598, written by Abraham Sturley at Stratford "to his most lovinge brother, Mr. Richard Quinei, att the Bell in Carter lane att London": "All health, happines of suites and well- fare, be multiplied unto u and ur labours in God our Father bi Christ our Lord! "Ur letter of the 25. of October came to mi handes the laste of the same att night per Grenwai, which imported a stai of suites by Sir Ed. Gr. [Edward Greville's] advise, untill, &c. and that onli u should followe on for tax and sub. presentli, and allso ur travell and hinderance of answere therein, bi ur longe travell and thaffaires of the Courte: and that our countriman Mr. Wm. Shak. would procure us monei, wc. I will like of, as I shall heare when and wheare and howe; and I prai let not go that oc- casion, if it mai sorte to ani indifferent con- dicions. Allso that if monei might be had for 30 or 401., a lease &c. might be procured. Oh howe can u make dowbt of monei, who will not beare xxx. tie or xl.s. towardes sutch a match!" At the Carlton Ride Record Office is pre- served a subsidy roll, dated October 1, 1598, which shows that our poet was at that period assessed on property in the parish of St. Helen's, Bishopsgate : "Affid. William Shakespeare, vli.-xiijs. iiijd." him: "I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. According to Rowe, Shakespeare's "ac- quaintance with Ben Johnson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and good nature: Mr. Johnson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and the persons into whose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer that it would be of no service to their company, when Shakespeare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first to read it through, and afterward to recommend Mr. Johnson and his writings to the publick." This anec- dote, like many other traditionary stories, is perhaps in some respects erroneous; but there seems to be nothing which forbids our believing it to be based on truth. Private dwellings in those days did not furnish the accommodations and comforts which they now afford; and conviviality was confined almost entirely to taverns and or- dinaries. At the Mermaid Tavern, Sir Walter Raleigh had instituted a club, which included among its members Jonson, Beau- mont, Fletcher, Selden, Donne, and others eminent for genius and learning. That Shakespeare also belonged to it we can hardly question; and there most probably it was that he and Jonson delighted the com- pany with those brilliant and good-natured repartees, of which Fuller, from the ac- counts still current in his own time, has pre- served a memorial. "Many," he says, "were the wit-combates betwixt him and Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Ben Jonson himself records that his Spanish great gallion and an English man- "Every Man in his Humour" was originally of-war: Master Jonson (like the former) was played in 1598 by the Lord Chamberlain's built far higher in learning, solid but slow servants; and in a list of the "principal in his performances; Shakespeare with comedians" which is subjoined to it (but English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but does not enable us to appropriate the char- lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, acters to the actors respectively) the name tack about and take advantage of all winds, of Shakespeare stands first. That a sincere by the quickness of his wit and invention." friendship existed between Shakespeare and In a work by Francis Meres, entitled Jonson will never again be doubted after" Palladis Tamia, Wits Treasury, being the the excellent memoir of the latter by Gifford; Second Part of Wits Commonwealth," 1598, and, indeed, it is surprising that the alleged is a remarkable passage concerning Shakes- enmity of Jonson toward Shakespeare should peare and the productions by which at that not have had an earlier refutation, especially date he had established his fame: as Jonson's writings exhibit the most unequi- "As the soule of Euphorbus was thought Vocal testimony of his affectionate admira- to live in Pythagoras, so the sweete wittie tion of Shakespeare. A more glowing eulogy soule of Ovid lives in mellifluous and hony- than the verses" To the memory of MY BELOVED, tongued Shakespeare; witness his Venus the author, Mr. William Shakespeare," was and Adonis,' his Lucrece,' his sugred 'Son- never penned; and one of the latest of Jon-nets' among his private friends, etc. xvi ALEXANDER DYCE'S "As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and tragedy among the Latines, so Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage; for comedy, witnes his 'Gentlemen of Verona,' his 'Errors,' his 'Love Labors Lost,' his Love Labours Wonne,' his Midsum- mers Night Dreame,' and his Merchant of Venice'; for tragedy, his Richard the 2.,' 'Richard the 3., Henry the 4.,' Henry the 4.,' King John,' Titus Andronicus,' and his 'Romeo and Juliet.' "As Epius Stolo said that the Muses would speake with Plautus tongue, if they would speak Latin, so I say that the Muses would speak with Shakespeares fine filed phrase, if they would speake English." Of the various pieces thus mentioned by Meres in 1598, a portion only were then in print; the others afterward found their way to the press at unequal intervals, some re- maining in manuscript till the publication of the folio in 1623. To take them in the order of his enumeration: "Venus and Adonis" and "Lucrece" first appeared (as already stated), the former in 1593, the lat- ter in 1594; the "Sonnets" in 1609; "The Two Gentlemen of Verona" and "The Comedy of Errors" in 1623; "Love's Labour's Lost" in 1598; "Love's Labour's Won" (sup- posing that title to be, as it most probably is, only another name for "All's Well that Ends Well") in 1623; "A Midsummer- Night's Dream" and "The Merchant of Ven- ice" in 1600; "King Richard the Second" and "King Richard the Third" in 1597; "The First Part of King Henry the Fourth" in 1598; "The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth" in 1600; "King John" in 1623; "Titus Andronicus" (if not in 1594) in 1600; "Romeo and Juliet" (with a most imperfect text) in 1597. Among the "Epigrams" of Weever, pub- lished in 1599, but written earlier, are the fol- lowing wretched lines in commendation of our author's poetry, both narrative and dramatic: "Ad Gulielmum Shakespeare. Honie-tongd Shakespeare, when I saw thine issue, I swore Apollo got them, and none other; Their rosie-tainted features clothed in tissue, Some heaven-born goddesse said to be their mother: Rose-cheeckt Adonis with his amber tresses, Faire fire-hot Venus charming him to love her; Chaste Lucretia, virgine-like her dresses, Proud lust-stung Tarquine seeking still to prove her; Romeo, Richard, more whose names I know not; Their sugred tongues and power-attractive beauty Say they are saints, althogh that saints they shew not, For thousand vows to them subjective dutie. They burn in love, thy children, Shakespeare, let them: Go, wo thy Muse; more nymphish brood beget them." During the same year appeared a small poetical miscellany called "The Passionate Pilgrim," the title-page attributing the whole to Shakespeare, though it contains some things that we know he did not write, and some others which their poverty of thought and expression forbids our believing to be his. As to those portions of it which had been printed the year before among the poems of Barnfield, a recent inquiry would seem to show that they may nevertheless be from Shakespeare's pen. In 1599 was also published the second edition of his "Romeo and Juliet," "newly corrected, augmented, and amended." Of the marriage of Shakespeare's sister Joan to William Hart, a hatter at Stratford, the register has no mention; but their first child, William, was baptized August 28, 1600, buried March 29, 1639. Their other children were: Mary, baptized June 5, 1603, buried December 17, 1607; Thomas, bap- tized July 24, 1605; Michael, baptized Sep- tember 23, 1608. In 1600, besides the plays already mentioned, our author's "Much Ado about Nothing" and his "King Henry the Fifth" (a mere abortion of the original) found their way to the press. John Shakespeare, the father of the dram- atist, about whom so much has been said in the commencement of this memoir, was buried at Stratford, September 8, 1601. If Malone's conjecture be right-and it can hardly be far wrong-that he was "born in or before the year 1530," he had somewhat passed the age of threescore and ten. The earliest date assigned by the commen- tators to the production of Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night" was 1607, till the discovery of the following curious entry in the "Diary" of John Manningham, a member of the Mid- dle Temple (MS. Harl. 5353): "1601[-2]. Febr. 2. At our feast wee had a play called Twelve Night or What you Will, much like the Commedy of Errors' or 'Menechmi' in Plautus, but most like and neere to that in Italian called 'In- ganni. A good practise in it to make the steward beleeve his lady widdowe was in love with him, by counterfayting a lettre as from his lady in generall termes, telling him what shee liked best in him, and prescribing his gesture in smiling, his apparraile, etc., him beleeve they tooke him to be mad, etc. and then when he came to practise, making In 1602 Shakespeare made an important addition to his property by purchasing, for three hundred and twenty pounds, a hun- dred and seven acres of arable land in the parish of Old Stratford. The indenture, "Betweene William Combe, of Warrwicke, LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xvii in the countie of Warrwick, esquier, and John Combe, of Olde Stretford, in the coun- tie aforesaid, gentleman, on the one partie, and William Skakespere, of Stretford-uppon Avon, in the countie aforesaide, gentleman, on thother partye," is dated May 1st; and, Shakespeare not being then at Stratford, the conveyance was executed by his brother Gil- bert. On the 28th of the following September, a "cotagium cum pertinentiis," in Walker's street, alias Dead lane, Stratford, near New Place, was surrendered to Shakespeare by Walter Getley-the former, it appears, being at that time absent from Stratford; and du- ring Michaelmas-Term of the same year our poet bought, for sixty pounds, from Hercules Underhill, a messuage, with two barns, two gardens, and two orchards, described, not very precisely, in the original fine as situ- ated "in Stretford super Avon." Queen Elizabeth died on March 24, 1602-3. She was fond of theatrical per- formances; and we have the testimony of Ben Jonson that she justly appreciated the dramatist who was the brightest ornament of her reign: 66 Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames That so did take Eliza and our James!" To the same effect is a passage in Chettle's "Englandes Mourning Garment," 1603, where, under the name of Melicert, Shake- speare is admonished for having failed to celebrate in an elegy the lately deceased queen: "Nor doth the silver-tonged Melicert We are told that "The Merry Wives of Windsor" was written by the command of her majesty, who had been so pleased with Falstaff in the two parts of "King Henry the Fourth," that she desired to see him in the character of a lover; and the anecdote may possibly be true, though it cannot be traced farther back than the beginning of the last century. In King James the drama found a kind and liberal patron. On May 17, 1603, but a few days after his arrival in London, the fol- lowing warrant under the Privy Seal was is- sued: "BY THE KING. "Right trusty and welbeloved Counsellor, we greete you well, and will and commaund you, that under our privie seale in your cus- tody for the time being, you cause our letters to be derected to the keeper of our greate seale of England, commaunding him under our said greate seale, he cause our letters to be made patents in forme following. James, by the grace of God, King of England, Scot- land, Fraunce, and Irland, defendor of the faith, &c. To all justices, maiors, sheriffs, constables, headboroughes, and other our of- ficers and loving subjects greeting. Know ye, that we of our speciall grace, certaine knowl- edge, and meere motion, have licenced and au- thorized, and by these presentes doe licence and authorize, these our servants, Lawrence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillippes, John Hem, mings, Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, Richard Cowlye, and the rest of their associats, freely to use and exercise the arte and faculty of playing comedies, tragedies, histories, enterludes, moralls, pastorals, stage-plaies, and such other like, as thei have already studied, or hereafter shall use or studie, as well for the recreation of our Drop from his honied Muse one sable teare To mourne her death that graced his desert, And to his laies opened her royall eare. Shepheard, remember our Elizabeth, And sing her Rape done by that Tarquin, Death." Indeed, she could hardly have been insen-loving subjects, as for our solace and plea- sible to the most enchanting compliment ever paid by genius to royal vanity-the al- lusion to the Virgin Queen in "A Midsum- mer-Night's Dream," forming, as it does, so striking a contrast to the gross and vulgar flattery with which other contemporary poets strove to soothe her ear: "That very time I saw-but thou couldst not- Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took At a fair vestal throned by the west, And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon, And the imperial votaress passed on, In maiden meditation, fancy-free." -Act ii. sc. 1. them, during our pleasure; and the said sure, when we shall thinke goode to see moralls, pastoralls, stage-plaies, and such comedies, tragedies, histories, enterludes, like, to shew and exercise publiquely to their best commoditie, when the infection of the plague shall decrease, as well within theire now usuall howse called the Globe, within our county of Surrey, as also within anie towne halls, or mout halls, or other conve- nient places within the liberties and free- dome of any other citie, universitie, towne, or borough whatsoever within our said maunding you, and every of you, as you ten- realmes and dominions: willing and com- der our pleasure, not only to permit and suffer them heerin, without any your letts, xviii ALEXANDER DYCE'S hinderances, or molestations, during our said pleasure, but also to be ayding or assisting to them yf any wrong be to them offered; and to allowe them such former courtesies, as hathe bene given to men of their place and qualitie; and also what further favour you shall shew to these our servants for our sake, we shall take kindly at your hands. And these our letters shall be your sufficient warrant and discharge in his behalfe. Given under our signet at our mannor of Greene- wiche, the seavententh day of May in the first yeere of our raigne of England, France, and Ireland, and of Scotland the six and thirtieth." and the Magistrates of Middlesex and Surrey, dated April 9, 1604, directing them to allow three companies of players those of the King, the Queen, and the Prince-"publick- lie to exercise their plaies in ther severall usuall howses," etc., etc.; and to the latter is appended a list of the King's Players, who are thus enumerated, "Burbade, Shake- speare, Fletcher, Phillips, Condle, Hemmin- ges, Armyn, Slye, Cowley, Hostler, Day." But, though the letter is undoubtedly a genuine document, we are now quite certain that the list of players which is annexed to it is spurious. In his CXIth " Sonnet poet evidently expresses his real sentiments when he says: our Our poet and his above-named associates were then at the head of the Lord Chamber- lain's company, performing at the Globe in summer, and at the Blackfriars in winter, though the former theatre only is noticed in the instrument. By virtue of it they now ceased to be the Lord Chamberlain's ser- vants, and were henceforth designated as the King's Players. Laurence Fletcher, the leading member of the association, had per- formed before King James in Scotland with the company of English actors who were there from October, 1599, to December, 1601; and he is ascertained to have been at the head of that company by the fact of his having re-ready quoted) terms him "exclent in the His contemporary Chettle (in a tract al- ceived the freedom of the city of Aberdeen qualitie he professes;" and though the pas- on October 22, 1601, as "comedian to his sage which contains these words was in- Majesty." Perhaps the favor in which he at tended to be apologetical to Shakespeare, that time stood with James was not without yet Chettle would hardly have ventured to its influence in determining the position oc- use so strong an epithet as "excellent" unless cupied by his name in the warrant. Mr. our author's histrionic powers had been of Collier's conjecture that Laurence Fletcher a superior order. Another contemporary, was an elder brother of John Fletcher, the John Davies of Hereford, thus alludes to dramatist, is very questionable. We have Shakespeare and Burbadge in his "Micro- no evidence that Shakespeare ever visited cosmos," 1603: Scotland, either along with Laurence Flet- cher, or ten years earlier as one of an Eng- lish company styled "her Majesty's players,' who are known to have performed at Edin- burgh in 1589. "O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds Thence comes it that my name receives a brand; And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand," etc. He had, therefore, conceived a distaste for the player's profession, regarding himself as degraded by it; and he must have felt any- thing but regret at bidding farewell to the stage. as "If Pride ascende the stage (O base ascent!), Al men may see her, for nought comes thereon But to be seene, and where Vice should be shent, Yea, made most odious to ev'ry one In blazing her by demonstration, Then Pride, that is more then most vicious, Should there endure open damnation; And so shee doth, for shee's most odious In men most base, that are ambitious. Players, I love yee and your qualitie. As ye are men that pass-time not abus'd; And some [W. S. R. B.] I love for painting, poesie, And say fell Fortune cannot be excus'd, That hath for better vses you refus'd; The exact date at which Shakespeare ceased to be an actor is uncertain. He was still on the stage in 1603, when he played a character in the "Sejanus" of Jonson-in whose "Every Man in his Humour,' already noticed, he had been one of the ori- ginal performers; but from Jonson's arrange- ment of the actors' names we can no more determine what character he represented in "Sejanus" than what was his particular part in the earlier production of his friend. It is hardly to be doubted that not long after the last-mentioned period Shakespeare with- drew from the stage. Among the papers at Dulwich College is the copy of a letter from The same persevering rhymer, in his "Hu- the Council to the Lord Mayor of London mours Heau'n on Earth," etc., 1605, speaking Wit, courage, good shape, good partes, and all good, As long as al these goods are no werse vs'd; And though the stage doth staine pure gentle bloud, Yet generous yee are in minde and moode." LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xix of the followers of Fortune, again pays a com- | Shakespeare had sold to Rogers as much pliment to Shakespeare and his fellow-actor: "Some followed her by acting all mens parts: Those on a stage she rais'd (in scorne) to fall, And made them mirrors, by their acting arts, Wherin men saw their faults, thogh ne'r so small: Yet some [W. S. R. B.] she guerdond not to their desarts; But othersome were but ill-action all, Who, while they acted ill, ill staid behinde, By custome of their maners, in their minde.' In a later and somewhat more readable work, by Davies, "The Scourge of Folly," etc., n. d., are these puzzling verses: "To our English Terence, Mr. Will. Shakespeare. Some say, good Will, which I in sport do sing, Hadst thou not plaid some kingly parts in sport, Thou hadst bin a companion for a king, And beene a king among the meaner sort. Some others raile; but raile as they thinke fit, Thou hast no rayling, but a raigning wit: And honesty thou sow'st, which they do reape, So to increase their stocke, which they do keepe." malt as amounted to the value of 17. 19s. 10d.; and he had also, on June 25th, lent him two shillings; of all this debt Rogers had paid only six shillings-hence the action. Pity that, for want of better materials, the poet's biographers should have to enter on such insignificant details! The quarto of "Hamlet," 1603, which had so grossly misrepresented the author's text, was superseded by a more correct edition in 1604, "enlarged to almost as much againe as it was, according to the true and perfect coppie." It has been shown that, as early as January, 1597-98, there was talk at Stratford of Shake- speare's "dealing in the matter of our tithes;" but the business came to no issue till 1605, when he purchased a moiety of a lease- granted in 1544 for ninety-two years-of the tithes, great and small, of Stratford, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe. The indenture executed between "Raphe Hus- bande of Ippesly in the countye of Warwick esquier on thone parte, and William Shake- speare of Stratford uppon Avon in the saied countie of Warwick, gentleman, on thother parte," is dated July 24th; and for this pur- chase, the greatest he is known to have made, Shakespeare paid down four hundred and forty pounds. In a "Certificate of the names and arms of trained soldiers within the Hundred of Barlichway, co. Warwick, taken at Alcester, before Sir Fulk Greville, Sir Edw. Greville, and Tho. Spencer," dated September 23, 1605, "the name of William Shakespeare occurs in the list of soldiers of the town of Rowing- ton;" and (though Shakespeares abounded in Warwickshire) it is by no means unlikely that the said "William Shakespere" was our dramatist, who at that troubled period- somewhat more than a month before the dis- covery of the Gunpowder Plot-may have joined a band of soldiers, ready, in case of emergency, to defend the state. Are we, then, to understand that, in conse- quence of having personated certain royal characters, Shakespeare had drawn upon him- self the displeasure of King James? I more than doubt if such be Davies's meaning; for it is utterly improbable that Shakespeare would ever have taken part in, or even given his sanction to, any performance with which the king could have had reason to be of- fended. We now come to the traditions concerning Shakespeare in his capacity of player. According to Aubrey, "he did act exceedingly well." Wright, on the other hand, had "heard" that he "was a much bet- ter poet than player; " and Rowe informs us that, soon after his admission into the com- pany, he became distinguished, "if not as an extraordinary actor, yet as an excellent writer," adding presently, "I could never meet with any further account of him this way, than that the top of his performance was the Ghost in his own 'Hamlet.'" But what Wright and Rowe had "heard" goes Our author's "King Henry the Eighth" for nothing when weighed against the ex- would seem to have been produced not long press declaration of his contemporary Chet-after the accession of James, who is elabor- tle, that Shakespeare was "excellent in the ately complimented toward the conclusion quality he professed;" and perhaps it was of the play; and his "Macbeth," which also only a natural consequence of his vast repu- contains a flattering allusion to the reigning tation as a dramatist, that his abilities as an monarch, was probably brought upon the actor should be almost forgotten. If we may stage about 1606. The tradition that King trust a story which has been handed down James, on some occasion, wrote with his own to us with variations, he used to perform the hand "an amicable letter" to Shakespeare, part of Adam in his own "As You Like It." is not to be dismissed as altogether unworthy In 1604 an action was brought by Shake- of credit. Mr. Collier cannot believe "that speare, in the Court of Record at Stratford, James I. should have so far condescended;" against Philip Rogers, to recover a debt of but it is certain that the condescension of 17. 15s. 10d. At different times between that monarch was frequently extreme-his March and the end of May in that year, familiarity most unking-like. XX ALEXANDER DYCE'S In the "Accounts" of Lord Harrington, Treasurer of the Chamber to James the First, we find: "Paid to John Heminges upon the coun- cells warrt, dated at Whitehall, xx° die Maii 1613, for presentinge before the Princes Hignes [Charles], the La. Elizabeth, and the Prince Pallatyne Elector, fowerteene severall playes, viz..... Much Adoe abowte Noth- inge .. the Tempest . . . . the Winter's Tale, S John Falstafe [i.e., The Merry Wives of Windsor], the Moore of Venice Cæsar's Tragedye [most probably Shake- speare's Julius Cæsar] all which playes weare played within the tyme of this accompte, viz. pd the some of iiij. (xx.) xiij.li. vj.s. viij.d." And a considerably later entry in the "Accounts of the Treasurer of the Cham- ber" runs thus: "To John Heminges, &c., upon a warrant dated 20 April 1618, for pre- senting two severall Playes before his Maty, on Easter Monday Twelfte night the play soe called, and on Easter Tuesday the Winter's Tale, xx"." If the documents just cited had reached us in a completer state, it is likely that they would have furnished other notices of our author's dramas. On June 5, 1607, Shakespeare's eldest daughter, Susanna, was married to John Hall, a medical practitioner settled at Strat- ford, and in good repute throughout War- wickshire and the neighboring counties; of whom and his wife there will be further mention. On December 31st of the same year Shakespeare's brother Edmund was interred at St. Saviour's, Southwark, the burial register declaring him to have been a "player"-belonging doubtless to the Globe and Blackfriars company; and, as the fact of his having been on the stage is ascertained from no other source, it is clear that he never was distinguished in his profession. The birth of Elizabeth Hall (the only child of her parents), who was baptized February 21, 1607-8, made our poet a grandfather. On the 9th of the following September his mother, Mary Shakespeare-at the age, we may presume, of something more than sev- enty-was laid in the grave at Stratford, seven years and a day after the burial of her husband. Mr. Collier supposes that they had both formed part of the household at New Place; but John Shakespeare most probably died in his freehold tenement in Henley street, which he certainly occupied as late as January, 1596-97; and there too, most probably, his wife had continued to reside till her decease. On the 16th of the next month Shakespeare was sponsor for a boy named William Walker, whom he remembers in his will by a legacy of "xx.s. in gold." Three editions of "King Lear," all printed for the same bookseller in 1608, attest the high celebrity which Shakespeare had now acquired as a dramatist. We learn from the records of Stratford that in August, 1608, he brought an action against John Addenbroke for the recovery of a debt; that, after a delay of several months, a verdict was given in his favor for 6l., and 17. 4s. costs; and that, the defend- ant having been returned as "non inven- tus," Shakespeare proceeded against Thomas Horneby, who had become bail for Adden- broke. The latest date recorded in this ac- tion is June 7, 1609. The sonnet, first introduced into our liter- ature by Lord Surrey, was much cultivated during the reigns of Elizabeth and James; and it seems occasionally to have employed the pen of Shakespeare several years before 1598, when "his sugred Sonnets among his private friends" were mentioned by Meres in a passage of the "Palladis Tamia," etc., which has been already quoted. At length, in 1609, a volume containing one hundred and fifty-four sonnets, the undoubted pro- ductions of Shakespeare, was given to the public by a bookseller who evidently had not obtained them from the author himself. The greater portion of these sonnets is ad- dressed to a youth, and the kind of impas- sioned friendship which some of them pro- fess can only surprise a reader unacquainted with the manners of the time: it was then not uncommon for one man to write verses to another in a strain of such tender affec- tion as fully warrants our terming them amatory; and even in the epistolary corre- spondence between two grave and elderly gentlemen, friendship used frequently to ber- row the language of love. Who was the youth in question, conjecture has long been laboring to discover. According to the book- seller's dedication, "the only begetter" of the sonnets was "Mr. W. H." Tyrwhitt, comparing these initials with a line of the xxth Sonnet, which stands thus in the quarto, "A man in hew all Hews in his controwling," imagined that the mysterious personage was a W. Hughes; and, more recently, Boaden exerted great ingenuity to show that "W. H." meant William Herbert, Earl of Pem- broke-a supposition which is almost at once refuted by the extreme improbability that the bookseller would have presumed to address the Earl as "Mr. W. H." How dif- ferent was the language of Heminge and Condell, when, in 1623, they dedicated the first folio of Shakespeare's plays to that very LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xxi Of our author's brother Gilbert, who, as before seen, resided at Stratford, no particu- lars are known later than March 5, 1609-10, when he signed his name as witness to a deed still extant. The "Gilbertus Shack- speare adolescens," whose burial is entered in the Stratford register under February 3, 1611, was perhaps his son. In a list of donations "colected towardes the charge of prosecutyng the bill in Parlia- ment for the better repayre of the highe waies, and amendinge divers defectes in the statutes already made," dated Wednesday, September 11, 1611, the name of "Mr. Wil- liam Shackspere" occurs. "This MS.," ob- serves Mr. Halliwell, "evidently relates to Stratford, but no sum is affixed to Shake- speare's name; and from its being placed in the margin, it would appear that he was not then in that town, and that the insertion was an afterthought." Earl of Pembroke and the Earl of Mont- life. "Timon of Athens,"" observes Mr. Col- gomery! "We have," they say, "but col- lier, "Coriolanus,' 'Antony and Cleopatra,' lected them [the plays], and done an office Cymbeline,' "The Winter's Tale,' and 'The to the dead, to procure his orphans guar- Tempest,' all seem to belong to a late period dians; without ambition either of self-profit of our poet's theatrical career, and some of or fame; only to keep the memory of so them were doubtless written between 1609 worthy a friend and fellow alive as was our and the period, whatever that period might Shakespeare, by humble offer of his plays to be, when he entirely relinquished dramatic your most noble patronage. Wherein, as we composition." have justly observed no man to come near your L.L. but with a kind of religious address, it hath been the height of our care, who are the presenters, to make the present worthy of your H. H. by the perfection. But there we must also crave our abilities to be con- sidered, my lords. We cannot go beyond our own powers. Country hands reach forth milk, cream, fruits, or what they have; and many nations, we have heard, that had not gums and incense, obtained their requests with a leavened cake. It was no fault to ap- proach their gods by what means they could: and the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious when they are dedicated to temples. In that name, therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your H. H. these remains of your servant Shakespeare," etc. For my own part, repeated perusals of the "Sonnets" have well nigh convinced me that most of them were composed in an assumed charac- ter, on different subjects, and at different times, for the amusement, if not at the sug- gestion of the author's intimate associates (hence described by Meres as "his sugred Sonnets among his private friends"); and though I would not deny that one or two of them reflect his genuine feelings, I contend that allusions scattered through the whole series are not to be hastily referred to the personal circumstances of Shakespeare. In the general excellence of these "Sonnets" -in their depth of thought, their tenderness, their picturesqueness, their grace, their har- mony-we forget their occasional conceits and quibbles: and, indeed, no English son- nets are worthy, in all respects, of being ranked with Shakespeare's, if we except the few by Milton-so severe and so majestic. A poem of considerable beauty, called "A Lover's Complaint," and evidently written by our author in his earlier days, is appended to the original edition of his "Sonnets." "Troilus and Cressida" and "Pericles" were also printed in 1609. The title-pages of both attribute them wholly to Shake- speare; but that some parts of the former, and the greater portion of the latter play, are from another and a very inferior hand, is unquestionable. Of the dramas produced by Shakespeare subsequently to this date none were committed to the press during his The draft of a bill to be filed before Lord Ellesmere by "Richard Lane of Awston in the cownty of Warwicke esquire, Thomas Greene of Stratford uppon Avon in the said county of Warwicke esquire, and William Shackspeare of Stratford uppon Avon afore- said in the said county of Warwicke gentle- man"-without date, but apparently drawn up in 1612-exhibits Shakespeare as engaged in a lawsuit arising out of his share in the tithes which he had bought in 1605. Certain of the lessees, it seems, having refused to con- tribute their proportions toward a reserved rent of 277. 13s. 4d., which they were bound to pay under peril of forfeiture, "Richard Lane and William Shackspeare and some fewe others" had been "wholly, and against all equity and good conscience, usually dryven to pay the same for preservacion of their es- tates;" and at last, finding the said lessees. intractable, they submitted the case to the Court of Chancery. What was the issue of this suit is not known. The amount of Shake- speare's income from the tithes is thus speci- fied in the draft: "Your oratour William Shackspeare hath an estate and interest of and in the moyty or one half of all tythes of corne and grayne aryseinge within the townes, villages, and ffieldes of Old Stratford, Bysh- opton and Welcombe, being of and in the said parishe of Stratford, and of and in the xxii ALEXANDER DYCE'S moity or half of all tythes of wool and lamb, | days lived at Stratford, and supplied the and of all small and privy tythes, oblacions, and alterages arisynge or increasyng in or within the wholl parishe of Stratford uppon Avon aforesayd, for and duringe all the re- sidue of the said terme, beinge of the yearely value of threescore powndes." Richard Shakespeare, brother to the dram- atist, was buried at Stratford, February 4, 1612-13. His history is a blank. stage with two plays every year, and for itt had an allowance so large, that hee spent att the rate of 1,000l. a-year." But, as Mr. Collier remarks, "it is utterly incredible that subsequent to his retirement [to Strat- ford] he 'supplied the stage with two plays every year; indeed, I suspect that before 1613 he had entirely abandoned dramatic composition. And of Shakespeare's wealth Ward had evidently received a very exagger- ated account, for it represents him as living at the rate of about five thousand pounds per annum, according to the present value of money. In the next month Shakespeare purchased a house with a piece of ground attached to it, not far from the Blackfriars Theatre, and "abutting upon a streete leading downe to Pudle Wharffe on the east part, right against the Kinges Majesties Wardrobe." "The latter part of his life," says Rowe, The indenture of conveyance, dated March "was spent, as all men of good sense will 10th, is "Betweene Henry Walker citizein wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, and and minstrell of London on thone partie, the conversation of his friends. He had and William Shakespeare of Stratford upon the good fortune to gather an estate equal Avon in the countie of Warwick gentleman, to his occasion, and, in that, to his wish; William Johnson citizein and vintener of and is said to have spent some years before London, John Jackson and John Hemmyng his death at his native Stratford. His of London gentlemen, on thother partie," pleasurable wit and good-nature engaged the consideration money being 1407.: but him in the acquaintance, and entitled him 807. only having been then paid down, to the friendship, of the gentlemen of the Shakespeare on the day following mort- neighbourhood. Amongst them it is a story gaged the premises to the vendor, Henry Walker, for the residue of the sum; and sub- sequently, when he had paid off the whole of the purchase-money, he leased them for a term of years to John Robinson, who is mentioned in his will as the tenant in pos- session. The object of Shakespeare in this purchase may have been, as Mr. Collier con- jectures, to accommodate in some way his friend and fellow-actor John Heminge and the two other persons named with him in the deed. It is probable that, after Shakespeare had bought New Place in 1597, his visits to Stratford became more frequent; and to the time when he finally took up his residence with his family at New Place it would seem that we may assign an earlier date than that of the conveyance just described, which he certainly executed in London, whither, when business called him, he still occasionally went. We have seen that he first quitted Stratford, if not as a fugitive, at least as an adventurer with "the world all before him:" and we now behold him established there for the remainder of his life, with an income which enabled him to support the character of a gentleman, and (though only about one half of his immortal labors was as yet known to the public through the medium of the press) with a fame superior to that of any contemporary poet. Ward, who was ap- pointed to the vicarage of Stratford in 1662, had "heard" that Shakespeare "in his elder almost still remembered in that country, that he had a particular intimacy with Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and usury. It happened that, in a pleasant conversation amongst their common friends, Mr. Combe told Shake- speare in a laughing manner that he fancied he intended to write his epitaph, if he hap- pened to outlive him; and since he could not know what might be said of him when he was dead, he desired it might be done immediately. Upon which, Shakespear gave him these four verses: 4 Ten in the hundred lies here engrav'd; "Tis a hundred to ten, his soul is not sav'd. If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb? Oh, ho, quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe.' But the sharpness of the satire is said to have stung the man so severely that he never forgave it." Though this story may not be altogether a fabrication, it cannot be true as related above. John Combe certainly ap- pears to have been a highly respectable and charitable inhabitant of Stratford, and at the time of his decease he undoubtedly was on the best terms with Shakespeare, to whom he left a legacy of five pounds in token of esteem. We find, too, that Shakespeare be- queathed his sword to Thomas Combe, the nephew of John. If, therefore, we are to believe the tradition that Shakespeare in the hour of mirth extemporized some verses on LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xxiii his friend, we must also believe that they were void of offence against friendship. The absence of any allusion to theatres in Shakespeare's will, and his known prudence as a man of business, afford good grounds for assuming that, before he finally retired to Stratford, he had parted with the whole of his theatrical property, not choosing to rely on others for its management; and that consequently he sustained no loss by the destruction of the Globe Theatre, which was burned down on June 29, 1613. It must have been, however, with deep con- cern that he heard of a catastrophe by which his old associates suffered so severely; nor is it unlikely that he subsequently lent some assistance toward the rebuilding of the Globe, when, as we are told, the sovereign himself set the example of contributing money for that purpose. Of a very disas- trous fire which broke out in Stratford on July 9th in the following year, no more need be said than that it does not seem to have extended to the locality where Shakespeare dwelt. A project, at this time afoot, for enclosing certain common lands near Stratford, threat- ened to affect the interests of Shakespeare, both as regarded the property which he had bought from the Combes in 1602, and the tithes which he had purchased three years later. In a paper dated September 5, 1614, which sets forth the claims of the "Auncient ffreeholders in the fields of old Stratford and Welcombe," viz.: "Mr. Shakspeare," "Thomas Parker,' "Mr. Lane," "Sir Frauncis Smyth," "Mace," Mace," "Arthur Caw- drey," and "Mr. Wright, vicar of Bishop- ton," the dramatist is mentioned thus: دو "Mr. Shakspeare 4 yard land, noe com- mon nor grownd beyond Gospell-bushe, nor grownd in Sandfield, nor none in Slow-hill- field beyond Bishopton, nor none in the en- closures beyond Bishopton." And that he did not fail to take measures to save himself as far as possible from loss, in the event of the enclosures being made, we have remarkable documentary evidence: 66 Coppy of the articles with Mr. Shakspeare. "Vicesimo octavo die Octobris, anno Domini 1614. Articles of agreement in- dented [and] made betwene William Shacke- speare of Stretford in the County of War- wicke gent. on the one partye, and William Replingham of Greete Harborowe in the Countie of Warwick gent. on the other partie, the daye and yeare abovesaid. "Inter alia. Item, the said William Rep- assignes, doth covenaunte and agree to and with the said William Shackespeare, his heires and assignes, That he the said William Replingham, his heires or assignes, shall, uppon reasonable request, satisfie, content, and make recompence unto him the said William Shackespeare or his assignes, for all such losse, detriment, and hinderance as he the said William Shackespeare, his heirs and assignes, and one Thomas Greene gent. shall or maye be thought in the viewe and judge- ment of foure indifferent persons, to be in- differentlie elected by the said William and William and their heires, and in default of the said William Replingham, by the said William Shackespeare or his heires onely, to survey and judge the same to sustayne or incurre for or in respecte of the increasinge of the yearlie value of the tythes they the said William Shackespeare and Thomas doe joyntlie or severallie hold and enjoy in the said fieldes or anie of them, by reason of anie inclosure or decaye of tyllage there ment and intended by the said William Rep- lingham; and that the said William Rep- lingham and his heires shall procure such sufficient securitie unto the said William Shackespeare and his heires for the perform- ance of their covenauntes, as shal bee devised by learned counsell. In witnes whereof the parties abovsaid to their presentes inter- changeablie their handes and seales have put, the daye and yeare first above wrytten. "Sealed and delivered in the presence of us, Tho. Lucas, Jo. Rogers, Anthonie Nasshe, Mich. Olney." To the scheme of enclosure-among the chief promoters of which was William Combe -the Corporation of Stratford were strongly opposed (contending that it would increase the distress of the poorer classes, already suffering from the fire which, as mentioned above, had broken out in July); and their clerk, Thomas Greene, a lawyer and some relation to Shakespeare, was in London on this business, when he made the following memorandum: "1614. Jovis, 17 No. My cosen Shak- spear comyng yesterdy to town, I went to see him how he did. He told me that they assured him they ment to inclose no further than to Gospell Bush, and so upp straight (leavyng out part of the Dyngles to the ffield) to the gate in Clopton hedg, and take in Salisburyes peece; and that they mean in Aprill to survey the land, and then to gyve satisfaccion, and not before; and he and Mr. Hall say they think ther will be nothyng done at all." About a fortnight after the above date, lingham for him, his heires, executours, and Greene, having left Shakespeare in Lon- xxiv ALEXANDER DYCE'S don, returned to Stratford, where he con- tinued his notes: "23 December. A hall. Lettres wryt- ten, one to Mr. Manyring, another to Mr. Shakspear, with almost all the company's hands to eyther. I also wrytte myself to my cosen Shakspear the coppyes of all our acts, and then also a not of the inconveny- ences wold happen by the inclosure." The letter to Arthur Mainwaring (Lord Ellesmere's domestic auditor) is still pre- served, but the more interesting one has perished. A memorandum by Greene of a later date records the continued uneasiness of Shakespeare about the proposed en- croachments: "1 Sept. [1615]. Mr. Shakspear told Mr. J. Greene that he was not able to beare the enclosing of Welcombe." Our poet did not live to see the termination of this contest: it was not till 1618 that an order of the Privy Council forbade all fur- ther attempts at enclosure. Shakespeare, as shown by the first of Greene's notes, was in London in the middle of November, 1614, having probably gone thither on the business just detailed; and, as far as we know, it was his last visit to the metropolis. A curious illustration of his domestic life at Stratford during the same year is furnished by an article in the Cham- berlain's accounts: "Item, for on quart of sack, and on quart of clarrett winne, geven to a precher at the New Place, xx.d." As the Corporation had issued a strict pro- hibition against the performance of plays in Stratford, we cannot doubt that the divine thus refreshed at their expense was a puritan. With such preachers Shakespeare could have had little sympathy, and per- haps he lent his house on the occasion in compliance with the wishes of some of his family or neighbors, whom he was too liberal-minded to oppose. In connection with the entry above quoted, Mr. Halliwell has a remark which I must be allowed to say I think quite erroneous: "His [Shake- speare's] own departure was probably soothed by the presence of the religious friends of the Halls: but there is, unfortunately, a testimony in the epitaph on his daughter which implies that his life had not been one of piety: Witty above her sexe, but that's not all. Wise to salvation was good Mistriss Hall. Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this Wholy of Him with whom she's now in blisse." Assuredly the writer of the epitaph had no intention of imputing a want of piety" to Shakespeare: his meaning clearly is, that the wit (i.e., the mental power) which raised Mrs. Hall above the level of her sex was partly derived from her father (talent be- ing sometimes hereditary), but that by di- vine grace alone she had attained the wis- dom which leads to salvation. Here, too, may be noticed the tradition preserved by the Rev. Richard Davies, that Shakespeare died a papist, which is contradicted by the general tenor of his writings as well as by the whole history of his life. Nor is it im- probable that this tradition originated with the puritan party at Stratford; for Shake- speare-who could hardly have avoided all discussion on the controverted religious topics of the day-may have incidentally let fall expressions unfavorable to puritanism, which were afterward misrepresented as pa- pistical. To the same year (1614) belongs the pub- lication of a poem entitled "The Ghost of Richard the Third," written by C. B. (Chris- topher Brooke, I believe), in which Richard is made to utter the following lines-per- haps the happiest encomium that Shake- speare had yet received as a dramatist : "To him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, That writ my storie on the Muses' hill, Whose magick rais'd me from oblivion's den, And with my actions dignifi'd his pen; He that from Helicon sends many a rill Whose nectared veines are drunke by thirstie Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes, And none detract, but gratulate his praise." men; On February 10, 1615-16, Shakespeare's younger daughter, Judith, was married to Thomas Quiney, four years her junior, vintner and wine-merchant at Stratford; son of the Richard Quiney who in 1598 applied to Shakespeare for the loan of 30%., and who died May 31, 1602, while bailiff of Stratford. A deed is still extant which shows that Judith, when required to sign her name, had to make her mark instead; and yet we have proof that her sister Susanna wrote a tolerable hand-so unequally had the poet's daughters shared in the benefits of educa- tion. On the 25th of the following month Shake- speare executed his will-"Vicesimo quinto die Martii," the date having originally stood "Vicesimo quinto die Januarii," and the instrument having doubtless been pre- pared in that month, as it contains manifest references to the approaching marriage of his daughter Judith. It declares the testa- tor to be "in perfect health and memory, which, if not a mere legal formula, might have been the case when it was first drawn 99 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. XXV up; but his three signatures on the three sheets of paper over which the will extends are more or less tremulous, and indicate that he was in a state of great debility. Shakespeare died at New Place on April 23, 1616. Of the nature of the malady which re- moved this mighty spirit from the earth we find no mention except the following entry in a miscellany already quoted-the "Diary of the Rev. John Ward: 99 "Shakespeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting, and itt seems drank too hard, for Shakespear died of a feavour there contracted." That such a symposium was held is likely enough: Drayton, a native of Warwickshire, and frequently in the neighborhood of Stratford, may fairly be presumed to have partaken at times of Shakespeare's hospi- tality; and Jonson, who, about two years after, wandered on foot into Scotland and back again, would think little of a journey to Stratford for the sake of visiting so dear a friend. Nevertheless, we should hardly be justified in determining the cause of Shake- speare's death on the authority of a tradition which was not written down till nearly half a century after the event. His son-in-law, Dr. Hall, who certainly must have attended him during his last illness, left notes of various medical cases; but it is to be re- gretted that they are all of later date than 1616. On April 25th the body of Shakespeare was buried on the north side of the chancel of Stratford Church. A flat stone over his grave bears this inscription: "Good frend, for Jesvs sake forbeare To digg the dvst encloased here: e t Bleste be y man y spares thes stones, t And cvrst be he y moves my bones." A monument to his memory, said to be from the chisel of Gerard Johnson, was sub- sequently erected against the north wall of the chancel, at what time is not known, but earlier than 1623, as it is mentioned in the verses by Leonard Digges, prefixed to the folio of Shakespeare's dramatic works pub- lished in that year. It represents him seated under an arch, his right hand holding a pen, his left resting on a sheet of paper placed on the cushion before him. Below the bust are the following lines: "Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, Terra tegit, popvlvs mæret, Olympvs habet." "Stay, passenger, why goest thov by so fast? Read, if thov canst, whom enviovs Death hath plast 8 Within this monvment, Shakspeare; with whome Quick natvre dide; whose name doth deck y tombe Far more then cost; sieh (sith) all y he hath writt Leaves living art bvt page to serve his witt. Obiit Año Doi 1616, Etatis 53, die 23 Ap." Aubrey had heard that Shakespeare "was a handsome well shap't man;" and no other account of his personal appearance has been handed down. The bust at Stratford, and the engraving by Martin Droeshout on the title- page of the first folio, may be considered as the best-authenticated likenesses of the poet. The former exhibits him in the act of compo- sition, and enjoying, as it were, the richness of his own conceptions; the latter presents him somewhat younger and thinner, and with a deeply thoughtful air: but a general resemblance may be traced between them. The fidelity of the bust seems to be suffi- ciently vouched by the mere fact that the monument in Stratford Church was raised at the charge of his family, in the laudable anxiety that the features of their illustrious relative should be known to posterity: and the truthfulness of the engraving is attested by Ben Jonson in the verses which accom- pany it, and which we are almost bound to accept as the sincere expression of his opinion: "This figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the grauer had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life. O, could he but haue drawne his wit As well in brasse as he hath hit His face, the print would then surpasse All that was euer writ in brasse: But since he cannot, reader, looke, Not on his picture, but his booke." His contemporaries, when speaking of Shakespeare, celebrate his integrity, can- dor, sweetness of temper, and ready wit. We have seen that Chettle, as early as 1592, noticed "his uprightness of dealing which argues his honesty," and that Jonson, after his death, pronounced him to have been "indeed honest, and of an open and free nature;" the latter too, in the Verses to his Memory (as in the lines just given) applies to him the epithet "gentle." The tradi- tional account of his social sprightliness, preserved by Fuller, has been already quoted. He was, says Aubrey, "very good company, and of a very readie and pleasant smooth witt." What Rowe had learned con- xxvi ALEXANDER DYCE'S cerning his moral character and disposition accords with these testimonies. How the poet bequeathed his property may be read in a copy of his will appended to the present memoir. The poet's granddaughter, Elizabeth Hall, was twice married: first, April 22, 1626, to Thomas Nash, who died in 1647, without issue; secondly, June 5, 1649, to John, after- terward Sir John, Barnard, of Abington, in Northamptonshire, by whom she had no off- spring. She was buried at Abington, Feb- ruary 17, 1669-70. On the death of Lady Barnard the lineal descent from Shakespeare was at an end, and the honor of being his representatives is now claimed by the Harts, the descendants of his sister Joan, who was buried at Stratford, November 4, 1646. His wife, his eldest daughter Susanna, married to Dr. Hall, his other daughter, Ju- dith, married to Thomas Quiney, and his granddaughter, Elizabeth Hall, were the members of Shakespeare's family who sur- vived him; together with his sister Joan, the widow of William Hart (who was buried April 17, 1616), and their children. Accord- ing to one authority, "his wife and daugh- New Place, the abode of the poet's later ters did earnestly desire to be layd in the years, which is said to have been originally same grave with him." The wish was not ex-built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the reign of actly fulfilled; but two of them at least- his wife and his eldest daughter-rest be- side him in Stratford Church. On the brass plate which covers his wife's remains we read: "Heere lyeth interred the body of Anne, wife of William Shakespeare, who departed this life the 6th day of Avgv. 1623, being of the age of 67 yeares. "Ubera tu, mater, tu lac vitamque dedisti: Væ mihi, pro tanto munere saxa dabo. Quam mallem amoveat lapidem bonus angelus ore, Quam mallem amoveat lapidem bonus angelus ore, Exeat ut Christi corpus imago tua. Sed nil vota valent: venias cito, Christe, resurget, Clausa licet tumulo, mater et astra petet." The inscription on Mrs. Hall's tombstone is as follows: "Heere lyeth ye body of Svsanna, wife of John Hall gent.; y daughter of William Shakespeare, gent.: she deceased ye 11th of Jvly, A° 1649, aged 66. Henry the Seventh, came, on Shakespeare's death, to Mrs. Hall, and, on her decease, to her only child, Elizabeth Nash, afterward Lady Barnard. In this mansion, while it belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Nash, Queen Hen- rietta Maria (on her way to join the king) held her court for about three weeks, during the civil war, in 1643. As directed in Lady Barnard's will, New Place was sold after the death of herself and her husband. The pur- chaser was Sir Edward Walter, Knt., Garter Principal King at Arms; and his only child, Barbara, having married Sir John Clopton, the house returned again into the possession of the Clopton family. About 1720, Sir Hugh Clopton pulled down New Place, and entirely rebuilt it. His son-in-law and executor, Henry Talbot, Esq. (brother of Chancellor the Rev. Francis Gastrell, vicar of Frodsham, Talbot, sold the new New Place, in 1753, to in Cheshire. In the garden belonging to this mansion was a mulberry-tree, called Shake- speare's mulberry-tree, the constant tradition of Stratford declaring that it was planted by the poet's hand-probably about 1609, as during that year an immense number of young mulberry-trees was imported from France, and sent into different counties of England, by order of King James, with a view to the encouragement of the silk manu- facture. Under this celebrated mulberry- tree, Garrick, Macklin, and Delane (the Judith (who at the time of her father's actor) had been entertained in 1742; but the death had been married little more than wealthy and unamiable Mr. Gastrell, con- two months) bore three children to her hus-ceiving a dislike to it, because it subjected band Thomas Quiney, viz.: Shakespeare, bap- tized November 23, 1616, and buried May 8, 1617; Richard, baptized February 9, 1617- 18, and buried February 26, 1638-39; and Thomas, baptized January 23, 1619-20, and buried January 28, 1638-39. Judith lived to see the Restoration, and was buried at Strat- ford, February 9, 1661-62. No entry of her husband's burial is found in the Stratford register. "Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, Wise to salvation was good Mistriss Hall: Something of Shakespeare was in that; but this Wholly of him with whom she's now in blisse. "Then, passenger, hast ne're a tear To weepe with her that wept with all; That wept, yet set herselfe to cheere Them up with comforts cordiall? Her love shall live, her mercy spread, When thou hast ne're a teare to shed." him to the importunities of travellers, whose veneration for Shakespeare induced them to visit it, caused it to be cut down and cleft into pieces for firewood, in 1756: the greater part of it, however, was bought by a watch- maker of Stratford, who converted every fragment into small boxes, goblets, tooth- pick-cases, tobacco-stoppers, etc., for which he found eager purchasers. Mr. Gastrell having quarrelled with the magistrates about LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xxvii parochial assessments, razed the mansion to the ground in 1759, and quitted Stratford amidst the rage and execrations of the in- habitants. days. "Shakespeare," says Hazlitt, "towered above his fellows, in shape and gesture proudly eminent,' but he was one of a race of giants, the tallest, the strongest, the most graceful and beautiful of them; but it was a Any attempt at a critical analysis of the common and a noble brood." A falser remark, plays of Shakespeare, after the many volumes I conceive, has seldom been made by critic. they have called forth, is superfluous here; Shakespeare is not only immeasurably su- and luckily so, for I would not willingly perior to the dramatists of his time in creative engage in the task. A few words more, power, in insight into the human heart, and in therefore, must bring this slight memoir to profound thought; but he is, moreover, ut- a close. In several publications are to be terly unlike them in almost every respect- found essays on the old English theatre, the unlike them in his method of developing writers of which seem desirous of conveying character, in his diction, in his versification; to their readers the idea that Shakespeare nor should it be forgotten that some of those had dramatic contemporaries nearly equal to scenes which have been most admired in the himself; and for criticism of such a ten- works of his contemporaries were intended dency two distinguished men are perhaps to affect the audience at the expense of answerable-Lamb and Hazlitt, who have, nature and probability, and therefore stand on the whole, exaggerated the general merits in marked contrast to all that we possess as of the dramatists of Elizabeth and James's unquestionably from the pen of Shakespeare. SHAKESPEARE'S WILL. IN THE PREROGATIVE OFFICE, LONDON. Vicesimo quinto die [Januarii] Martii, anno regni domini nostri Jacobi, nunc regis Angliæ, &c. decimo quarto, et Scotia xlix', annoque Domini 1616. T. Wmi Shackspeare. In the name of God, amen! I William Shackspeare, of Stratford upon Avon in the countie of Warr., gent., in perfect health and memorie, God be praysed, doe make and or- dayne this my last will and testament in manner and forme followeing, that ys to saye, ffirst, I comend my soule into the handes of God my Creator, hoping and assuredlie be- leeving, through thonelie merites of Jesus Christe my Saviour, to be made partaker of lyfe everlastinge, and my bodye to the earth whereof yt ys made. Item, I gyve and be- queath unto my [sonne and] daughter Judyth one hundred and fyftie poundes of lawfull English money, to be paied unto her in man- ner and forme foloweing, that ys to saye, one hundred poundes in discharge of her marriage porcion within one yeare after my deceas, with consideracion after the rate of twoe shillinges in the pound for soe long tyme as the same shalbe unpaied unto her after my deceas, and the fyftie poundes re- sidewe thereof upon her surrendring of, or gyving of such sufficient securitie as the overseers of this my will shall like of, to surrender or graunte all her estate and right that shall discend or come unto her after my deceas, or that shee nowe hath, of, in, or to, one copiehold tenemente, with thappurte- naunces, lyeing and being in Stratford upon Avon aforesaied in the saied countye of Warr., being parcell or holden of the man- nour of Rowington, unto my daughter Su- sanna Hall and her heires for ever. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto my saied daughter Judith one hundred and fyftie poundes more, if shee or anie issue of her bodie be lyvinge att thend of three yeares next ensueing the daie of the date of this my will, during which tyme my executours are to paie her consid- eracion from my deceas according to the rate aforesaied; and if she dye within the saied tearme without issue of her bodye, then my will ys, and I doe gyve and bequeath one hundred poundes thereof to my neece Eliza- beth Hall, and the fiftie poundes to be sett xxviii ALEXANDER DYCE'S fourth by my executours during the lief of my sister Johane Harte, and the use and proffitt thereof cominge shalbe payed to my saied sister Jone, and after her deceas the saied 1. shall remaine amongst the children of my saied sister, equallie to be devided amongst them; but if my saied daughter Judith be lyving att thend of the saied three yeares, or anie yssue of her bodye, then my will ys and soe I devise and bequeath the saied hundred and fyftie poundes to be sett out by my executours and overseers for the best benefitt of her and her issue, and the stock not to be paied unto her soe long as she shalbe marryed and covert baron [by my executours and overseers]; but my will ys, that she shall have the consideracion yearelie paied unto her during her lief, and after her deceas the saied stocke and consideracion to bee paied to her children, if she have anie, and if not, to her executours or assignes, she lyving the saied terme after my deceas, Provided that yf suche husbond as she shall att thend of the saied three yeares be marryed unto, or att anie after (sic), doe sufficientlie assure unto her and thissue of her bodie landes awnswereable to the porcion by this my will gyven unto her, and to be adjudged soe by my executours and overseers, then my will ys, that the saied cl.". shalbe paied to such husbond as shall make such assurance, to his owne use. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto my saied sister Jone xx." and all my wearing apparrell, to be paied and delivered within one yeare after my deceas; and I doe will and devise unto her the house with thappurtenaunces in Stratford, wherein she dwelleth, for her naturall lief, under the yearlie rent of xij.d. Item, I gyve and be- queath unto her three sonnes, William Harte, -- Hart, and Michaell Harte, fyve poundes a peece, to be paied within one yeare after my deceas [to be sett out for her within one yeare after my deceas by my executours, with thadvise and direccions of my overseers, for her best profitt, until her mariage, and then the same with the increase thereof to be paied unto her]. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto [her] the saied Elizabeth Hall all my plate, except my brod silver and gilt bole, that I now have att the date of this my will. Item, I gyve and bequeath unto the poore of Stratford aforesaied tenn poundes; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword; to Thomas Rus- sell esquier fyve poundes; and to Frauncis Collins, of the borough of Warr. in the coun- tie of Warr. gentleman, thirteene poundes, sixe shillinges, and eight pence, to be paied within one yeare after my deceas. Item, I gyve and bequeath to [Mr. Richard Tyler thelder] Hamlett Sadler xxvj.. viij.d. to buy 8. him a ringe; to William Raynoldes, gent. xxvj. viij.d. to buy him a ringe; to my god- son William Walker xx. in gold; to An- thonye Nashe gent. xxvj.s. viij.d.; and to Mr. John Nashe xxvj.s. viij.d. [in gold]; and to my fellowes John Hemynges, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, xxvj. viij.d. a peece to buy them ringes. Item, I gyve, will, bequeath, and devise, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, for better enabling of her to performe this my will, and towardes the performans thereof, all that capitall messuage or tenemente with thappurtenaunces, in Stratford aforesaid, called the New Place, wherein I nowe dwell, and two messuages or tenementes with thap- purtenaunces, scituat, lyeing, and being in Henley streete, within the borough of Strat- ford aforesaied; and all my barnes, stables, orchardes, gardens, landes, tenementes, and hereditamentes whatsoever, scituat, lyeing, and being, or to be had, receyved, perceyved, or taken, within the townes, hamletes, vil- lages, fieldes, and groundes, of Stratford upon Avon, Oldstratford, Bushopton, and Welcombe, or in anie of them in the said countie of Warr. And alsoe all that mes- suage or tenemente with thappurtenaunces, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, scituat, lyeng, and being, in the Blackfriers in Lon- don, nere the Wardrobe; and all other my landes, tenementes, and hereditamentes what- soever, To have and to hold all and singuler the saied premisses, with theire appurte- naunces, unto the saied Susanna Hall, for and during the terme of her naturall lief, and after her deceas, to the first sonne of her bodie lawfullie yssueing, and to the heires males of the bodie of the saied first sonne lawfullie yssueinge; and for defalt of such issue, to the second sonne of her bodie law- fullie issueinge, and to the heires males of the bodie of the saied second sonne lawfullie yssueinge; and for defalt of such heires, to the third sonne of the bodie of the saied Susanna lawfullie yssueing, and of the heires males of the bodie of the saied third sonne lawfullie yssueing; and for defalt of such issue, the same soe to be and remaine to the ffourth [sonne], ffyfth, sixte, and seaventh sonnes of her bodie lawfullie issueing, one after another, and to the heires males of the bodies of the saied fourth, fifth, sixte, and seaventh sonnes lawfullie yssueing, in such manner as yt ys before lymitted to be and remaine to the first, second, and third sonns of her bodie, and to theire heires males; and for defalt of such issue, the saied premisses to be and remaine to my sayed neece Hall, and the heires males of her bodie lawfullie yssueing; and for defalt of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heires males of LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. xxix By me WILLIAM SCHAKSPEARE. Witnes to the publyshing hereof, FRA: COLLYNS, JULYUS SHAWE, JOHN ROBINSON, HAMNET SADLER, her bodie lawfullie issueinge; and for defalt | be my last will and testament. In witness of such issue, to the right heires of me the whereof I have hereunto put my [seale] hand, saied William Shackspeare for ever. Item, I the daie and yeare first abovewritten. gyve unto my wief my second best bed with the furniture. Item, I gyve and bequeath to my saied daughter Judith my broad silver gilt bole. All the rest of my goodes, chattel, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuffe whatsoever, after my dettes and legasies paied, and my funerall expences dischardged, I gyve, devise, and bequeath to my sonne in lawe, John Hall gent., and my daughter Su- sanna, his wief, whom I ordaine and make executours of this my last will and testa- ment. And I doe intreat and appoint the saied Thomas Russell esquier and Frauncis Collins gent. to be overseers hereof, and doe revoke all former wills, and publishe this to ROBERT WHATTCOTT. Probatum coram magistro Willielmo Byrde, legum doctore comiss. &c. xxijo die men- sis Junii, anno Domini 1616, juramento Johannis Hall, unius executorum, &c. cui &c. de bene &c. jurat. reservat. potestate &c. Susannæ Hall, alteri executorum &c. cum venerit petitur. &c. (Inv. ex.) TEMPEST. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Alonso, king of Naples. Sebastian, his brotner. Prospero, the rightful duke of Milan. Antonis, his brother, the usurping duke of Milan. Ferdinand, son to the king of Naples. Gonzalo, an honest old counsellor of Naples. Adrian, Francisco, lords. Caliban, a savage and deformed slave. Trinculo, a jester. Stephano, a drunken butler. Master of a ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. Ariel, an airy spirit. Miranda, daughter to Prospero. Iris, Ceres, Juno, spirits. Nymphs, Reapers, Other spirits attending on Prospero. Scene, the sea, with a ship; afterwards an unin- habited island. ACT I. fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage! If he SCENE I-On a ship at sea. 1 storm, with be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. thunder and lightning. Enter a Ship-master and Boatswain. BOATSWAIN,- Master. Boats. Here, master: what cheer? Mast. Good: speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my hearts; yare, yare: take in the top-sail: tend to the master's whistle.-Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and others. Alon. Good boatswain, have a care. the master? Play the men. Boats. I pray now, keep below. Ant. Where is the master, boastwain? Where's Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our la- bour! keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. Gon. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence: trouble us not. Gon. Good'; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Re-enter Boatswain. [Exeunt. Boats. Down with the top-mast; yare; lower, lower; bring her to try with main course. [A cry within.] A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather, or our office.- Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.. Yet again? what do you here? Shall we give o'er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink? Seb. A pox o' your throat! you bawling, blas- phemous, uncharitable dog! Boats. Work you, then. Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoresen, insolent noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky as an unstaunched³ wench. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off to sea again, lay her Enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost [Exeunt. Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us assist them, For our case is as theirs. Seb. I am out of patience. Ant. We are merely drunkards.- cheated of our lives by Boats. None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these ele- ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 2 This wide-chapped rascal ;-'Would, thou might'st we will not hand a rope more; use your authority. lie drowning, If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, The washing of ten tides! and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- Gon. He'll be hanged yet; chance of the hour, if it so hap.-Cheerly, good Though every drop of water swear against it. nearts.-Out of our way, I say. [Exit. And gape at wid'st to glut him. Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: me-[A confused noise within.] Mercy on us!- We thinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children!-- complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Farewell, brother!-We split, we split, we split.-- 1 Readily. 2 Fresent instant. 3 Incontinent. 4 Absolutely. 8 ACT L TEMPEST. Ant. Let's all sink with the king. Mira. But that I do not. Exit. In the dark backward and abys.n³ of time! Seb. Let's take leave of him. Exit. If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing: the wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit. SCENE II.-The island: before the cell of Pros- pero. Enter Prospero and Miranda. Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was The duke of Milan, and a prince of power. Mira. Sir, are not you my father. Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said-thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was luke of Milan; and his only heir A princess;--no worse issued. Mira, O, the heavens! Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them: The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd Or blessed was't we did? With those that I saw suffer! a brave vessel, Pro. Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er¹ It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and The freighting souls within her. Pro. Be collected; No more amazement: tell your piteous heart, There's no harm done. Both, both, my girl. ¡By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; But blessedly holp hither. Mira. Pro. O, wo the day! No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, (Of thee, my dear one! thee, my daughter!) who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am; nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. Mira. More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. "Tis time I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.-So; [Lays down his mantle. Lie there my art.-Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul- No, not so much perdition as a hair, Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; You have often For thou must now know further. Mira. Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd And left me to a bootless inquisition; Concluding, Stay, not yet.- Pro. The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not Out2 three years old. Mira. Certainly, sir, I can. Pro. By what? by any other house, or person? Of any thing the image tell me, that Hath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis far off; And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants: had I not Four or five women once, that tended me? Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: but how is it, That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else 3 Abyss. 1 Before. 2 Quite. Mira. O, my heart bleeds. To think o' the teen4 that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance! Please you further. Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,- I pray thee, mark me,-that a brother should Be so perfidious!-he whom, next thyself, Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put The manage of my state; as, at that time, Through all the signiories it was the first, And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed In dignity, and, for the liberal arts, Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother, And to my state grew stranger, being transported And wrapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle- Dost thou attend me? Mira. Sir, most heedfully. Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom To trash' for over-topping; new created The creatures that were mine; I say or chang'd them, Or else new form'd them: having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was The ivy, which had my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st I not: pray thee, mark me. Mira. O good sir, I do. Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate To closeness, and the bettering of my mind With that, which, but by being so retir'd, O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother, Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact,-like one, Who having, unto truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie,-he did believe He was the duke; out of the substitution, And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative:-Hence his ambition Growing,-Dost hear? Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan: me, poor man!- my library 4 Sorrow. 5 Cut away. 6 Without SCENE II. B TEMPEST. Was dukedom lerge enough; of temporal royalties From my own library, with volumes that He thinks me now incapable: confederates I prize above my dukedom. (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, To give him annual tribute, do him homage; Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Milan!) To most ignoble stooping. Mira. O the heavens! Mira. But ever see that man! Pro. "Would I might Now I arise Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arriv'd; and here Have I, thy school-master, made thee more pro... Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then Than other princes can, that have more time tell me, If this might be a brother. Mira. I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have born bad sons. Pro. Now the condition. This king of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom; and confer fair Milan, With all the honours, on my brother: whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness, The ministers for the purpose harried thence Me, and thy crying self. Mira. Alack, for pity! I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint,3 That wrings mine eyes. Pro. Hear a little fin And then I'll bring thee to the present busias Which now's upon us; without the waion, this story Were most impertinent. fire. That hour destroy us? Pro. Wherefore did they not Well demanded, wench; My talo provokes that question. Dear, they durst noti. (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set A mark ro oloody on the business; but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd A rotter carcase of a boat, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Institively had quit it: there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. Mira. Was I then to you! Pro. Alack! what trouble O! a cherubim Thou west at dicserve me? Thou didst smile, Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. Mira How came we ashore? Pro. By Providence divine. Some food we had, and some fresh water, that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity (who being then appointed Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, Master of this design,) did give us, with For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now. 1 pray you, sir, (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason For raising this sea-storm? Pro. Know thus far forth,- By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore: and by my prescience I find my zer.ith doth depend upon A most auspicious star; whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.-Here cease more questions; Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, And give it way;-I know thou canst not choose.-- [Miranda sleepe Come away, servant, come: I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel; come. Enter Ariel. Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail: J come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, on the curb clouds; to thy strong bidding, task swim, to dive into the fire, to ride Ariel, and all his quality. Pro. Hast thou, spirit. Perform'd to points the tempest that I bade re i Ari. To every article. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement: sometimes, I'd divide, And burn in many places; on the top-mast, The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly: Then meet, and join: Jove's lightnings, the pre cursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not: the fire, and cracks Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble; Yea, his dread trident shake. Pro. My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil" Would not infect his reason? Ari. Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Some tricks of desperation: all, but mariners, Then all a-fire with me: the king's son, Ferdinandı. With hair upstaring (then like reeds, not hair.) Was the first man that leap'd; cried, Hell is empty. And all the devils are here. Pro. Why, that's my spirit' But was not this nigh shore? Ari. Close by, my master. Not a hair perish'd, Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? Ari. Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentle-On their sustaining garments not a blemish, ness, Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, - 1 Thirsty. 2 Consideration. 3 Suggestion.. 4 Sprinkled. 5 Stubborn resolution. But fresher than before: and, as thou bad'st me, In troops I have dispers'd them 'hout the isle: The king's son have I landed by himself; 6 The minutest article. 7 Bustle, tumult. 10 ACT. I TEMPEST. Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. Pro. Of the king's ship, The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, And all the rest o' the fleet? Ari. Safely in harbour Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes,' there she's hid: The mariners all under hatches stowed; Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd la- bour, I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet, Which I dispers'd, they all have met again; And are upon the Mediterranean flote,2 Bound sadly home for Naples; Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, And his great person perish. Pro. Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: What is the time o' the day? Ari. Past the mid season. Pro. At least two glasses: the time 'twixt six and now, Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. Pro. What is't thou canst demand? Ari. How now? moody? My liberty. Pro. Before the time be out? no more. Ari. I pray thee Remember, I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst pro- mise To bate me a full year. Pro. Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? Ari. Pro. Thou dost; and think'st No. It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep; To run upon the sharp wind of the north; To do me business in the veins o' the earth, When it is bak'd with frost. I do not, sir. To act her earthly and abnorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers, And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died, And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans, Ari. Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age, and envy, Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? firi. No, sir. Pro. Thou hast: where was she born? speak; tell me. Ari. Sir, in Argier." Pro. O, was she so? I must, Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, As fast as mill-wheels strike: then was this island (Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honoured with A human shape. Thou know'st, was banished; for one thing she did. They would not take her life. Is not this true? Ari. Av, sir. Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant: And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 1 Bermudas. Ari. Yes; Caliban, her sun. Pro. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in: thy groans Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts Of ever angry bears: it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo; it was mine art, When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape The pine, and let thee out. Ari. I thank thee, master. Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Ari. I Pardon, master: will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently. Pro. I will scharge thee. Do so; and after two days Ari. That's my noble master! What shall I do? say what: what shall I do? Pro. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea, Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible To every eye-ball else. Go, take this shape, And hither come in't: hence, with diligence. Exit Ariel. Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake! 2 Wave. 3 Algiers. T Mira. The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. Pro. We'll visit Caliban, my Yields us kind answer. Mira. I do not love to look on. Pro. Shake it off; come on; slave, who never "Tis a villain, sir, But, as 'tis, We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou! speak. Cal. [Within.] There's wood enough within. Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee; Come forth, thou tortoise! when? Re-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. r My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye, 4 Commands. 5 Do without. SCENE II. 11 TEMPEST. And blister you all o'er! Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, Side-stiches, that shall pen thy breath up; urchins' Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made them. Cal I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax, my mother, Which thou tak'st from me. When thou camest first, Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me; would'st give me Water with berries in't; and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee, And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, fertile; and. Cursed be I that did so!-All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest of the island. Pro. Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness; I have us'd thee, Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. Cal. O ho, O ho!-'would it had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred slave; Which any print of goodness will not take, Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known: But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confin'd into this rock, Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse: the red plague ride you, For learning me your language! Pro. Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou were best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; Fill all thy bones with aches: make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din.. Cal. No, 'pray thee!- I must obey: his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, And make a vassal of him. Pro. [Aside. So, slave; hence! [Exit Caliban. Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; Ferdinand following him. ARIEL'S SONG. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court'sied when you have, and kiss'à (The wild waves whist³) Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Hark, hark! Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. The watch-dogs bark: Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. Hark, hark! fhear The strain of strutting chanticlere, Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. [dispersediy [dispersedly. Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, or the earth? It sounds no more:-and sure, it waits upon Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters; Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather:-But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. Ariel sings. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them,-ding-dong, bell. [Burden, ding-dong. Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father:- This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes :4-I hear it now above me. Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, And say, what thou seest yond'. Mira. What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form:-But 'tis a spirit. Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath such senses As we have, such: this gallant which thou seest Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows, And strays about to find them. Mira. I might call him A thing divine; for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. Pro. it goes on, [Asiae. As my soul prompts it:-Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee Within two days for this. Fer. Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend !-Vouchsafe my prayer May know, if you remain upon this island; And that you will some good instruction give, How I may bear me here: my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder If you be maid, or no? Mira. But, certainly a maid. Fer. No wonder, sir; My language? heavens How! the best? I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pro. What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee? 1 Fairies. 2 Destroy. 8 Still, silent. 4 Owns. 12 ACT II TEMPEST. Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples: he does hear me ; And, that he does, I weep: myself am Naples; Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld The king my father wreck'd. Mira. Alack, for mercy! Pro. Come on: obey: [To Ferd. Thy nerves are in their infancy again, And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are: My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, Milan And his brave son, being twain. Pro. The duke of Milan, A id his more braver daughter, could control' thee, It now it were fit to do 't. At the first sight [Aside. This They have chang'd eyes:-Delicate Ariel, Il set thee free for this!--A word, good sir; I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word. Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? Is the third man that ere I saw; the first I hat ere I sigh'd for: pity move my father To be inclin'd my way! O, if a virgin, Fer. And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. Pro. Soft, sir; one word more. They are both in either's powers: but this swift business - I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. Make the prize light.-One word more; I charge thee, That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp The name thou ow'st not: and hast put thyself Upon this island, as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a man. Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with 't. a Pro. Follow me.- [To Ferd. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.-Come, I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks, Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. Fer. I will resist such entertainment, till Mine enemy has more power. No; [He draws. Mira. O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle, and not fearful.2 Pro. What, I say, My foot my tutor!-Put thy sword up, traitor; Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward;3 For I can here disarm thee with this stick, And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you, father! Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments. Mira. I'll be his surety. Sir, have pity; Silence: one word more Pro. Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! An advocate for an impostor? hush! Thou think'st, there are no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! To the most of men this is a Caliban, And they to him are angels. Mira. My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison, once a day, Behold this maid: all comers else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. Pro. It works:-Come on. Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!--Follow me.- [To Ferd, and Mira. Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. Mira. Be of comfort, My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted, Which now came from him. Pro. Thou shalt be as free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command. Ari. To the syllable. Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE 1.-Another part of the island. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others. Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause (So have we all) of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss: our hint of wo Is common; every day, some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, Have just our theme of wo: but for the miracie, I mean our preservation, few in minions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. Pr'ythee, peace. Alon. Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. Gon. Sir.- Seb. One:Tell. Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer- Seb. A dollar. Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken truer than you proposed. Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. Gon. Therefore, my lord,- Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. Gon. Well, I have done: but yet- Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? Seb. The old cock. Ant. The cockrel. Seb. Done: the wager? Ant. A laughter. Seb. A match. 1 Confute. 2 Frightful. 3 Guard. Adr. Though this island seem to be desort,- SCENE I. 13 TEMPEST. Seb. Ha, ha, ha! Alon. You cram these words inte mine ears, against Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,- The stomach of my sense: 'would I had never, Ant. So, you've pay'd. Seb. Yet, Adr. Yet-- Ant. He could not miss it. Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy remov'd, Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and I ne'er again shall see her. O thou Laire heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee! delicate temperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de- livered. Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. Ant. True; save means to live. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Fran. Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him: his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd green! Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. Seb. With an eye³ of green in't. Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is, indeed, al- most beyond credit-) Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. Gon. That our garments, being as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their freshness and glosses; being rather new dy'd than stain'd with salt water. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say, He lies? Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Seb. "Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. Adr. Tunis was never grac'd before with such paragon to their queen. a Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! how came that widow in? Widow Dido! Seb. What if he had said widower Æneas too? Good lord, how you take it! Ant. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Adr. Carthage? Gon. I assure you, Carthage. Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy next? Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. Gon. Ay? Ant. Why, in good time. As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt, He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he's gone. Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss; That would not bless our Europe with your daugh- ter, But rather lose her to an African; Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. Pr'ythee, peace. Alon. Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise By all of us; and the fair soul herself Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making, Your own. Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault's Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. Gon. My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. Seb. Very well. Ant. And most chirurgeonly. When you are cloudy. Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, Seb. Foul weather? Ant. Very foul. Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,- Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. Seb. Or docks, or mallows. Gon. And were the king of it, What would I do? Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contrarie a Execute all things: for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; no use of service, Of riches or of poverty; no contracts, Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: No occupation; all men idle, all; Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis, at And women too; but innocent and pure: the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. No sovereignty:- Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. Ant. 0, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.4 Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? 1 Temperature. 2 Rank. 3 Shade of colour Seb. And yet he would be king on't. Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for- gets the beginning. Gon. All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 4 Degree or quality. 5 The rack. 2 14 Aca. TEMPEST. Seb. Wou'd I not have; but nature should bring forth, Whiles thou art waking. Of its own kind, all foizon,' all abundance, To ed my innocent people. Se. No marrying mong his subjects? Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. Seb. 'Save his majesty! Ant. Long live Gonzalo! Gon. Thou dost snore distinctiy, There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you Must be so too, if heed me; which to do, Trebles thee o'er. Seb. Well; I am standing water. Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. Seb. Do 30: to ebb And, do you mark me, sir?- Hereditary sloth instructs me. Alon. Pr'ythee, no more: Thou dost talk no- Ant. 0, thing to me. If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always Most often do so near the bottom run, use to laugh at nothing. By their own fear, or sloth. Seb. Pr'ythee, say on The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, Which throes thee much to yield. Ant. "Twas you we laugh'd at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am nothing to you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there given: Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music. Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. Gon. No, I warrant you: I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant. Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find, They are inclined to do so. Seb. Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord, Will guard your person, while you take your rest, And watch your safety. Alon. Thank you: wondrous heavy. [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel. Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. Seb. Why Doth it not then our eye-lids sink? I find not Myself dispos'd to sleep. Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian?-O, what might?-No more:- And yet methinks, I see it in thy face, What thou should'st be: the occasion speaks thee; and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. Seb, What, art thou waking? Ant. Do you not hear me speak? Seb. I do; and, surely, . is a sleepy language; and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep: what is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st Ant. Thus, sir; Although this lord of weak remembrance, this (Who shall be of as little memory, When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded (For he's a spirit of persuasion only,) The king, his son's alive; 'tis as impossible That he's undrown'd, as he that sleeps here swims Seb. I have no hope That he's undrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no hope, What great hope have you! no hope, that way, is Another way so high a hope, that even Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, me, That Ferdinand is drown'd? Seb. Ant. with He's gone. Then, tell me, Claribel. Who's the next heir of Naples? Seb. Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwel's Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from. Naples Can have no note, unless the sun were post, (The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins Be rough and razorable: she, from whom We were all sea-swallowed, though some cast again, And, by that, destin'd to perform an act, Whereof what's past is prologue: what to come, In yours and my discharge. Seb. What stuff is this?-How say you? 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions There is some space. Ant. A space whose every cubit Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel Measure us back to Naples ?-Keep in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake!-Say, this were death That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse Than now they are: there be, that can rule Na- ples, As well as he that sleeps; lords, that can prate As amply, and unnecessarily, As this Gonzalo; I myself could make A chough2 of as deep chat. O, that you bore The mind that I do! what a sleep were this For your advancement! Do you understand me? Seb. Methinks I do. Ant. And how does your conten! Tender your own good fortune? Seb. I remember 1 Plenty. 1 2 A bird of the jack-daw kind. SCENE II. 15 TEMPEST. You did supplant your brother Prospero. Ant. True: And look, how well my garments sit upon me; Much feater than before: my brother's servants Were then my fellows, now they are my men. Seb. But, for your conscience- Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if it were a kibe, "would put me to my slipper; but I feel not This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he's like; whom I, With this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to bed forever: whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye' might put This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, They'll take suggestion,2 as a cat laps milk; They'll tell the clock to any business that We say befits the hour. Seb. Thy case, dear friend, Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st; And I the king shall love thee. Ant. Draw together: And when I rear my hand, do you the like, To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one word. [They converse apart. Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger That these, his friends, are in; and sends me forth, (For else his project dies,) to keep them living. [Sings in Gonzalo's ear. While you here do snoring lie, Open-ey'd Conspiracy His time doth take: If of life you keep a care, Shake off slumber, and beware: Awake! awake! Ant. Then let us both be sudden. Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! [They wake. Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you drawn? Wherefore this ghastly looking? Gon. What's the matter? Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing Like bulls, or rather lions; did it not wake you? It struck mine ear most terribly. Alon. I heard nothing. Ant. 0, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear; To make an earthquake! sure it was the roar Of a whole herd of lions. Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? Gon. Upon mine honour, sír, I heard a hum- ming, And that a strange one too, which did awake me: I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd; as mine eyes open'd, I saw their weapons drawn:-there was a noise, That's verity: 'best stand upon our guard; Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. Alon. Lead off this ground; and let's make fur- ther search 1 Ever. 3 Make mouths. 2 Any hint. For my poor son. Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts! For he is, sure, i' the island. Lead away. Alon. Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have Aside. done: So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Another part of the Island. Ente Caliban, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard. Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch, Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire, Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark, Out of my way, unless he bid them; but For every trifle are they set upon me: Sometimes like apes, that moe³ and chatter at me, And after, bite me; then like hedge-hogs, which Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, Do hiss me into madness:-Lo! now! lo! Enter Trinculo. Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me, For bringing wood in slowly; I'll fall flat; Perchance he will not mind me. Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off hear it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, any weather at all, and another storm brewing; 1 would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard4 that did before, I know not where to hide my head: vond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pail- fuls.-What have we here? a man or a fish? Dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and had this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud, till the dregs of the storm be past. Enter Stephano, singing; a bottle in his hand. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die ashore;- This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks The master, the swabber, the boastswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us car'd for Kate: For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go, hang: 4 A black jack of leather, to hold beer. 5 The frock of a peasant. 16 ACT II. TEMPEST. She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch, Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort. [Drinks. I escap'd upon a butt of sack, which the sailors neav'd over-board, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since 1 was cast a-shore. Cal. Do not torment me: O! Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here?. Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men of Inde? Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot make him give ground: and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. Cal. The spirit torments me: 0! Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy True subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Ste. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst. Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. Ste. Here, kiss the book: though thou canst swim like a duck, that art made like a goose. Trin. O'Stephano, hast any more of this? Ste. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf? How does thine ague? Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the in the moon, when time was. Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs; who hath got, as I take it, an ague: where the devil should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that: if I can reco-man ver him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather. Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee; I'll bring my wood home faster. Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee; My mistress showed me thee, thy dog, and bush. Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I wi!! furnish it anon with new contents: swear. Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster:-I afeard of him?-a very weak monster: Ste. He's in his fit now; and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have-The man i' the moon?- a most poor credulous never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit: if I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him: he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt Anon, I know it by thy trembling: Now Prosper works upon thee. Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat; open your mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend: open your chaps again. Trin. I should know that voice: it should be- but he is drowned; and these are devils: O! de- fend me!- monster :-well drawn, monster, in good sooth. Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island. And kiss thy foot. I pr'ythee, be my god. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster; when his god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle. Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy sub- ject. Ste. Come on then; down, and swear. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- headed monster: a most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,- Ste. Come, kiss. Trin. -but that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster! Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; Ste. Four legs, and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice now is to speak well I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul A plague upon the tyrant that. I serve! speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bot-I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, tle will recover him, I will help his ague: come,- Thou wondrous man. Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth. Trin. Stephano,- Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy! mercy! this is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon. Trin. Stephano!-if thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo;-be not afeard, thy good friend Trinculo.. Trin. A most ridiculous monster; to make a wonder of a poor drunkard. Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts; Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how To snare the nimble marmozet; I'll bring thee To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee Young sea-mells from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed: Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way, without any how cam'st thou to be the siege2 of this moon-calf? more talking.-Trinculo, the king and all our com- Can he vent Trinculos? pany else being drowned, we will inherit here.- Trin. I took him to be kill'd with a thunder- Here; bear my bottle: Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill stroke:-But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I him by and by again. hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm over blown! I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm: and art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd! Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I will kneel to him. Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 1 India. 2 Stool. 3 Sea-gulls. Cal. Farewell master; farewell, farewell. [Sings drunkenly, Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish: Nor fetch in firing At requiring, Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; 'Ban, 'Ban, Ca-Caliban, Has a new master-Get a new man. Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom: freedom hey-day, freedom! Ste. O brave monster! lead the wav [Exeunt SCENE I, II. 17 TEMPEST. ACT III. SCENE I-Before Prospero's cell. Enter Fer- dinand, bearing a log. Fer. There be some sports are painful; but their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures: 0, she is Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work; and says, such baseness Had ne'er like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours; Most busy-less, when I do it. Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance. Mira. Alas, now! pray you, Work not so hard: I would, the lightning had Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile! Pray set it down, and rest you: when this burns, "Twill weep for having wearied you. My father My father Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself: He's safe for these three hours. Fer. O most dear mistress, The sun will set, before I shall discharge What I must strive to do. Mira, If you'll sit down, i'll bear your logs the while: pray give me that; I'll carry it to the pile. Fer. No, precious creature: I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Than you should such dishonour undergo, While I sit lazy by. Mira. It would become me As well as it does you: and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it, And yours against. Pro. Poor worm thou art infected; This visitation shows it. Mira. You look wearily. Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech you (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) What is your name? Mira. Admiru anda! Miranda:-O my father, have broke your hest¹ to say so' Fer Indeed, the top of admiration; worth What's dearest to the world. Full many a lady I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I lik'd several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,2 And put it to the foil: but you, O you, So perfect, and so peerless, are created Of every creature's best. Mira. I do not know Jne of my sex; no woman's face remember, Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen 1 Command. 2 Own'd. 3 Whatsoever. More that I may call men, than you, good friend, And my dear father: how features are abroad, (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish am skill-less of; but by my modesty Any companion in the world but you; Nor can imagination form a shape, Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle Something too wildly, and my father's precepts Therein forget. I am, in my condition, Fer. A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; (I would, not so!, and would no more endure This wooden slavery, than I would suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak; The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and, for your sake, Am I this patient log-man. Mira. Do you love me? Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert What best is boded me, to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else³ i' the world. Do love, prize, honour you. Mira. I am a fool, To weep at what I am glad of. Pro. Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between them! Fer. Wherefore weep you? Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take, What I shall die to want: But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no. Fer. And I thus humble ever. Mira. My mistress, dearest, My husband then? Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand. Mira. And mine, with my heart in't: And now farewell, Till half an hour hence. Fer. A thousand! thousand! [Exeunt Fer. and Mir. Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, Who are surpris'd with all; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book: For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [Exit. SCENE II-Another part of Island. Lie Stephano and Trinculo; Caliban following wit a bottle. Ste. Tell not me ;-when the butt is out, we wil drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up and board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island! They say, there's but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if the other two be brained like us, the state totters. Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee thy eyes are almost set in thy head. Trin. Where should they be set else? he were brave monster, indeed, if they were set in his tail 18 ACT. III TEMPEST. Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me: I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues, off and on, by this light.-Thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no stand- ard. Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. Trin. Nor go neither: but you lie, like dogs; and yet say nothing neither. Ste. Moon-calf,, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe; I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing; I'll go further off. Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied? Ari. Thou liest. Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [strikes him.] As you like this, give me the lie another time. Trin. I did not give the lie:-Out o' your wits, and hearing too ?-A pox o' your bottle! this can sack and drinking do.-A murrain on your mon- ster, and the devil take your fingers! Cal. Ha, ha, ha! Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee, stand further off. Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time, I'll beat him too. Ste. Stand further.--Come proceed. Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him the afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st brain him, Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am in case to justle a constable: Why, thou deboshed¹ fish thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath I' drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monster? Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? Trin. Lord, quoth he!-that a monster should be such a natural! Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if you prove a mutineer, the next tree-The poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig- nity. Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd To hearken once again the suit I made thee? Ste. Marry will I: kneel, and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter Ariel, invisible. Cal. As I told thee fore, I am subject to a tyrant; A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath Cheated me of this island. Ari. Thou liest. Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: I would my valiant master would destroy thee; I do not lie. Ste. Trinerle, if you trouble him any more in his tale, by this hand, will supplant some of your teeth Trin. Why, I said nothing. Ste. Mum then, and no more.-[To Caliban.] Proceed. Ca. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; From me he got it. If thy greatness will Fevenge it on him-for, I know, thou dar'st; But this thing dare not. Ste. That's most certain. Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. Ste. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou bring me to the party? Cal. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep, Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. Cal. What a pied ninny's this!2 Thou scurvy patch!- 1 do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him: when that's gone, Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his weazand with thy knife: Remember. First to possess his books; for without them He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command: They all do hate him, As rootedly as I: Burn but his books; He has brave utensils (for so he calls them,) Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal! And that most deeply to consider, is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I ne'er saw woman, But only Sycorax my dam, and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, As greatest does least. Ste. Is it so brave a lass? Cal. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant, And bring thee forth brave brood. Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I will be king and queen; (save our graces!) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys:-Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo? Trin. Excellent. Ste. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee; but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep:- Wilt thou destroy him then? Ste. Ay, on mine honour. Ari. This will I tell my master. Cal. Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of plea- sure; Let us be jocund: Will you troll the catch You taught me but while-ere? Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason: Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. Flout 'em, and skout 'em; and skout 'em, and flout 'em; Thought is free. Cal. That's not the tune. [Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe. Ste. What is this same? Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show the picture of No-body. Where the quick freshes are. [him Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger; inter-likeness; if thou beest a devil, tak't as thou list. Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy rupt the monster one word further, and, by this Trin. 'O, forgive me my sins! hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. 1 Debauched. 2 Alluding to Trinenlo's party-coloured dress. Ste. He that dies, pays all debts: 1 defy thee: Mercy upon us! Cal. Art thou afeard? Ste. No, monster, not I. 3 Springs. 4 Throat. SCENE III. 19 TEMPEST. Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instrumenst Will huin about mine ears; and sometimes voices, That, if I then had wak'd after Long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds, methought, would open, and slow riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak'd, I cry'd to dream again. Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. Ste. That shall be by and by: I remember the story. 3 (For, certes, these are people of the island,) Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet notc, Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any. Pro. Honest lord, 4 Thou hast said well; for some of you there present, Are worse than devils. Aside. Alon. I cannot too much muse," Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, ex- pressing (Although they want the use of tongue,) a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. Pro. Praise in departing. Aside. Fran. They vanish'd strangely. Seb. No matter, since They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.- Will't please you taste of what is here? Alon. Not I. Gon. Faith, Sir, you need not fear: When we were boys, En-Who would believe that there were mountaineers, ter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adri- Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging an, Francisco and others. Trin. The sound is going away: let's follow it, and after, do our work. Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow.-I would, I could see this taborer: he lays it on. Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Another part of the Island. Gon. By'r lakin' I can go no further, sir; My old bones ache: here's a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights, and meanders! by your pa- tience, I needs must rest me. Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Who am myself attach'd with weariness, To the dulling of my spirits: sit down and rest. Even here I will put off my hope and keep it No longer for my flatterer: he is drowned, Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land: Well, let him go. Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. [Aside to Sebastian. Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolv'd to effect. Seb. Will we take thoroughly. Ant. The next advantage Let it be to-night; For, now they are oppress'd witn travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, As when they are fresh. Seb. I say, to-night: no more. at them Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men, Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find, Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us Good warrant of. Alon. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last: no matter, since I feel The best is past:-Brother, my lord the duke, Stand too, and do as we. Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a har py: claps his wings upon the table, and with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. Ari.. You are three men of sin, whom destiny (That hath to instrument this lower world, And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up; and on this island Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad, [Seeing Alon. Seb. &c. draw their swords. And even with such like valour, men hang and drown Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of fate; the elements Solemn and strange music; and Prospero above, Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bring- Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabe ing in a banquet; they dance about it with gen- Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish tle actions of salutation; and inviting the king, One dowle that's in my plume; my fellow-ministers &c. to eat, they depart. Are like invulnerable: if you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, Alon. What harmony is this? my good friends, And will not be uplifted: But, remember hark! Gon. Marvellous sweet music! Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens!-What were these? Seb. A living drollery:2 Now I will believe, That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phoenix At this hour reigning there. Ant. I'll believe both: And what does else want credit, come to me, And I'll be sworn 'tis true: Travellers ne'er did lie, Though fools at home condemn them. Gon. I should report this now, would they believe me? If in Naples If I should say I saw such islanders 1 Our lady. 2 Show. 3 Certainly. (For that's my business to you,) that you three Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Him, and his innocent child; for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Against your peace: Thee, of thy son, Alonso, Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures They have bereft: and do pronounce by me, Lingering perdition (worse than any death You, and your ways; whose wrath to guard you Can be at once) shall step by step attend Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow (Which here, in this most desolate isle, eise fails from Wonder. 5 Down 20 ACT IV TEMPEST. And a clear life ensuing. Sour ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, enter That you shall hate it both: therefore, take eed, the Shapes again, and dance with mops and As Hymen's lamps shall light you. mowes, and carry out the table. Fer. Pro. [Aside.] Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring: Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life, And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done: my high charms work, And these, mine enemies, are all knit up In their distractions: they now are in my power; And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit Young Ferdinand (whom they suppose is drown'd,) And his and my lov'd darling. [Exit Prospero from above. Gon. I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you Ir. this strange stare? Alon. O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. Seb. I'll fight their legions o'er. Ant. [Exit. But one fiend at a time, I'll be thy second. [Exeunt Seb. and Ant. Gon. All three of them are desperate; their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, Now 'gins to bite the spirits:-I do beseech you That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, And hinder them from what this ecstacy2 May now provoke them to. Adr. ACT IV. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt. As I hope With such love as 'tis now; the murkiest den, For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, Our worser Genius can, shall never melt The most opportune place, the strongest suggestion Mine honour into lust; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Or night kept chair'd' below. Fairly spoke. Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own.- What, Ariel: my industrious servant Ariel! Pro. Enter Ariel. Ari. What would my potent master? here i am. Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your las. service Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick: go, bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: Incite them to quick motion; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise, And they expect it from me. Ari. Pro. Ay, with a twink. Presently? Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go, And breathe tw ce; and cry, so, so! Each one, tripping on his toe, Will be here with mop and mowe: Do you love me, master? no. Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach Till thou dost hear me call. Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. Pro. Look, thou be true; do not give dallianc Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious, Or else, good night, your vow! Fer. I warrant you, sin; The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. Pro. Well.- Now come, my Ariel; bring a corollary,4 SCENE I.-Before Prospero's cell. Enter Pros- Rather than want a spirit; appear, and pertly.- pero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life, Or that for which I live; whom once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her. Fer. Against an oracle. I do believe it, Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But If thou dost break her virgin knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister'd, No sweet aspersion³ shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, 1 Pure, blameless. 2 Alienation of mind. No tongue; all eyes; be silent. [Soft music. A Masque. Enter Iris. Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o' the sky Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain; Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 3 Sprinkling. Surplus. 5 Command. SCENE I. I TEMPEST. Enter Ceres. Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers. Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown My bosky¹ acres and my unshrubb'd down, Rich scarf to my proud earth; Why hath thy queen Summon'd me hither to this short-grass'd green? Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; And some donation freely to estate On the bless'd lovers. Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? since they did plot The means, that dusky Dis2 my daughter got, Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company I have forsworn. Of her society Iris. Be not afraid: I met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos; and her son Dove-drawn with her: here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; Mars' hot minion is return'd again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with spar- rows, And be a boy right out. Cer. Highest queen of state, Great Juno comes; I know her by her gait. Enter Juno. Juno. How does my bounteous sister? Go with /me To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour'd in their issue. SONG. Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you. Cer. Earth's increase, and foizon³ plenty; Barns, and garners never empty; Vines, with clust'ring bunches growing; Plants, with goodly burden bowing; Spring come to you, at the farthest, In the very end of harvest; Scarcity, and want, shall shun you; Ceres' blessing so is on you. Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold To think these spirits? Pro. Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines call'd to enact My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever; So rare a wonder'd4 father, and a wife, Make this place Paradise. [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. Pro. Sweet now, silence; Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 1 Woody. 2 Pluto. 3 Abundance. There's some hing else to do: hush, and be mute Or else our spell is marr'd. Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring brooks, With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks, Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land Answer your summons; Juno does command: A contract of true love; be not too late. Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate Enter certain Nymphs. You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry, Make holy-day: your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. Enter certain Reapers, properly habited; they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish. Pro. [Aside.] I had forgot that foul conspirady Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, Against my life; the minute of their plot Is almost come.-[To the Spirits.] Well done ;- avoid;-no more. Fer. This is most strange: your father's in some passion That works him strongly. Mira. Never till this day, Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir: Our revels now are ended; these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.-Sir, I am vex'd; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled. Be not disturb'd with my infirmity: If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell, And there repose; a turn or two I'' walk, To still my beating mind. Fer. Mira We wish your peace. [Exeunt. Pro. Come with a thought:-I thank you :--- Ariel, come. Enter Ariel. Art. Thy thoughts I cleave to: What's thy pleasure? Pro. We must prepare to meet with Caliban. Spirit, Ari. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres, I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd Lest I might anger thee. Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? Art. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking: 6 A body of clouds in motion; but it is most 4 Able to produce such wonders. 5 Vanished. probable that the author wrote track. 22 ACT. TEMPEST. So full of valour, that they smote the air For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet: yet always bending Towards their project: Then I beat my tabor, At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd thei ears, Advanc'd their eye-lids, lifted up their noses, As they smelt music; so I charm'd their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which entered their frail shins: at last I left then I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake O'er-stunk their feet. Pro. This was well done, my bird Thy shape invisible retain thou still: The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, For stale, to catch these thieves. Ari. I go, I go. [Exit Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Nurture2 can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as, with age, his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers: I will plague them all, Re-enter Ariel loaden with glistering apparel, &c. Even to roaring: Come, hang them on this line. Prespero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Cali- ban, Stephano, and Trinculo; all wet. Cal. Pray, you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. To doat thus on such luggage? Let's along, And do the murder first; if he awake, From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; Make us strange stuff. Ste. Be you quiet, monster.-Mistress line, is not this my jerkin; Now is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin. Trin. Do, do: We steal by line and level, and like your grace. Ste. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king of this country: Steal by line and level, is an excel- lent pass of pate: there's another garment for't. Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. Cal. I will have none on't; we shall lose our time, And all be turn'd to barnacles or to apes, With foreheads villainous low. Ste. Monster, lay to your fingers; help to bear this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom; go to, carry this. Trin. And this. Ste. Ay, and this. A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits in shape of hounds, and hunt them about; Pros pero and Ariel setting them on. Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey! Ari. Silver! there it goes, Silver! Pro. Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, hark! [Cal. Ste. and Trin. are driven out. a Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints, With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them, Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack³ with us. Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation. Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take a displeasure against you; look you,- Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still: Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to Shall hood-wink this mischance: therefore, speak softly, All's hush'd as midnight yet. Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,- Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. Trin. That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears for my labour. Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here, This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter: Do that good mischief, which may make this island Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, For aye4 thy foot-licker. Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody thoughts. Trin. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee! Cal. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. Trin. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to a frippery: king Stephano! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have that gown. Trin. Thy grace shall have it. Than pard," or cat o' mountain. Ari. Hark, they roar. Pro. Let them be hunted soundly: at this hour Lie at my merc all mine enemies; Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little, Follow, and do me service. ACT V. Exeunt. SCENE I.--Before the cell of Prospero. Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. Pro. Now does my project gather to a head: My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time Goes upright with his carriage.-How's the day? Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord. You said our work should cease. Pro. I did say so, Wher first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and his? Ari. Confin'd together In the same fashion as you gave in charge; Just as you left them, sir; all prisoners In the lime grove which weather-fends your cell; They ca inot budge, till you release. The king, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; And the remainder mourning over them, Brim-full of sorrow, and dismay; I ut chiefly Him you term'd, sir, The good old cord Gonzalo; Cal. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops mean, 1 Bait. 2 Education. 3 Jack with a lar ern. Ever. 5 A shop for sale of old clothes. 6 Bird-lime. 7 Leopard. 8 Defends from bad weather. SCENE I. 23 TEMPEST. From eaves of reeds: your charm so strongly works Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter them, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. Pro. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch of feeling Of their afflictions; and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further: Go, release them, Ariel; My charms I'll break their senses I'll restore, And they shall be themselves. Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. Exit. Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; And ye, that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, When he comes back; you demy-puppets, that By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pas- time Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid (Weak masters though ye be,) I have be-dimm'd The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory Have I made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up The pine and cedar: graves, at my command, Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth By my so potent art: But this rough magic I here abjure: and, when I have requir'd Some heavenly music (which even now I do,) To work mine end upon their senses, that This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book. [Solemn music. Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;- Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian.-Flesh and blood, You brother mine, that entertair'd ambition. Expell'd remorse2 and nature; who, with Sebastian, (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art!-Their understanding Begins to swell: and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, That yet looks on me, or would know me:-Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell; [Exit Ariel. I will dis-case me, and myself present, As I was sometime Milan:-quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I; In a cowslip's bell Ilie: There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: There shalt thou find the mariners asleep Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain, Being awake, enforce them to this place; And presently, I pr'ythee. Ari. I drink the air before me, and return Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze- ment Inhabits here: Some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country! Pro. Behold, sir king, The wrong'd duke of Milan, Prospero; For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee, and thy company, I bid A hearty welcome. Alon. Whe'r thou beest he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso, with a frantic As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Sebastian and Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and The affliction of my mind amends, with which, Francisco: They all enter the circle which Pros- I fear, a madness held me: this must crave pero had made, and there stand charmed; which (An if this be at all) a most strange story. Prospero observing speaks. 4 solemn air, and the west comforter o an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil'u within thy skull! There stand, For you are spell-stopp'd. Holy Conzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, ever sociable to the show of thine, Fall fe owly drops.-The charm dissolves apace; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.-0 my good Gonzalo, My true preserver, and a loyal sir Te him thou follow'st; I will pay thy graces I me, both in word and deed.-Most cruelly hatch. 2 Pity, or tenderness of heart. Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs:-But how should Prospero Be living, and be here? Pro. Let me embrace thine age; Be measur'd, or confin'd. Gon. Or be not, I'll not swear. Tirst, noble friend, whose honour cannot Whether this be, Pro. You do yet taste Some subtleties o' the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain :-Weicome, my friends all:- But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded. Aside to Seb. ana n I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you. 3 Whether. 24 ACT V TEMPEST. And justify you traitors; at this time I'll tell no tales. Seb. Pro. Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. Mira. O! wonder! [Aside. How many goodly creatures are there here! No;-How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't! The devil speaks in him. For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, Thou must restore. Alon. If thou beest Prospero, Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost, How sharp the point of this remembrance is! My dear son Ferdinand. Pro. I rather think I am wo¹ for't, sir. Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and Patience Says, it is past her cure. Pro. You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace, For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content. Alon. You the like loss? Pro. As great to me, as late; and, portable2 To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you; for I Have lost my daughter. Alon. A daughter? O heavens! that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there! that they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter? Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire, That they devour their reason; and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath; but, howsoe'r you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain, That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, To be the lord on't. No more yet of this; For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, Not a relation for a breakfast, nor Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; This cell's my court: here have I few attendants, And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, I will requite you with as good a thing; At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye, As much as me my dukedom. The entrance of the cell opens, and discovers Ferdi- nand and Miranda playing at chess. Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. Fer. I would not for the world. No, my dearest love, Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, And I would call it fair play. Alon. If this prove A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. Seb. A most high miracle! Fer. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; I have curs'd them without cause Ferd. Kneels to Alon. Now all the blessings Of a glad father compass thee about! Alon. 1 Sorry. 2 Bearable. Pro. "Tis new to thee. Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast at play? Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, And brought us thus together? Fer. Sir, she's mortal; But, by immortal Providence, she's mine; I chose her, when I could not ask my father For his advice; nor thought I had one: she Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, Of whom so often I have heard renown, But never saw before; of whom I have Receiv'd a second life, and second father This lady makes him to me. Alon. I am her's: But 0, how oddly will it sound, that I Must ask my child for eness! There sir, stop Pro. Let us not burden our remembrances With a heaviness that's gone. Gon. I have inly wept Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gode, And on this couple drop a blessed crown; For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way Which brought us hither! Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo: Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Should become king of Naples? O, rejoice Beyond a common joy; and set it down With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom, In a poor isle; and all of us, ourselves, When no man was his own.3 Alon. Give me your hands [To Fer. and Mira. Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, That doth not wish you joy! Be't so! Amen! Gon. Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following. O look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us! I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown:-Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace overboard, not an oath on shore? Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found Our king and company: the next, our ship,- Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split,- Is tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd as when We first put out to sea. [Aside. Ari. Sir, all this service Have I done since I went. Pro. My tricksys spirit! Alon. These are not natural events; they strengthen, From strange to stranger.-Say, now came you hither? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep. And (how, we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, Where, but even now, with strange and several noises 3 In his senses. 4 Ready. 5 Clever, adroit. SCENE 1. 25 TEMPEST. Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty; Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Cap'ring to eye her: On a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. Ari. Was't well done? Pro. Bravely, my diligence. shalt be free. Thou Aside. Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod: And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of: some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my liege, (To take my life: two of these fellows you Must know, and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? Seb. He is drunk now: Where had he wine? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ?-- How cam'st thou in this pickle? Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: shail not fear fly-blowing. I Seb. Why, how now, Stephano? Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure, Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you (Which to you shall seem probable,) of every These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well.-Come hither, spirit; As in his shape :-Go, sirrah, to my cell; Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Allon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on. [Pointing to Caliban. Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, [Aside. Set Caliban and his companions free: Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gra- cious sir? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd ials, that you remember not. Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and! Trinculo, in their stolen apparel. Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for aimself; for all is but fortune:- Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed! How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha; What things are these, my lord Antonio? Will money buy them? Ant. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Then say, if they be true: 2-This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command, without her power: These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil (For he's a bastard one,) had plotted with them 2 Honest. 1 Conductor Take with you your companions; as you look To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. Av, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool! Pro. Go to; away! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt Cal. Ste. and Trin. Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, To iny poor cell where you shall take your rest. With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make i For this one night; which (part of it) I'll waste Go quick away: the story of my life, And the particular accidents, gone by, Since I came to this isle: And in the morn, I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. Alon. I long To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Pro. I'll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off.-My Ariel ;-chick,- That is thy charge; then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well!-[aside] Please you draw near. [Exeunt. 26 ACT V TEMPEST. EPILOGUE. Spoken by Prospero. NOW my charms are all o'erthrown, And what strength I have's mine own; Which is most faint: now, 'tis true, I must be here confin'd by you, Or sent to Naples: Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell In this bare island, by your spell; But release me from my bands, With the help of your good hands' Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please: now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be reliev'd by prayer; Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faulis. As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free. It is observed of The Tempest, that its plan is regular; this the author of The Revisal thinks, what I think too, an accidental effect of the story, not intended or regarded by our author. But, whatever might be Shakspeare's intention in form- ing or adopting the plot, he has made it instrumen- tal to the production of many characters, diversi- fied with boundless invention, and preserved with profound skill in nature, extensive knowledge of opinions, and accurate observation of life. In a sin- gle drama are here exhibited princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their real characters. There is the agency of airy spirits, and of an earthly gob lin; the operations of magic, the tumults of a storm, the adventures of a desert island, the native effusion of untaught affection, the punishment of 1 Applause: noise was supposed to dissolve a guilt, and the final happiness of the pair for whom spell. our passions and reasons are equally interested. JOHNSON. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Duke of Milan, father to Silvia. Valentine, Proteus, gentlemen of Verona. Antonio, father to Proteus. PERSONS Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. Eglamour, agent for Silvia in her escape. Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. Launce, servant to Proteus. Panthino, servant to Antonio. Host, where Julia lodges in Milan. ACT I. SCENE 1.-An open place in Verona, Valentine and Proteus. Valentine. CEASE to persuade, my loving Proteus, REPRESENTED. Out-laws. Julia, a lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus. Silvia, the duke's daughter, beloved by Valentine Lucetta, waiting-woman to Julia. Servants, musicians. Scene, Sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan; and on the frontiers of Mantua. If lost, why then a grievous labour won; However, but a folly bought with wit, Enter Or else a wit by folly vanquished. Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits: Wer't not, affection chains thy tender days To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than living duly sluggardiz'd at home, Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, Even as I would, when I to love begin. Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu ! Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel: Wish me partaker in thy happiness, When thou dost meet good hap; and, in thy dan- ger, If ever danger do environ thee, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, For I will be thy beads-man, Valentine. Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love. For he was more than over shoes in love. Val. "Tis true; for you are over boots in love. And yet you never swam the Hellespont. Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.1 Pro. So,by your circumstance, you call me fool. Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove. Pro. "Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. Val: Love is your master, for he masters you: And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud The eating canker dwells, so eating love Inhabits in the finest wits of all. Val. And writers say, As the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes. But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, That art a votary to fond desire? Once more adieu: my father at the road Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters, Of thy success in love, and what news else Betideth here in absence of thy friend; And I likewise will visit thee with mine. Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! Val. As much to you at home! and so, farewell; [Exit Valentine. Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love; He leaves his friends, to dignify them more: I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, What? War with good counsel, set the world at nought; To be Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not. Pro. Val. In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks, With heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth, With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain; 1 A humorous punishment at harvest-home feasts, &c. Enter Speed. Speed. Sir Proteus, save you: saw you my master? Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan, 28 ACT 1 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Speed. Twenty to one then, he is shipp'd already; And I have play'd the sheep, in losing him. Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, An if the shepherd be awhile away. Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter: and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear, she'll prove as hard to you ir Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep-telling her mind. Give her no token but stones herd then, and I a sheep? Pro. I do. Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. for she's as hard as steel. Pro. What, said she nothing? Speed. No, not so much as-take this for thy pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testern'd me; in requital whereof, hence- forth carry your letters yourself; and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master. Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. Speed. This proves me still a sheep. Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd. Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another. Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my master, Being destin'd to a drier death on shore :- and my master seeks not me: therefore, I am no I must go send some better messenger; sheep. 1 fear, my Julia would not deign my lines, Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, Receiving them from such a worthless post. the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou for wages followest thy master, thy master for wa- ges follows not thee: therefore, thou art a sheep. Speed. Such another proof will make me cry Pro. Go, go, begone, to save your ship from wreck; Daa. Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter: to Julia? Speed. Ay, sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your let- ter to her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mut- ton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store of muttons. Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her. Pro. Nay, in that you are astray; 'twere best ound you. Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve ne for carrying your letter. Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pin- fold. Speed. rom a pound to a pin ? fold it over and Cer. "T'is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. Pro. But what said she? did she nod? Speed. I. [Speed nods. Pro. Nod, I? why, that's neddy. Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask me, if she did nod, and I say, I. Pro. And that set together, is--noddy. Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the Itter. Speed. Well, I perceive. I must be fain to bear! with yo c.hy, sir, how do you bear with me? Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having cthing but the word, noddy, for my pains. Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow arse. Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: what said she? Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the matter, may be both at once delivered. Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains; what said she? Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why? could'st thou perceive so much from her? 1 A term for a courtezan. 2 A game at cards. 3 Ill betide. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Garden of Julia's house. Enter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love? Luc. Ay, madam; so vou stumble not unheed- Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, fully. That every day with parles encounter me, In thy opinion, which is worthiest love? Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple skill. Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? But, were I you, he never should be mine. Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. Jul. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus? Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! Jul. How now! what means this passion at his name? Luc. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame, That I, unworthy body as I am, Should censures thus in lovely gentlemen. I Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? Luc. Then thus,of many good I think him best. Jul. Your reason? Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason, Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love think him so, because I think him so. on him? Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. Luc. O, they love least, that let men know the love. Jul. I would, I knew his mind. Luc. Peruse this paper, madam Jul. To Julia,-Say, from whom? Luc. That the contents will show Jul. Say, say; who gave it thee? Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I thank from Proteus: He would have given it you, but I, being in the way 4 Given me a sixpence. 6 Pass sentence. 5 Talk. SCENE III. 29 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!" Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? To whisper and conspire against my youth? Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, And you an officer fit for the place. There, take the paper, see it be return'd; Or else return no more into my sight. Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coils with protestation!- [Tears the letter. Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie: You would be fingering them, to anger me. Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exil. Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! hate. Jul. Will you be gone? Luc. Injurious wasps! to feed on such sweet honey, And kill the bees that yield it, with your stings! I'll kiss each several paper for amends. [Exit. And here is writ-kind Julia;-unkind Julia! As in revenge of thy ingratitude, Ay. That you may ruminate. Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. It were a shame to call her back again, And pray her to a fault for which Ichid her. What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, And would not force the letter to my view? Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that Which they would have the profferer construe, Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly I would have had her here! How angrily I taught my brow to frown, When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! My penance is, to call Lucetta back, And ask remission for my folly past:- What ho! Lucetta! Luc. Re-enter Lucetta. What would your ladyship? Jul. Is it near dinner-time? Luc. I would it were: That you might kill your stomach on your meat, And not upon your maid. Jul. So gingerly? Luc. Nothing. Jul. What is't you took up Why didst thou stoop, then? Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. Jul. And is that paper nothing? Luc. Nothing concerning me. Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, Unless it have a false interpreter. Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune: Give me a note: your ladyship can set- Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love. Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. Jul. Heavy? belike it hath some burden then. Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. Jul And why not you? Luc. I cannot reach so high. Jul. Let's see your song:-How now, minion? Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out: And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. Jul. You do not? Luc. No, madam; it is too sharp. Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, And mar the concord with too harsh a descant:3 There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. 1 A matchmaker. 2 3 A term in music. 4 Passion or obstinacy. The tenor in music. I throw thy name against the bruising stones, Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. Look, here is writ-love-wounded Proteus:- Poor wounded name! my bosom, as a bed, Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd; And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down? Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away Till I have found each letter in the letter, Except mine own name; that some whirlwind bear Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, And throw it thence into the raging sea! Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,- Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, To the sweet Julia :-that I'll tear away; And yet I will not, sith" so prettily He couples it to his complaining names: Thus will I fold them one upon another; Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. Re-enter Lucetta. Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father stays. Jul. Well, let us go. Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you. see; I see things too, although you judge I wink. Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A room in Antonio's house. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that, Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister? Pan. "Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. Ant. Why, what of him? Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordship Would suffer him to spend his youth at home; While other men, of slender reputation," Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there, Some, to discover islands far away; Some, to the studious universities. For any, or for all these exercises, He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet; And did request me, to importune you, To let him spend his time no more at home, 5 A challenge. Serious. 8 6. Bustle, stir. 7 Sinca 9 Little consequence. 3 30 Acm IL TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Which would be great impeachment' to his age, In having known no travel in his youth. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that Whereon this month I have been hammering. I have consider'd well his loss of time; And how he cannot be a perfect man, Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world: Experience is by industry achiev'd, And perfected by the swift course of time: Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him? Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant, How his companion, youthful Valentine, Attends the emperor in his royal court. Ant. I know it well. Pant. "Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen; And be in eye of every exercise, Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. Ant. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd: And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it, The execution of it shall make known; Even with the speediest execution I will despatch him to the emperor's court. Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd To hasten on his expedition. [Exeunt Ant. and Pent Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of burning; And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, Lest he should take exceptions to my love; And with the vantage of mine own excuse Hath he excepted most against my love. O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away! Re-enter Panthino. Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you, He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go. Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto; And yet a thousand times it answers, no. ACT II. [Exeunt. Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al- SCENE I.-Milan. An apartment in the Duke's phonso, With other gentlemen of good esteem, Are journeying to salute the emperor, And to commend their service to his will. Ant. Good company: with them shall Proteus go:, And, in good time,-now will we break with him. Enter Proteus. Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart; Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn: O, that our fathers would applaud our loves, To seal our happiness with their consents! O heavenly Julia! Ant. How now? what letter are you reading there? Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two Of commendation sent from Valentine, Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. Pro. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes How happily he lives, how well belov'd, And daily graced by the emperor;. Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, And not depending on his friendly wish. Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish: Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; For what I will, I will, and there an end. I am resolv'd. that thou shalt spend some time With Valentinus in the emperor's court; What maintenance he from his friends receives, Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. To-morrow be in readiness to go: Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; Please you, deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after thee: No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.- 1 Reproach. 3 Wonder. 2 Break the matter to him. 4 Allowance. palace. Enter Valentine and Speed. Speed. Sir, your glove. Val. Not mine; my gloves are on. Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but one. Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine- Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! Ah Silvia! Silvia ! Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia! Val. How now, sirrah! Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? Speed. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Silvia ? Speed. She that your worship loves? Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? Speed. Marry, by these special marks: First, you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms like a male-content; to relish a love-song, like a robin-red-breast; to walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost his A. B. C.; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laugh'd, to crow like a ccck; when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you looked sadly, it was for want of money: and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master. Val. Are all these things perceived in me? Speed. They are all perceived without you. Val. Without me? They cannot. Speed. Without you? nay, that's certain, for, without you were so simple, none else would: but you are so without these follies, that these follies are within you, and shine through you like the water in a urinal; that not an eye, that sees you 5 Under a regimen. 6 Allhallowmas. SCENE I. 31 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. but is a physician to comment on your malady.. Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? Vai. Hast thou observ'd that? even she I mean. Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir? Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. What dost thou know? Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well favoured. Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite. Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count. Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty. Val. How esteemest thou me! I account of her beauty. Speed. You never saw her since she was de- ormed. Val. How long hath she been deformed? Speed. Ever since you loved her. Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful. Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? But for my duty to your ladyship. Sil. I thank you, gentle servant: 'tis very clerkly done. Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; For, being ignorant to whom it goes, writ at randoni, very doubtfully. I Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write, Please you command, a thousand times as much: And yet,- Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; And yet I will not name it :-and yet I care not ;- And yet take this again;-and yet I thank you; Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. [Aside. Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: But since unwillingly, take them again; Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. Sil. Ay, ay; you writ them, sir, at my request: But I will none of them; they are for you: I would have had them writ more movingly. Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over: And, if it please you, so; if not, why, so. Val. If it please me, madam! what then? Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour And so good morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia. Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had nine eyes; or your own had the lights they were wont to have, when you chid at Sir Proteus for As going ungartered! Val. What should I see then? Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing deformity: for he, being in love, could not see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose. Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. Speed. True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank you, you swinged me for my love, which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set; so, your affection would cease. Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some lines to one she loves. Speed. And have you? Val. I have. Speed. Are they not lamely writ? Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them:- Peace, here she comes. Enter Sylvia. My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor, He being her pupil, to become her tutor. excellent device! was there ever heard a better? That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with yourself? Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason. Val. To do what? Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. Val. To whom? Speed. To yourself: why, she woos you by a figure. Val. What figure? Speed. By a letter, I should say. Val. Why, she hath not writ to me. Speed. What need she when she hath made you. write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? Val. No, believe me. Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir; but dil Speed. O excellent motion!2 O exceeding pup-you perceive her earnest? pet! now will he interpret to her. Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good mor- rows. Speed. O, 'give you good even! here's a million [Aside. of manners. Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- sand. Speed. He should give her interest; and she gives it him. Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter, Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 1 Whipped. 3 Like a scholar. 2 A puppet-show. Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and there an end.4 Val. I would it were no worse. Speed. I'll warrant you 'tis as well: For often you have writ to her; and she, in modesty, Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply. 4 There's the conclusion. 32 ACT II TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Or fearing else some messenger, that might her so. Now come I to my father; Father, your bless- mind discover, ing; now should not the shoe speak a word for Herself hath taught her love himself to write weeping; now should I kiss my father; well, he unto her lover.- All this I speak in print; for in print I found Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner-time. Val. I have dined. weeps on:-now come I to my mother, (, that she could speak now!) like a wood woman;-well, 1 it.-kiss her;-why there 'tis ; here's my mother's breath up and down: now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir: though the came-not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay leon, Love, can feed on the air, I am one that am the dust with my tears. nourished by my victuals, and would fain have ineat: 0, be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Verona. A room in Julia's house. Enter Proteus and Julia. Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. Jul. I must, where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner: Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. [Giving a ring. Pro. Why then we'll make exchange; here, take you this. Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, The next ensuing hour some foul mischance Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! My father stays my coming; answer not; The tide is now: nay, not the tide of tears; That tide will stay me longer than I should; [Exit Julia. Julia, farewell.-What! gone without a word? Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. Enter Panthino. Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. Pro. Go; I come, I come :- Enter Panthino. Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars What's the matter? why weepest thou, man? Away ass; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost; for it is the unkindest ty'd that ever any man ty'd. Pan. What's the unkindest tide? Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here; Crab, my dog. Pan. Tut, man, I mean thoul't lose the flood and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy voyage lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,-Why dost thou stop my mouth! Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. Pan. Where should I lose my tongue? Laun. In thy tale. Pan. In thy tail? Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service? The tide!-why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my sighs. Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee. Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. Pan. Wilt thou go? Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Milan. An apartment in the rio, and Speed. [Exeunt. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. SCENE III.-The same. A street. Enter Launce, leading a dog. Launce, Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind' of the Launces have this very fault: I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble- stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it: This shoe is my father;-no, this left shoe is my father;-no, no, this left shoe is my mother, nay, that cannot be so neither;-yes, it is so, it is so: it hath the worser sole: this shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my father: a vengeance on't! there 'tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as emall as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog:-no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog.-O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, 2 Crazy, distracted. 1 Kindred. Duke's palace. Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thu- Sil. Servant- Val. Mistress? Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. Speed. Not of you. Val. Of my mistress then. Speed. 'Twere good, you knocked him. Sil. Servant, you are sad." Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. Thu. Seem you that you are not? Val. Haply, I do. Thu. So do counterfeits. Val. So do you. Thu. What seem I, that I am not? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quotes you my folly? Val. I quote it in your jerkin. Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. Thu. How? colour? Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change cameleon. Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of than live in your air. Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 3 Serious. 4 Perhaps. 5 Observe. SCENE IV. 33 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Val. You have said, sir. Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quick- ly shot off. Val. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver. Sil. Who is that, servant? Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well, sir: you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my father. Enter Duke. Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: What say you to a letter from your friends Of much good news? Val. My lord, I will be thankful To any happy messenger from thence. Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country- man? Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman To be of worth, and worthy estimation, And not without desert so well reputed. Duke. Hath he not a son? Val. Ay, my good lord; a son, that well de- serves 1 he honour and regard of such a father. Duke. You know him well? Val. I knew him as myself; for from our in- fancy We have convers'd, and spent our hours together: And though myself have been an idle truant, Omitting the sweet benefit of time, To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection; Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, Made use and fair advantage of his days: His years but young, but his experience old; His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; And, in a word (for far behind his worth Come all the praises that I now bestow,) He is complete in feature, and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Duke. Beshrew' me, sir, but, if he make this good, He is as worthy for an empress' love, As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. Well, sir; this gentleman is come to me, With commendation from great potentates; And here he means to spend his time awhile: I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them Upon some other pawn for fealty. Val. Nay, sure, I think, she holds them prison- ers still. Sil. Nay, then he should be blind; and, being blind, How could he see his way to seek out you? Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; Upon a homely object love can wink. Enter Proteus. Sil. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. Val. Welcome, dear Proteus!-Mistress, I be seech you, Confirm his welcome with some special favour. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. Val. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant. Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servan To have a look of such a worthy mistress. Val. Leave off discourse of disability:- Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed; Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. Sil. That you are welcome? Pro. No; that you are worthless. Enter Servant. Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you. Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant. Come, Sir Thurio, Go with me:-Once more, new servant, welcome; I'll leave you to confer of home affairs; When you have done, we look to hear from you. Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. [Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came? Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. Val. And how do yours? Pro. I left them all in health. Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your love? Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now:" I have done penance for contemning love; Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs; Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been For, in revenge of my contempt of love, he. Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, Duke. Welcome him then according to his And made them watchers of mine own heart's ser- worth; row. Silvia, I speak to you; and you, Sir Thurio:- O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord; For Valentine, I need not cite him to it: I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke. Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, Had come along with me, but that his mistress Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 2 Incite. 1 Ill betide. And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, There is no wo to his correction, Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth! Now, no discourse, except it be of love; Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, Upon the very naked name of love. Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your ey 34 ACT IL TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Was this the idol that you worship so? Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? Pro. No; but she is an earthly paragon. Val. Call her divine. Pro. I will not flatter her. Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills; And I must minister the like to you. Val. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine, Yet let her be a principality, Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my mistress. Val. Sweet, except not any; Except thou wilt except against my love. Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too: She shall be dignified with this high honour,- To bear my lady's train: lest the base earth Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, And, of so great a favour growing proud, Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, And make rough winter everlasting. Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can, is nothing To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; She is alone. Pro. Then let her alone. Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, And that hath dazzled my reason's light; But when I look on her perfections, There is no reason but I shall be blind. If I can check my erring love, I will; If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. SCENE V-The same. A street. and Launce. [Ext. Enter Speed Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome tc Milan. Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for 1 am not welcome. I reckon this always--that a man is never undone till he be hanged; nor never wel- come to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and the hostess say, welcome. Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale- house with you presently; where for one shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam Julia? Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Speed. But shall she marry him? Laun. No. Speed. How then? shall he marry her? Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine Laun. No, neither. own; And I as rich in having such a jewel, As twenty seas, if all their sana were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, Because thou seest me dote upon my love. My foolish rival, that her father likes, Only for his possessions are so huge, Is gone with her along; and I must after, For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. Pro. But she loves you? Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd: Nay, more, our marriage hour, With all the cunning manner of our flight, Determin'd of: how I must climb her window; The ladder made of cords; and all the means Plotted; and 'greed on, for my happiness.. Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Pro. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth: I must unto the road, to disembark Some necessaries that I needs must use; And then I'll presently attend you. Val. Will you make haste? Pro. I will.- [Exit Val. Even as one heat another heat expels, Or as one nail by strength drives out another, So the remembrance of my former love Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, Her true perfection, or my false transgression, That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus? She's fair; and so is Julia that I love ;- That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, Bears no impression of the thing it was. Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold; And that I love him not, as I was wont: O! but I love his lady too, too much; And that's the reason I love him so little. How shall I dote on her with more advice,¹ That thus without advice begin to love her' 1 On further knowledge. Speed. What, are they broken? Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter with them? Laun. Marry thus; when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. Speed. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not! My staff understands me. Speed. What thou say'st? Laun. Ay, and what I do, too: look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he say, no, it will; if he shake his tail, and say no- thing, it will. Speed. The conclusion is, then, that it will. Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me, but by a parable. Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou, that my master is become a nota. ble lover? Laun. I never knew him otherwise. Speed. Than how? Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. me. Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant thy master. Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale-house, so; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a Christian. Speed. Why? Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee, as to go to the ale-house with a Christian: Wilt thou go? Speed. At thy service. Exeunt SCENE VII. 35 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. SCENE VI.-The same. An apartment in the But qualify the fire's extreme rage, palace. Enter Proteus. Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn; To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; And even that power, which gave me first my oath, Provokes me to this threefold perjury. Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear: O sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd, Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. At first I did adore a twinkling star, But now I worship a celestial sun. Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken; And he wants wit, that wants resolved will To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. I cannot leave to love, and yet I do; But there I leave to love, where I should love. Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose; If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. I to myself am dearer than a friend; For love is still more precious in itself; And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair! Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. I will forget that Julia is alive, Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. I cannot now prove constant to myself, Without some treachery used to Valentine :- This night he meaneth with a corded ladder To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window; Myself in counsel, his competitor: 2 Now presently I'll give her father notice Of their disguising, and pretended³ flight; Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine;" For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit. SCENE VII.-Verona. A room in Julia's house. Enter Julia and Lucetta. Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me! And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,- Who art the table wherein all my thoughts Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,- To lesson me: and tell me some good mean, How, with my honour, I may undertake A journey to my loving Proteus. Luc. Alas! the way is wearisome and long. Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly; And when the flight is made to one so dear, Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's food? Pity the dearth that I have pined in, By longing for that food so long a time. Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 2 Confederate. 1 Tempting. 3 Intended. Luc. I do not seek to quench your love s hot fire Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. Jul. The more thou dam'st' it up the more i burns; The current, that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; But, when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean. Then let me go, and hinder not my course: I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, And make a pastime of each weary step, Till the last step have brought me to my love; And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil," A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Luc. But in what habit will you go along? Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent The loose encounters of lascivious men: Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds As may beseem some well-reputed page. Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. Jul. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings, With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: To be fantastic may become a youth Of greater time than I shall show to be. Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? Jul. That fits as well, as-' tell me, good my lord, What compass will you wear your farthingale?' Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. Luc. You must needs have them with a cod- piece, madam. Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. Lac. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly: But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, For undertaking so unstaid a journey? I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. Jul. Nay, that I will not. Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. If Proteus like your journey, when you come, No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, And instances as infinite of love, Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect! But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart, His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come to him! Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not tha wrong, To bear a hard opinion of his truth: 4 Closest. 5 Trouble. 36 Аст III. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Only deserve my love, by loving him; And presently go with me to my chamber, To take a note of what I stand in need of, To furnish me upon my longing¹ journey. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, My goods, my lands, my reputation; Only in lieu thereof, despatch me hence: Come, answer not, but to it presently; I am impatient of my tarriance. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-Milan. An anti-room in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; We have some secrets to confer about.- [Exit Thurio. Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- cover, The law of friendship bids me to conceal: But, when I call to mind your gracious favours Done to me, undeserving as I am, My duty pricks me on to utter that Which else no worldly good should draw from me. Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, This night intends to steal away your daughter; Myself am one made privy to the plot. I know you have determin'd to bestow her On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; And should she thus be stolen away from you, It would be much vexation to your age. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose To cross my friend in his intended drift, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care; Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep; And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company, and my court: But, fearing lest my jealous aim2 might err, And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,3 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, The key whereof myself have ever kept; And thence she cannot be convey'd away. Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd mean Enter Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger That stays to bear my letters to my friends, And I am going to deliver them Duke. Be they of much import? Val. The tenor of them doth but signify My health, and happy being at your court. Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me awhile; I am to break with thee of some affairs, That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match man Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentle- Is full of virtue, bounty, woith, and qualities. Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, fro- ward, Proud, disobedient, stubborn lacking duty; Neither regarding that she is my child, Nor fearing me as if I were her father; Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, And, where I thought the remnant of mine age I now am full resolv'd to take a wife, And turn her out to who will take her in: Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower; For me and my possessions she esteems not. Val. What would your grace have me to do in this? Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And nought esteems my aged eloquence: (For long agone I have forgot to court: Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd;) How, and which way I may bestow myself, To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con- tents her. Send her another; never give her o'er; For scorn at first makes after-love the more. If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you: If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone; a For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away: Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces, Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces, That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. How he her chamber-window will ascend, And with a corded ladder fetch her down; For which the youthful lover now is gone, And this way comes he with it presently; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, That my discovery be not aimed at ; For love of you, not hate unto my friend, Hath made me publisher of this pretence.5 Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know That I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. [Exit. 1 Longed tor. 2 Guess. 3 Tempted. Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; And kept severely from resort of men, That no man hath access by day to her Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. Duke. Aye, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept safe, 4- Guessed. 5 Design. SCENE I 37 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What lets, but one may enter at her win dow? Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; And built so shelving that one cannot climb it. Without apparent hazard of his life. Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made cords, Val. And why not death, rather than living torment? To die, is to be banish'd from myself, And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her, Is self from self; a deadly banishment! What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? of What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think that she is by, And feed upon the shadow of perfection. Except I be by Silvia in the night, There is no music in the nightingale; Unless I look on Silvia in the day, There is no day for me to look upon : She is my essence; and I leave to be, If I be not by her fair influence Foster'a, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. fly not death, to fly his deadly doom: Tarry I here, I but attend on death; But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,, So bold Leander would adventure it. Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, Advise me where I may have such a ladder. Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. Duke. This very night; for love is like a child, That longs for every thing that he can come by. Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; How shall I best convey the ladder thither? Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak, that is of any length. Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn? Val. Ay, my good lord. Duke. Then let me see thy cloak: 1'll get me one of such another length. Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?- I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. What letter is this same? What's here-To Silvia? And here an engine fit for my proceeding! I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [reads. My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: O could their master come and go as lightly, Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying. Mu herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them, While I, their king, that hither them importune, D, curse the grace that with such grace hath bless'd them, Because myself do want my servants' fortune: 1 curse myself, for they are sent by me, That they should harbour where their lord should be. What's here? Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee: 'Tis so: and here's the ladder for the purpose.- Why, Phaeton (for thou art Merops' son,) Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Go, base intruder! overweening slave. Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; And think, my patience, more than thy desert, Is privilege for thy departure hence: Thank me for this, more than for all the favours, Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. But if thou linger in my territories, Longer than swiftest expedition Will give thee time to leave our royal court, By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, Bu as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. [Exit Duke. 1 Hinders I Enter Proteus and Launce. Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. Laun. So-ho! so-ho! Pro. What seest thou? Laum. Him we go to find; there's not a hair on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his spirit? Val. Neither. Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike! Pro. Whom would'st thou strike? Laun. Nothing. Pro. Villain, forbear. Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you,- Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear; friend Valentine, a word. Val. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear So much of bad already hath possess'd them. good news Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. Val. Is Silvia dead? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !- Hath she forsworn me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!- What is your news? Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are vanish'd. Pro. That thou art banish'd, O, that's the news; From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. Val. O, I have fed upon this wo already, And now excess of it will make me surfeit. Doth Silvia know that I am banish'd? Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force) A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd, With them, upon her knees, her humble self; Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them, But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, As if but now they waxed pale for wo Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire; But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 38 ACT III. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, When she for thy repeal was suppliant, That to close prison he commanded her, With many bitter threats of biding there. grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read. Speed. Come, fool, come: try me in thy paper. Laun. There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed! Val. No more; unless the next word that thou Speed. Item, She brews good ale. speak'st, Have some malignant power upon my life: If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, As ending anthem of my endless dolour.¹ Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, And study help for that which thou lament'st. Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing thoughts. Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence; Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. The time now serves not to expostulate : Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate; And, ere I part with thee, confer at large Of all that may concern thy love-affairs: As thou lov'st Sylvia, though not for thyself, Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, Ι Laun. And thereof comes the proverb,--Bless- ing of your heart, you brew good ale. Speed. Item, She can sew. Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she so? Speed. Item, She can knit. Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock? Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. Laun. A special virtue; for then she need not be washed and scoured. Speed. Item, She can spin. Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels when she can spin for her living. Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. Speed. Here follow her vices. Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. Speed. Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, in respect of her breath. Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast: read on. Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. Speed. Item, She is slow in words. her chief virtue. Speed. Item, She is proud. Bid him make haste and meet me at the north gate. Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine! [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of knave: but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He Laun. O villain, that set this down among her lives not now that knows me to be in love: yet I virtue: I pray thee, out with't; and place it for vices! To be slow in words, is a woman's only am in love; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman: but that woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk-maid: yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips: yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel-which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cat-log [pulling out a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; there- fore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter Speed. Speed. How now, Signior Launce? what news with your mastership? Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. Speed. Item, She is curst. Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquo will not, I will; for good things should be praised. Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she Speed. Item, She is too liberul.3 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not; for that I'll keep shut: now, of another thing she may; and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. Speed. Item, She hath more hair than unt, and Laun. With my master's ship? why it is at sea. more faults than hairs, and more wealth than Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake word: what news then in your paper? Laun. The blackest news that ever heard'st. Speed. Why, man, how black? Laun. Why, as black as ink. Speed. Let me read them. the faults. Laun. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, thou and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article: rehearse that once more. Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit,- Laun. More hair than wit,-it may be; I'll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that cov read. Speed. Thou liest, I can. Laun. I will try thee; tell me this: who begot thee? Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy 1 Grief. 2 St. Nicholas presided over young scholars. ers the wit, is more than the wit; for the greater hides the less. What's next? Speed. And more faults than hairs,- Laun. That's monstrous: O, that that were out. Speed. And more wealth than faults. Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra- 3 Licentious in language. SCENE II. 39 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. cious: well, I'll have her: and if it be a match, as By aught that I can speak in his dis raise, nothing is impossible,- Speed. What then? She shall not long continue love to hir. But say, this weed her love from Valentine, Laun. Why, then I will tell thee,-that thy It follows not that she will love sir Thuric. master stays for thee at the north gate. Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from Speed. For me? him, Laun. For thee? ay; wno art thou? he hath Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, staid for a better man than thee. Speed. And must I go to him? Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your love-letters! You must provide to bottom it on me: Which must be done, by praising me as much As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind; Exit. Because we know, on Valentine's report, Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my You are already love's firm votary, letter: an unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. self into secrets-I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's Upon this warrant shall you have access, [Exit. Where you with Silvia may confer at large; For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke's Where you may temper her, by your persuasion, And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you, palace. Enter Duke and Thurio; Proteus be- correction. hind. To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect:- But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love You must lay lime, to tangle her desires, you, Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me, That I am desperate of obtaining her. Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure Trench'd in ice; which with an hour's heat Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, And worthless Valentine shall be forgot.- How now, sir Proteus? Is your countryman, According to our proclamation, gone? Pro. Gone, my good lord. By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy. Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears Moist it again; and frame some feeling line, That may discover such integrity:- For Orpheus' lute was strung with poet's sinews; Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. After your dire-lamenting elegies, Visit by night your lady's chamber-window With some sweet concert: to their instruments so.-Tune a deploring dump ;4 the night's dead silence Wili well become such sweet complaining griev- Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,) Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, Let me not live to look upon your grace. Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. Pro. I do, my lord. Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant How she opposes her against my will. Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. Duke. Ay, and perversely she perseveres so. What might we do, to make the girl forget The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; Three things that women highly hold in hate. Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it: Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. ance. This, or else nothing, will inherit her. Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in prac. tice: Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giyer, Let us into the city presently I To sorts some gentlemen well skill'd in music have a sonnet, that will serve the turn, To give the onset to thy good advice. Duke. About it, gentlemen. Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper, And afterward determine our proceedings. Duke. Even now about it; I will pardon you. [Exeunt. Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. SCENE Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do: Tis an ill office for a gentleman; Especially, against his very friend. Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him, Your slander never can endamage him; Therefore the office is indifferent, Being entreated to it by your friend. Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord: if I can do it, 3 Bird-lime. 1. Graceful. 2 Cut. ACT IV. I-A forest, near Mantua. Enter certain Out-laws. 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast: I see a passenger. 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. Enter Valentine and Speed. 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you; 4 Mournful elegy. 5 Choose out. 40 ACT IV. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains That all the travellers do fear so much. Val. My friends,- 1 Out. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. 2 Out. Peace; we'll hear him. 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; For he's a proper¹ man. Love thee as our commander and our king. 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. Val. I take your offer and will live with you; Provided that you do no outrages On silly women, or poor passengers. 3 Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose; Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, A man I am, cross'd with adversity: My riches are these poor habiliments, Of which if you should here disfurnish me, You take the sun and substance that I have. 2 Out. Whither travel you? Val. To Verona. 1 Out. Whence came you? Val. From Milan. 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there? And show thee all the treasure we have got; Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. SCENE 11-Milan. [Exeunt. Court of the Palace. En ter Proteus. Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might Under the colour of commending him, have staid, If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence? Val. I was. 2 Out. For what offence? Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse: I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; But yet I slew him manfully in fight, Without false vantage, or base treachery. i Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so: But were you banish'd for so small a fault? Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 1 Out. Have you the tongues?2 I have access my own love to prefer; But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. When I protest true loyalty to her, She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; When to her beauty I commend my vows, She bids me think, how I have been forsworn In breaking faith with Julia whom I iov'd: And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips, The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, The more it grows and fawneth on her still. But here comes Thurio: now must we to her win- dow, Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy; And give some evening music to her ear. Or else I often had been miserable. 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 1 Out. We'll have him : sirs, a word. Speed. Master, be one of them; It is an honourable kind of thievery. Val. Peace, villain! Enter Thurio, and musicians. Thu. How now, sir Proteus? are you crept before us? Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love Will creep in service where it cannot go. Out. Tell us this: have you any thing to take Thu. Ay, but, I hope, sir, that you love not here. to? Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentle- men, Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Thrust from the company of awful³ men: Myself was from Verona banished, For practising to steal away a lady, An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, Whom, in my mood," I stabb'd unto the heart. 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. But to the purpose-(for we cite our faults, That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) And, partly, seeing you are beautified With goodly shape; and by your own report A linguist; and a man of such perfection, As we do in our quality much want;- 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: Are you content to be our general? To make a virtue of necessity, And live as we do in this wilderness? 3 Out. What say's thou? wilt thou be of our consort? Say ay, and be the captain of us all : We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 1 Well looking. 3 Lawful. 2 Languages. 4 Anger, resentment. Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. Thu. Whom? Silvia? Pro. Ay, Silvia-for your sake. Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentle- men, Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in boy's clothes. Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it? Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the gen tleman that you ask'd for. Jul. But shall I hear him speak? Host. Ay, that you shall. Jul. That will be music. Host. Hark! hark! Jul. Is he among these? [Music play Host. Ay: but peace, let's hear 'em. SONG. Who is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. (5) Passionate reproaches. SCENE III. 41 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Is she kind, as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling. To her let us garlands bring. Host. How now? are you sadder than you were before? How do you, man? the music likes you not. Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not. Host. Why, my pretty youth? Jul. He plays false, father. Host. How? out of tune on the strings? And by and by intend to chide myself, Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; But she is dead. Jul. "Twere false, if I should speak it, For, I am sure, she is not buried. Aside Sil. Say, that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, I am betroth'd: And art thou not asham'd To wrong him with thy importúnacy? Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. Sil. And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave, Assure thyself, my love is buried. Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's hence; Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. Jul. He heard not that. Aside. Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdúrate, Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, Jul. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my The picture that is hanging in your chamber; very heart-strings. Host. You have a quick ear. Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a slow heart. Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music! Jul. Ay; that change is the spite. Host. You would have them always play but one thing? Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. But, host,, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, Often resort unto this gentlewoman? Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he loved her out of all nick.' Jul. Where is Launce? Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a present to his lady. Jul. Peace! stand aside! the company parts. Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you! I will so plead, That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. Thu. Where ineet we? Pro. At saint Gregory's well. Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. Silvia appears above, at her window. Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship.. Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen: Who is that, that spake? Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, bou'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. Sil. What is your will? Pro. Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this, That I may compass yours. That presently you hie you home to bed. Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man! Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, To be seduc'd by thy flattery,, That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? Return, return, and make thy love amends. For me,-by this pale queen of night I swear, I am so far from granting thy request, That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit; 1 Beyond all reckoning. 2 Holy dame, blessed lady. To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; For, since the substance of your perfect self Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; And to your shadow I will make true love. Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it, And make it but a shadow, as I am. Aside. Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; But, since your falsehood shall become you well To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it: And so good rest. Pro. As wretches have o'er-night, That wait for execution in the morn. [Exeunt Proteus; and Silvia, from above, Jul. Host, will you go? Host. By my halidom,2 I was fast asleep. Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus ? Host. Marry, at my house: Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. Jul. Not so; but it hath been the longest night That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Enter Eglamour. Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia Entreated me to call, and know her mind; There's some great matter she'd employ me in.- Madam, madam! Sil. Egl. Silvia appears above, at her window. Who calls? Your servant, and your friend; One that attends your ladyship's command. Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-mor row. Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. According to your ladyship's impose, 3 It is your pleasure to command me in. I am thus early come, to know what service Sil. O Églamour, thou art a gentleman (Think not, I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,) Valiant, wise, remorseful,4 well accomplish'd. Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will I hear unto the banish'd Valentine; Nor how my father would enforce me marry Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd." Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say, No grief did ever come so near your heart, As when thy lady and thy true love died. 3 Injunction, command. 4 Pitiful. 42 ACT IV TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, To Mantua, where I hear, he makes abode; And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, I do desire thy worthy company, Upon whose faith and honour I repose. Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; And on the justice of my flying hence, To keep me from a most unholy match, Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues, I do desire thee, even from a heart As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, To bear me company, and go with me: If not, to hide what I have said to thee, That I may venture to depart alone. Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances. Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, I give consent to go along with you; Recking as little what betideth me, As much I wish all good befortune you. When will you go? Sil. This evening coming. Egl. Where shall I meet you? Sil. At friar Patrick's cell, Where I intend holy confession. Egl. I will not fail your ladyship: Good-morrow, gentle lady. Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Enter Launce, with his dog. served me, when I took my leave of madam Silvia; did not I bid thee still mark me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's farthingale? dids thou ever see me do such a trick? Enter Proteus and Julia. Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, And will employ thee in some service presently. Jul. In what you please ;-I will do wnat I can. Pro. I hope, thou wilt.-How now, you whore- son peasant? To Launce. Where have you been these two days loitering? Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. Pro. And what says she, to my little jewel? Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a present. Pro. But she received my dog? Laun. No, indeed, she did not. here have 1 brought him back again. Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from me by the hangman's boys in the market- place: and then I offer'd her mine own; who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, Or ne'er return again unto my sight. Away, I say: Stay'st thou to vex me here? A slave, that, still an end,3 turns me to shame. [Exit Launce. Jul. It seems you lov'd her not, to leave he Pro. token: Jul. Alas! Not so; I think, she lives. Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas! Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? Jul. Because, methinks, that she loved you & well Sebastian, I have entertained thee, When a man's servant shall play the cur with Partly, that I have need of such a youth, him, look you, it goes hard: one that I brought up For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt: That can with some discretion do my business, of a puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when But chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour; three or four of his blind brothers and sisters went Which (if my augury deceive me not) to it! I have taught him-even as one would say Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth: precisely, Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. to deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from Go presently, and take this ring with thee;. my master; and I came no sooner into the dining Deliver it to Madam Silvia: chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and She lov'd me well, deliver'd it to me. steals her capon's leg. O 'tis a foul thing, when, a cur cannot keep himself in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon She's dead, belike. him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hanged for't; sure as I live, he had suf- fered for't: you shall judge. He thrusts me him- self into the company of three or four gentlemen- like dogs, under the duke's table: he had not been there (bless the mark) a pissing while; but all the As you do love your lady Silvia: chamber smelt him. Out with the dog, says one; She dreams on him, that has forgot her love: What cur is that? says another; Whip him out, You dote on her, that cares not for your love. says the third; Hang him up, says the duke. I,Tis pity, love should be so contrary; having been acquainted with the smell before, And thinking on it makes me cry, alas! knew it was Crab; and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: Friend, quoth I, you mean to This letter;-that's her chamber.-Tell my lady. Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal whip the dog? Ay, marry, do I, quoth he.. You I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. do him the more wrong, quoth I; 'twas I did the Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, thing you wot of. He makes me no more ado, Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do this for their servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stocks for puddings he nath stolen, otherwise he had been executed: have stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't: thou think'st not of this now!--Nay I remember the trick you 1 Caring. 2 Restrain. 3 In the end. [Exit Proteus: Jul. How many women would do such a mes- Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd sage? A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs: Alas, poor fool! Why do I pity him That with his very heart despiseth me? Because he loves her, he despiseth me: Because I love him, I must pity him. SCENE I, II. 43 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. This ring I gave him when he parted from me, To bind him to remember my good will: And now am I (unhappy messenger!) To plead for that, which I would not obtain; To carry that which I would have refus'd; To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. I am my master's true confirmed love; But cannot be true servant to my master, Unless I prove false traitor to myself. Yet I will woo for him: but yet so coldly, As if the garment had been made for me: Therefore, I know she is about my height. And, at that time, I made her weep a-good, For I did play a lamentable part; Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; Which I so lively acted with my tears, That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead, If I in thought felt not her very sorrow! As, heaven, it knows, I would not have him speed. Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth!- Enter Silvia, attended. Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. Sil: What would you with her, if that I be she? Jul. If you be she I do entreat your patience To hear me speak the message I am sent on. Sil. From whom? Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam Sil. O!-He sends you for a picture? Jul. Ay, madam. Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [Picture brought. Go, give your master this: tell him from me, One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter.- Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd Delivered you a paper that I should not; This is the letter to your ladyship. Sil. I pray thee, let me lock on that again. Jul. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. Sil. There, hold. I will not look upon your master's lines: I know, they are stuff'd with protestations, And full of new-found oaths; which he will break As easily as I do tear his paper. Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!- I weep myself, to think upon thy words. Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. Farewell. [Exit Silvia. Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you know her.- A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. I hope my master's suit will be but cold, Since she respects my mistress' love so much. Alas, how love can trifle with itself! Here is her picture: Let me see; I think, If I had such a tire,3 this face of mine Were full as lovely as is this of hers: And yet une painter flatter'd her a little, Unless I flatter with myself too much. Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : If that be all the difference in his love, I'll get me such a colour'd periwig. Her eyes are grey as glass; and so are mine: Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high What should it be, that he respects in her, But I can make respective in myself, If this fond love were not a blinded god? Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form! hou shall be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd; And, were there sense in his idolatry, My substance should be statue in thy stead. Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me; I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, For, I have heard him say a thousand times, His Julia gave it him at his departure: Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. Jul. She thanks you. Sil. What say'st thou? Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her: Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much. Sil. Dost thou know her? Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: To think upon her woes, I do protest, That I have wept a hundred several times. Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow. Sil. Is she not passing fair? Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is: When she did think my master lov'd her well, She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; But since she did neglect her looking-glass, And threw her sun-expelling mask away, The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, That now she is become as black as 1. Sil. How tall was she? Ju. About my stature: for at Pentecost, When all our pageants of delight were play'd, Our youth got me to play the woman's part, And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown, Which served me as fit, by all men's judgment, 1 Whitsuntide. 2 In good earnest. That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. -The same. An abbey. Eglamour. Enter Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky; And now, it is about the very hour That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. She will not fail; for lovers break not hours, Unless it be to come before their time; So much they spur their expedition. Enter Silvia. See, where she comes: Lady, a happy evening' Sil. Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour! Out at the postern by the abbey-wall; I fear, I am attended by some spies. Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off; [Exeunt. If we recover that, we are sure enough. SCENE. II-The same. An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? 3 Head-dress. 4 Respectable. 5 Safe. 44 ACT V. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was; And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Thu. What, that my leg is too long? Pro. No; that it is too little. Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat rounder. Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. Thu. What says she to my face? Pro. She says, it is a fair one. Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black. Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, Black nien are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. Jul. 'Tis true; such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. Thu. How likes she my discourse? Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. Thu. But well, when I discourse of love, and peace? Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. Aside. Thu. What says she to my valour? Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. Jul. She needs not, when she knows it coward- ice. Thu. What says she to my birth? Pro. That you are well deriv'd. Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fool. Thu. Considers she my possessions? Pro. O, ay; and pities them. Thu. Wherefore? Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her? 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us, But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, There is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled; The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave: Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, And will not use a woman lawlessly. Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Another part of the Forest. Enter Valentine. Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns: Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, [Aside. Tune my distresses, and record my woes. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; [Aside. Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, And leave no memory of what it was! Repair me with thy presence, Silvia; Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain:- Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. What halloing, and what stir, is this to-day? Pro. That they are out by lease. Jul. Here comes the duke. Enter Duke. Duke. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late? Thu. Not I. Pro. Duke. Pro. Nor I. Saw you my daughter? Neither. Duke. Why, then she's fled unto that peasant Valentine; And Eglamour is in her company. "Tis true; for friar Laurence met them both, As he in penance wander'd through the forest: Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she; But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it: Besides, she did intend confession At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not: These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, But mount you presently; and meet with me Upon the rising of the mountain foot That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled: Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, That flies her fortune when it follows her: I'll after; more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, Than for the love of reckless³ Silvia. (Exit. Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit. Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. SCENE III-Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest. Enter Silvia and Outlaws. Out Come, come. 1 Own. 2 Foolish. 3 Careless. These are my mates, that make their wills their law, Have some unhappy passenger in chace: They love me well; yet I have much to do, To keep them from uncivil outrages. Withdraw thee, Valentine; who's this comes here? [Steps aside. Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. (Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you To hazard life, and rescue you from him That would have fore'd your honour and your love. Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear? Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am! Pro. Unhappy, were you, madam, ere I came ; But, by my coming, I have made you happy. Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most un happy. Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pres ence. Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, I would have been a breakfast to the beast, Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. O, heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, And full as much, (for more there cannot be,) Whose life's as tender to me as my soul; do detest false, perjur'd Proteus: Therefore be gone, solicit me no more. I [Aside Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, Would I not undergo for one calm look? 4 Sing. 5 Reward. SCENE IV. 45 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. O'tis the curse in love, and still approved, When women cannot love where they're belov'd. Sil. When Proteus canno: love where he's be- lov'd. Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, Pro. How! Julia! Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths, And entertain'd them deeply in her heart: How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!³ O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me faith Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths Descended into perjury, to love me. Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two, And that's far worse than none; better have none Than plural faith, which is too much by one: Thou counterfeit to thy true friend! Pro. Who respects friend? Sil. In love, All men but Proteus. Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words Can no way change you to a milder form, I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end; And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. Sil. O heaven! Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch; Thou friend of an ill fashion! Valentine! Pro. Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or love; (For such is a friend now,) treacherous man! Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye Could have persuaded me: Now I dare not say I have one friend alive; thou would'st disprove me. Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, I am sorry, I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake. The private wound is deepest: O time, most curst! *Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst! Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow Be a sufficient ransom for offence, I tender it here; I do as truly suffer, As e'er I did commit. Val. Then I am paid; And once again I do receive thee honest. Who by repentance is not satisfied, Is nor of heaven, nor earth; for these are pleas'd; By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd:- And, that my love may appear plain and free, All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. Jul. O me, unhappy! Pro. Look to the boy. Such an immodest raiment; if shame live In a disguise of love: It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, Women to change their shapes, than men their minds. Pro. Than men their minds? 'tis true: 0 heaven! were man But constant, he were perfect: that one error Fills him with faults; makes him run through all sins: Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins: What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? Val. Come, come, a hand from either: Let me be blest to make this happy close; 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. Jul. And I have mine. Out. Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio. Val. Forbear, I say; It is my lord the duke. A prize, a prize, a prize! Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, Banish'd Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine! Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death; Come not within the measure of my wrath: Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, Take but possession of her with a touch!- I dare thee but to breathe upon my love.- Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; I hold him but a fool, that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not: I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, To make such means for her as thou hast done, And leave her on such slight conditions.- Now, by the honour of my ancestry, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, [Faints. And think thee worthy of an empress' love. Know then, I here forget all former griefs, Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.- Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, To which I thus subscribe,-sir Valentine, me Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd; Val. Why, boy! why, wag! how now? what is the matter? Look up; speak. Jul. O good sir, my master charg'd To deliver a ring to madam Silvia; Which, out of my neglect, was never done. Pro. Where is that ring, boy? Jul. Here 'tis: this is it. [Gives a ring. Pro. How! let me see: Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook; This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Shows another ring. Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. Val. I thank your grace; the gift hath made me happy. I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal, Are men endued with worthy qualities; Pro. But how cam'st thou by this ring? at my Forgive them what they have committed here, depart I gave this unto to Julia. Jul. And Julia herself did give it me; And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 1 Felt, experienced. 2 Direction. 3 An allusion to cleaving the pin in archery. And let them be recall'd from their exile: They are reformed, civil, full of good, And fit for great employment, worthy lord. Duke., Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them and thee; Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 4 Length of my sword. 5 Interest. 4 46 ACT V TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. With triumphs,' mirth, and rare solemnity. Come, let us go; we will include all jars. Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold With our discourse to make your grace to smile: What think you of this page, my lord? Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. Val. I warrant you, my lord; more grace than boy. Duke. What mean you by that saying? Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, That you will wonder what hath fortun'd.- Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance, but to hear The story of your loves discovered: That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. A Mesks, revels. 2 Conclude. [Exeunt. In this play there is a strange mixture of know- ledge and ignorance, of care and negligence. The versification is often excellent, the allusions arc learned and just; but the author conveys his heroes by sea from one inland town to another in the same country: he places the emperor at Milan, and sends his young men to attend him, but never mentions him more; he makes Proteus, after an interview with Silvia, say he has only seen her pic- ture: and, if we may credit the old copies, he has, by mistaking places, left his scenery inextricable. The reason of all this confusion seems to be, that he took his story from a novel which he sometimes followed and sometimes forsook; sometimes re- membered, and sometimes forgot." That this play is rightly attributed to Shak- speare, I have little doubt. If it be taken from him, to whom shall it be given? This question may he asked of all the disputed plays, except Titus An- dronicus; and it will be found more credible, that Shakspeare might sometimes sink below his highest flights, than that any other should rise up to his How est. JOHNSON. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sir John Falstaff. Fenton. Shallow, a country justice. Slender, cousin to Shallow. Mr. Ford, Mr. Page, S two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. William Page, a boy, son to Mr. Page. Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh parson. Dr. Caius, a French physician. Host of the Garter Inn. Bardolph, Pistol, followers of Falstaff. Nym. Robin, page to Falstaff. Simple, servant to Slender. Rugby servant to Dr. Caius. Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. Mrs. Anne Page, her daughter, in love with Fenton. Mrs. Quickly, servant to Dr. Caius. Servants to Page, Ford, &c. Scene, Windsor; and the parts adjacent. ACT I. SCENE 1.-Windsor. Before Page's Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Evans. Shallow. house, Hugh Eva. It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is no fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear Shal. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the riot; take your vizaments in that. sword should end it. Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it: and there is also another device in my SIR Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-prain, which, peradventure prings goot discretion chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John with it; there is Anne Page, which is daughter to Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, es-master George Page, which is pretty virginity. Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, quire. Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, and speaks small like a woman. and coram. Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and cust-alorum.2 just as you will desire; and seven hundred pounds Slen. Ay, and ratolorum, too: and a gentleman of moneys, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, born, master parson; who writes himself armigero; upon his death's bed (Got deliver to a joyful resur- in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, ar-rections!) give, when she is able to overtake seven- migero. Shal. Ay, that we do: and have done any time our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage these three hundred years. between master Abraham, and mistress Anne Page. teen years old: it were a goot motion, if we leave Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have done't; and all his ancestors that come after him, may: they may give the dozen white luces in their pound? coat. Shal. It is an old coat. Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar beast to man, and signifies-love. Shal. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat. Slen. I may quarter, coz? Shal. You may, by marrying. Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. Shal Not a whit. Eva. Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my simple conjectures: but that is all one: if Sir John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my be- nevolence, to make atonements and compromises between you. Shal. The council shall hear it; it is a riot. 1 A title formerly appropriated to chaplains. 2 Custos rotulorum. Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. Shal. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts. Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, is goot gifts. Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page: is Falstaff there? Eva. Shall I tell y a lie? I do despise a liar, as I do despise one that is false; or, as I despise one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is there; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. What, hoa! Got pless your house, here! I will peat the door [knocks] for master Page. Enter Page. Page. Who's there? Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and justice Shallow: and here young master Slen- 4 Court of star-chamber. 5 Advisement. 6 Soft. 3 By our. 18 ACT L MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. der; that, peradventures, shall tell you another tale, understand: that is, master Page, fidelicet, master if matters grow to your likings. Page; and there is myself, fidelicet, myself; and the three party is, lastly and finally, mine host of Page. I am glad to see your worships well: I thank you for my venison, master Shallow. Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do it your good heart! I wished your venison better; it was ill killed:-how doth good mistress Page?-and I love you always with my heart, la ; with my heart. Page. Sir, I thank you. Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slen- der. Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say, he was outrun on Cotsale.' Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. Shal. That he will not;-'tis your fault, 'tis your fault:-'tis a good dog. Page. A cur, sir. Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog; can there be more said? he is good, and fair.-Is sir John Falstaff here? Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good office between you. the Garter. Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. Eva. Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the cause, with as great discreetly as we can. Fal. Pistol,- Pist. He hears with ears. Eva. The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this, He hears with ear? Why, it is affectatious. Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he (or I would I might never come in mine own great chamber again else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boards," that cost me two shilling and two pence apiece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. I Eva. It is spoke as a christians ought to speak. Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd; is not that so, master Page? he hath wrong'd me; in-I deed, he hath ;-at a word, he hath ;-believe me Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. Page. Here comes Sir John. Fal. Is this true, Pistol? Eva. No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner!-Sir John, and master mine, combat challenge of this latten bilbo :8 Word of denial in thy labras here; Word of denial; froth and scum, thou liest. Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours: will say, marry trap, with you, if you run the ;-nuthook's humour on me; that is the very note of it. Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it: for though I cannot remember what I did when you made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John? Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentle- man had drunk himself out of his five sentences. Eva. It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is? Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. Fal. Now, master Shallow; you'll complain of me to the king? Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and broke open my lodge. Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. Shal. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd. Fal. I will answer it straight;-I have done all this:-that is now answer'd. Shal. The council shall know this. Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in counsel: you'll be laugh'd at. Bard. And being fap sir, was as they say, cashier'd; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. 19 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too but 'tis no matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- men; you hear it. Eva. Pauca verba, Sir John, good worts. Fal. Good worts !2 good cabbage.-Slender, I broke your head; what matter have you against Enter Mistress Anne Page with wine; Mistress me? Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you; and against your coney-catching3 rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made me drunk, and after- wards picked my pocket. Bar. You Banbury cheese!4 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Pist. How now, Mephostophilus ?5 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. Nym. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca ; slice! that's my umour. Ford and Mistress Page following. Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within. [Exit Anne Page. Slen. O heaven! this is mistress Anne Page. Page. How now, mistress Ford? Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met: by your leave, good mistress. [kissing her. Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome :- Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkind- ness. [Exeunt all but Shal. Slend, and Evans. Eva. Peace, I pray you! Now let us under- Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my stand: there is three umpires in this matter, as I book of songs and sonnets here- Slen. Where's Simple, my man?-can you tell, cousin? 1 Cotswold in Gloucestershire. 2 Worts was the ancient name of all the cab- of shuffle-board. bage kind. 3 Sharpers. 4 Nothing but paring. 5 The name of ar ugly spirit. 6 Few words. 7 King Edward's shillings, used in the game 8 Blade as thin as a lath. 10 If you say I am a thief. 9 Lips. 11 Drunk. 12 The bounds of good behaviour. SCENE II. 49 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Enter Simple. How now, Simple! where have you been? I must. wait on myself, must 1? You have not The Book of Riddles about you, have you? Sim. Book of Riddles! why, did you not lend t to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight before Michaelmas ?1 Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word with you, coz: marry, this, coz; there is, as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, male afar off by sir Hugh here;-do you understand me? Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so, I shall do that that is reason. Shal. Nay, but understand me. Slen. So I do, sir. Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I will description the matter to you, if you be capa- city of it. Sten. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: I pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his country, simple though I stand here. Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir? Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; Iam Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. very well. Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth: my cousin Shallow: [Exit Simple. A justice of peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for man:-I keep but three men and a boy yet, till my mother be dead: but what though? yet I live. like a poor gentleman born. Anne. I may not go in without your worship: they will not sit, till you come. Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as much as though I did. Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you: 1 bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys2 for a dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do your dogs bark so? be there bears the Eva. But that is not the question; the question town? is concerning your marriage. Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. Eva. Marry, is it; the very point of it; to mis- tress Anne Page. Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon any reasonable demands. Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us command to know that of your mouth, or of your lips; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is parcel of the mouth; therefore, precisely, can you carry your good will to the maid? Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? Slen. I hope, sir,-I will do, as it shall become one that would do reason. Eva. Nay, Go's lords and his ladies, you must speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires towards her. Shal. That you must: will you, upon good dow- ry, marry her? Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request, cousin, in any reason. Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz; Can you love the maid? Anne. I think there are, sir; I heard them talked of. Slen. I love the sport wel!; but I shall as soon quarrel at it, as any man in England:-you are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. Slen. That's meat and drink to me now: I have seen Sackerson³ loose, twenty times; and have taken him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd:4-but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very ill-favoured rough things. Re-enter Page. Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come; we stay for you. Šlen. I'll eat nothing; I thank you, sir. Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir: come, come. Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. Page. Come on, sir. Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. Slen. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la: I will not do you that wrong. Anne. I pray you, sir. Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but if there be no great love in the beginning, yet hea- ven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we are married, and have more occasion to Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trouble- know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will some: you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. grow more contempt: but if you say, marry her, will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. Eva. It is a fery discretion answer; save, the faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely: the 'ort is, according to our meaning, resolutely ;-his meaning is good. Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. Re-enter Anne Page. Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne:-Would I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne. Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father de- sires your worships' company.. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius house, which is the way: and there dwells one mis- tress Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer and his wringer. Sim. Well, sir. Eva. Nay, it is petter yet:- -give her this let- ter; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with mistress Anne Page; and the letter is to desire and require her to solicit your master's desires to Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. mistress Anne Page: I pray you, be gone; I will Eva. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at make an end of my dinner: there's pippins and cheese to come. the grace. [Exeunt Shal. and Sir H. Evans. 1 An intended blunder. 2 'Three set-to's, bouts or hits. [Exeunt. 3 The name of a bear exhibited at Paris-Garden, in Southwark. 4 Surpassed all expression. 50 ACT. I. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. SCENE III-A room in the Garter Inn. Enter' gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. Fallstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, and Robin. Fal. Mine host of the Garter, Host. What says my bully-rook? Speak schol- urly, and wisely. Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. Nym. I thank thee for that humour. Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some too: she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. of my followers. Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them wag; trot, trot. Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Cæsar, Keisar, and Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? Fal. Do so, good mine host. I will be cheater4 to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. thou this letter to mistress Page; and thou this to Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer, take all! Nym. I will run no base humour; here, take the humour letter; I will keep the 'haviour of re- putation. [Exit Host. Fal. Bardolph, follow him; a tapster is a good trade: an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a with- ered serving-man, a fresh tapster: go; adieu. Bard. It is a life that I have desired; I will [Exit Bard. Host. I have spoke; let him follow: let me see thee froth, and lime; I am at a word; follow. thrive. Pist. O base Gongarian' wight! wilt thou the spigot wield? Nym. He was gotten in drink: is not the hu- mour conceited? His mind is not heroic, and there's the humour of it. Fal. I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinder- box; his thefts were too open: his filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not tine. Nym. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's rest. Pist. Convey, the wise it call: steal! foh; a fico2 for the phrase! Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. Fal. There is no remedy; I must coney-catch; I must shift. Pist. Young ravens must have food. Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about. Pist. Two yards, and more. Fal. Hold, sirrah, [to Rob.] bear you these let- ters tightly;5 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.- Trudge, plod, away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hail-stones, go; Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, pack! French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page. [Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam holds, And high and low beguile the rich and poor: Tester I'll have in pouch," when thou shalt lack, Base Phrygian Turk! Nym. I have operations in my head, which be humours of revenge. Pist. Wilt thou revenge? Nym. By welkin, and her star; Pist. With wit, or steel? Nym. With both the humours, 1; I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. Pist. And I to Ford shail eke unfold, How Falstaff, varlet vile, His dove will prove, his gold will hold, And his soft couch defile. Nym. My humour shall not cool: I will incense Page to deal with poison; I will possess him with yellowness, for the revolt of mien is dangerous: that is my true humour. [Exeunt. Fal. No quips now, Pistol; indeed, I am in the waist two yards about: but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents: I se- make love to Ford's wife; I spy entertainment in cond thee; troop on. her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation: I can construe the action of her fa- miliar style; and the hardest voice of her beha- viour, to be English'd rightly, is, I am Sir John Falstaff's. Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated her well; out of honesty into English. Nym. The anchor is deep: will that humour pass. Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the ruie of her husband's purse; she hath legions of angels. 3 Pist. As many devils entertain; and, To her, boy, say I. SCENE IV.A room in Dr. Caius' house. Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. Quick. What: John Rugby!-I pray thee, go to the casement, and see if you can see my master, master Doctor Caius, coming: if he do. i'faith, and find any body in the house, here will be an old abusing of God's patience, and the king's English. Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby. Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for't soon at night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant Nym. The humour rises; it is good: humour shall come in house withal; and, I warrant you, no me the angels. Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her: and here another to Page's wife; who even now gave me good eyes too, examin'd my parts with most udicious eyliads: sometimes the beam of her view 1 For Hungarian. 2 Fig. 3 Gold coin. 4 Escheatour, an officer in the Exchequer. 5 Cleverly. 6 False dice. tell-tale, nor no breed-bate: 10 his worst fault is, that he is given to prayer; he is something peevish that way; but nobody but has his fault;-but let that pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is? Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. Quick. And master Slender's your master? 7 Sixpence I'll have in pocket. 8 Instigate. 9 Jealousy. 11 Foolish. 10 Strife. SCENE IV. 51 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 1 Sim. Ay, forsooth. Quick. Does ac not wear a great round beard, like a glover's paring-knife? for my master, in the way of marriage. Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'll ne'er put my finger in the fire and need not. Sim. No forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you?-Rugby, baillez with a little yellow beard; a Cain-coloured beard. me some paper:-Tarry you a little-a while. Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? [writes. Sim. Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of Quick. I am glad he is so quiet: if he had been his hands, as any is between this and his head: he thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so hath fought with a warrener.2 loud, and so melancholy ;-but notwithstanding, Quick. How say you ?-O, I should remember man, I'll do your master what good I can: and, him; does he not hold up his head, as it were? and the very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my strut in his gait? master, I may call him my master, look you, for I keep his house; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all myself;- Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse fortune! Tell master parson Evans, I will do what I can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and wish- Re-enter Rugby. I Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's hand. Quick. Are you advis'd o' that? you shall find it a great charge: and to be up early, and down late ;- but notwithstanding (to tell you in your ear; I would have no words of it;) my master himself is in love with mistress Anne Page: but notwith- standing that, I know Anne's mind,-that's nei- ther here nor there. Rug. Out, alas! here comes my master. Quick. We shall all be shent:3 run in here, good young man; go into this closet. [Shuts Simple in the closet.] He will not stay long.-What, John Rugby! John, what, John, I say!-Go, John, go Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir inquire for my master; I doubt, he be not well, Hugh; by gar, it is a shallenge: I vill cut his troat that he comes not home and down, down, in de park; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape adown-a, &c. [Sings. priest to meddle or make:-you may be gone; it is not good you tarry here:-by gar, I will cut all his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone to trow at his dog. [Exit Simple. Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. Caius. It is no matter-a for dat:-do not you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? -by gar, I vill kill de Jack priest; and I have ap- Quick. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad pointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure our he went not in himself; if he had found the young weapon:-by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. man, he would have been horn-mad. Enter Doctor Caius. Caius. Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys; Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier verd; a box, a green-a box; do intend vat I speak? a green-a box. [Aside. Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe! ma foi, il fait fort chaud. Je m'en vais à la cour,-la grand affaire. Quick. Is it this, sir? Caius. Ouy; mette le au mon pocket; depeche, quickly:-Vere is dat knave Rugby! Quick. What, John Rugby! John! Rug. Here, sir. Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack Rugby: come, take-a your rapier, and come after my heel to de court. Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. Catus. By my trot, I tarry too long:-Od's me! Qu'ay j'oublié dere is some simples in my closet, dat I vil! not for the varld I shall leave behind. Quick. Ah me! he'll find the young man there, and be mad. Caius. O diable, diable! vat is in my closet?- Villany! larron! [Pulling Simple out.] Rugby, my rapier. Quick. Good master, be content. Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a? Quick. The young man is an honest man. Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatic; hear the truth of it: he came of an errand to me from parson Hugh. Caius. Vell. Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to- Quick. Peace, I pray you. Caius. Peace-a your tongue:-Speak-a your tale. Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page, 1 Brave. 2 The keeper of a warren. 3 Scolded, reprimanded. Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be well: we must give folks leave to prate: What, the good-jer !4 Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me;-by gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head out of my door:-Follow my heels, Rugby. [Exeunt Caius and Rugby. Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own. No, I know Anne's mind for that: never a woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do; nor can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. Fent. [Within.] Who's within there, ho? Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, I pray you. Enter Fenton. Fent. How now, good woman; how dost thou ? Quick. The better, that it pleases your good worship to ask. Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne? Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you that by the way; I praise heaven for it Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? Shal I not lose my suit? Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a book, she loves you:-Have not your worship a wart above your eye? Feni. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ;-good faith. 4 The goujere, what the pox! 52 ACT IL MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. It is such another Nan:-but, I detest, an honest show you to the contrary: O, mistress Page, give maid as ever broke bread:-We had an hour's me some counsel ! talk of that wart;-I shall never laugh but in that Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman? maid's company.-But, indeed, she is given too Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one much to allicholly2 and musing: but for you- trifling respect, I could come to such honour! Well, go to. Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman; take the Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day: hold, there's honour: what is it ?-dispense with trifles;-what mo ey for thee; let me have thy voice in my be- is it? half: if thou seest her before me, commend me- Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an Quick. Will I? i'faith, that we will: and I will eternal moment, or so, I could be knighted. tell your worship more of the wart, the next time Mrs. Page. What ?-thou liest !-Sir Alice we have confidence; and of other wooers. Ford!--These knights will hack; and so thou Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. [Exit. Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light :-here, read, Quick. Farewell to your worship.-Truly, an read;-perceive how I might be knighted.-I shall honest gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an eye to I know Anne's mind as well as another does :- make difference of men's liking: and yet he would Out upon't! what have I forgot? [Exit. not swear; praised women's modesty: and gave ACT II. Enter Mis- SCENE 1.-Before Page's house. tress Page, with a letter. Mrs. Page. What! have I 'scaped love-letters in the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them? Let me see: 3 such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all un- comeliness, that I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to the truth of his words: but they do no more adhere and keep place together, than the hundredth psalm to the tune of Green Sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on him? I think the best way were to entertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like? [reads. Mrs. Page. Letter for letter; but that the name Ask me no reason why I love you; for though of Page and Ford differs!-To thy great comfort love use reason for his precisian, he admits him in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin not for his counsellor: You are not young, no brother of thy letter: but let thine inherit first; for, more am I; go to then, there's sympathy: you I protest, mine never shall. I warrant, he hath a are merry, so am I; ha! ha! then there's more thousand of these letters, writ with blank space for sympathy: you love sack, and so do I; would different names (sure more,) and these are of the you desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, se ond edition: he will print them out of doubt: mistress Page (at the least, if the love of a soldier for he cares not what he puts into the press, when can suffice,) that I love thee. I will not say, pity he would put us two. I had rather be a giantess, me, 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, love and lie under mount Pelion. Well, I will find you me. By me, Thine own true knight, By day or night, Or any kind of light, With all his might, For thee to fight, John Falstaff. twenty lascivious turtles, ere one chaste man. Mrs. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very hand, the very words: what doth he think of us? Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: it makes me al- most ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted withal; for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I know not myself, he would never have boarded me in this fury. Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it? I'll be sure to keep him above deck. What a Herod of Jewry is this !-O wicked, wicked world!-one that is well nigh worn to pieces with age, to show himself a young gallant! What an unweighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked (with the devil's name) out of my Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my conversation, that he dares in this manner assay hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be revenged me? Why, he hath not been thrice in my compa- on him: let's appoint him a meeting; give him a ny!-What should I say to him?-I was then show of comfort in his suit; and lead him on with frugal of my mirth :-heaven forgive me!-Why, a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the putting to mine host of the Garter. down of men. How shall I be revenged on him?, Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any vil for revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made lany against him, that may not sully the chariness of puddings. Enter Mistress Ford. Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to your house. Mrs. Page. And, trust me, I was coming to you. You look very ill. Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll never believe that; I have to show to the contrary. Mrs. Page. 'Faith but you do, in my mind. Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then; yet, I say, I could 1 She means, I protest. 2 Melancholy. 3 Most probably Shakspeare wrote Physician. of our honesty. O, that my husband saw this let- ter! it would give eternal food to his jealousy. Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my good man too: he's as far from jealousy, as I am from giving him cause; and that, I hope, is an unmeasurable distance. Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this greasy knight: come hither. [They retire. Enter Ford, Pistol, Page and Nym. Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 4 Caution. SCENE I. 53 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs: Sir John affects thy wife. Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich and poor, Both young and old, one with another, Ford; He loves thy gally-mawfry;2 Ford, perpend.3 Ford. Love my wife? in his intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded men; very rogues, now they be out of service. Ford. Were they his men? Page. Marry, were they. Ford. I like it never the better for that.-Does he lie at the Garter? Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend Pist. With liver burning hot: prevent, or go thou, this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her Like sir Actæon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels: loose to him; and what he gets more of her than 0, odious is the name! Ford. What name, sir? Pist. The horn, I say: farewell. sharp words, let it lie on my head. Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be loath to turn them together: A man may be too Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do confident: I would have nothing lie on my head: 1 sing.- cannot be thus satisfied. Away, sir corporal Nym.-- Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Gar- Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol. ter comes: there is either liquor in his pate, or Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this. money in his purse, when he looks so merrily.- Nym. And this is true. [To Page.] I like not How now, mine host? the humour of lying. He hath wrong'd me in some humours; I should have borne the humoured let- ter to her: but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves your wife; there's Enter Host and Shallow. Host. How now, bully-rook? thou'rt a gentle- the short and the long. My name is corporal Nym; man: cavalero-justice, I say. I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true:-my name is Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow.-Good even Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife.-Adieu! I love and twenty, good master Page! Master Page, will not the humour of bread and cheese; and there's you go with us? we have sport in hand. [Exit Nym. Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice; tell him, bully- the humour of it. Adieu. Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a! here's a fel-rook. low frights humour out of his wits. Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting doctor. rogue. Ford. If I do find it, well. Page. I will not believe such a Cataian,4 though the priest o' the town commended him for a true man. Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: Well. Page. How now, Meg? Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George?-Hark you. Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank? why art thou melancholy? Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with you. Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook? [They go aside. Shal. Will you [to Page] go with us to behold it? my merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons; and, I think, he hath appointed them contrary places: for, believe me, I hear, the par- son is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be. Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my Ford. I melancholy! I am not melancholy.-guest-cavalier? Get you home, go. Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotchets in of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell thy head now.-Will you go, mistress Page? Mrs. Page. Have with you.-You'll come to dinner, George?-Look, who comes yonder: she shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. [Aside to Mrs. Ford. Enter Mistress Quickly. Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her; she'll fit it. Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne? Quick. Ay, forsooth; and, I pray, how does good mistress Anne? Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see; we have an 'bour's talk with you. [Exe. Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quick. Page. How now, master Ford? Ford. You heard what this knave told me; did yen not? Page. Yes; and you heard what the other told him, my name is Brook; only for a jest. Host. My hand, bully: thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook: It is a merry knight.-Will you go on, hearts? Shal. Have with you, mine host. Page. I have heard, the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier. Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more: In these times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, master Page; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my long sword, I would have made you four talls fellows skip like rats. Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? Page. Have with you:-I had rather hear them scold than fight. [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my opinion so easily: She was in his company at Page's house; and, what they made there, I know Ford. Do you think there is truth in them? not. Well, I will look further into't: and I have a Page. Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think the disguise to sound Falstaff: If I find her honest, I knight would offer it; but these that accuse him lose not my labour; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour me? 1 A dog that misses his game. 2 A medley. 3 Consider. 4 A lying sharper. well bestowed. [Ea it 5 Stout, bold. 6 Did. 54 ACT. II. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR SCENE II-A room in the Garter Inn.. Enter it; you have brought her into such a canaries, as Falstaff and Pistol. Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. Pist. Why, then the world's mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.- I will retort the sum in equipage.¹ 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when the court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches; 1 warrant you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly (all musk,) and Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you so rushling, I warrant you, in silk and gold; and should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grat-in such alligant terms; and in such wine and sugar ed upon my good friends for three reprieves for you of the best, and the fairest, that would have won and your coach-fellow2 Nym; or else you had any woman's heart; and, I warrant you, they could looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons. never get an eye-wink of her.-I had myself twenty 1 am damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen my angels given me this morning: but I defy all angels friends, you were good soldiers, and tall fellows: (in any such sort, as they say,) but in the way of and when mistress Bridget lost the handle of her honesty:-and, I warrant you, they could never get fan, I took't upon my honour, thou hadst it not. Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not fif- teen pence? her so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them all: and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, pensioners; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason: Think'st thou, I'll endanger my soul gratis? At a word, hang no Fal. But what says she to me? be brief, my good more about me, I am no gibbet for you:-go.-Ashe Mercury. short knife and a throng: 3-to your manor of Pickt- Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter; hatch, go.-You'll not bear a letter for me, you for the which she thanks you a thousand times; rogue!-you stand upon your honour!-Why, thou and she gives you to notify, that her husband will unconfinable baseness, it is as much as I can do, to be absence from his house between ten and eleven. keep the terms of my honour precise. I, I, I my- Fal. Ten and eleven? self sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the Quick. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, and see the picture, she says, that you wote of;- am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet master Ford, her husband, will be from home. you, rogue, will ensconces your rags, your cat-a- Alas! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him; mountain looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your he's a very jealousy man; she leads a very fram- bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of your ho-pold life with him, good heart. nour! You will not do it, you? Fal. Ten and eleven? Woman, commend me to Pist. I do relent; What would'st thou more of her; I will not fail her. man? Enter Robin. Quick. Why, you say well: But I have another messenger to your worship: Mistress Page hath her hearty commendations to you too ;-and let me tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest Rob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. wife, and one (I tell you) that will not miss your Fal. Let her approach. Enter Mistress Quickly. Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. Fal. Good maid, then? Quick. I'll be sworn; as my mother was, the first hour I was born. Fal. I do believe the swearer: What with me? Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or two? Fal. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouch- safe thee the hearing. morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be the other and she bade me tell your worship, that her husband is seldom from home; but, she hopes, there will come a time. I never knew a woman so dote upon a man: surely, I think you have charms, la; yes, in truth. Fal. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. Quick. Blessing on your heart for't! Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this; has Ford's wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how they love me? Quick. That were a jest, indeed!--they have not Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir;-I pray so little grace, I hope :-that were a trick, indeed! come a little nearer this ways:-I myself dwell with But mistress Page would desire you to send her master doctor Caius. your little page, of all loves; her husband has a marvellous infection to the little page: and, truly, Fal. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say,- Quick. Your worship says very true; I pray your master Page is an honest man. Never a wife in worship, come a little nearer this ways. Windsor leads a better life than she does; do what Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears;-mine own she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, go to people, mine own people. Quick. Are they so? Heaven bless them, make them his servants! bed when she list, rise when she list, all is as she and will; and truly she deserves it: for if there be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your page; no remedy. Fal. Why, I will. Fal. Well, mistress Ford;-what of her? Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, lord! your worship's a wanton: Well, heaven for- give you, and all of us, I pray! Fal. Mistress Ford-come, Mistress Ford. he Quick. Nay, but do so then: and, look you, may come and go between you both; and, in any case, have a nay-word,11 that you may know one Quick. Marry, this is the short an' the long of another's mind, and the boy never need to under 1 Pay you again in stolen goods. 2 Draws along with you. 3 To cut purses in a crowd. 6 Ale-house. 7 A mistake of Mrs. Quickly's for quandary. 8 Know. 9 Fretful, peevish. 4 Pickt-hatch was in Clerkenwell. 5 Protect. 10 By all means. 11 A watch word SCENE I 55 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. stand any thing; for 'ti. not good that children should know any wickedness; old folks, you know, have discretion, as they say, and know the world. Fal. Fare thee well: commend me to them both: there's my purse: I am yet thy debtor.- Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to Boy, go along with this woman.-This news dis-you, bestowed much on her; followed her with a tracts me! [Exeunt Quickly and Robin. doting observance: engrossed opportunities to meet Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers :- her; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but nig- Clap on more sails; pursue, up with your fights; gardly give me sight of her: not only bought many Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them presents to give her, but have given largely to all! [Exit Pistol. many, to know what she would have given: brief- Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; ly, I have pursued her, as love hath pursued me; I'll make more of thy old body than I have done. which hath been, on the wing of all occasions Will they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind, the expense of so much money, be now a gainer? or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received Good body, I thank thee: Let them say, 'tis grossly none; unless experience be a jewel: that I have done; so it be fairly done, no matter. purchased at an infinite rate; and that hath taught me to say this: Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her husband's name is Ford. Fal. Well, sir. Enter Bardolph. Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught of sack. Fal. Brook, is his name? Bard. Ay, sir. Fal. Call him in; [Exit Bardolph.] Such Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. Ah! ha! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encompassed you? go to; via!! Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. Ford. Bless you, sir. Fal. And you, sir; Would you speak with me? Ford. I make bold, to press with so little pre- paration upon you. Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pur- sues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- tion at her hands? Ford. Never. Fal. Have you importuned her to such a pur- pose? Ford. Never. Fal. Of what quality was your love then? Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another man's ground; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking the place where I erected it. Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me? Ford. When have told you that, I have told you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her Fal. You're welcome; What's your will? Give mirth so far, that there is shrewd construction us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. made of her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent my purpose: You are a gentleman of excellent much; my name is Brook. Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- ance of you. Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours: not to charge you; for I must let you understand, I think myself in better plight for a lender than you are: the which hath something enboldened me to this unseasoned intrusion; for they say, if money go before, all ways do lie open. Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here troubles me; if you will help me to bear it, sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the car- riage. Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your porter. Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the hearing. Fal. Speak, good master Brook: I shall be glad to be your servant. tance,4 authentic in your place and person, gene- breeding, admirable discourse, of great admit- and learned preparations. rally allowed for your many warlike, court-like, Fal. O, sir! Ford. Believe it, for you know it:-There is money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all I have; only give me so much of your time in: exchange of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife: use your art of wooing: win her to consent to you; if any man may, you may as soon as any. Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of your affection, that I should win what you would enjoy? Methinks, you prescribe to yourself very preposterously. Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so securely on the excellency of her honour, that the folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too bright to be looked against. Now, could I come Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar,-I will be to her with any detection in my hand, my desires brief with you;-and you have been a man had instance and argument to commend themselves; long known to me, though I had never so good I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, mears, as desire, to make myself acquainted with her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand you. I shall discover a thing to you, wherein I other her defences, which now are too strongly must very much lay open mine own imperfection: embattled against me: What say you to't, si but, good sir John, as you have one eye upon my John? follies, as you hear them unfolded, turn another into the register of your own; that I may pass with Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with a reproof the easier, sith you yourself know, how as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy your money; next, give me your hand; and last. easy it is to be such an offender. 1 A cant phrase of exultation. 2 Since. 3 Reward. I Ford's wife. 4 In the greatest companies. 5 Approved. 6 Guard. 56 ACT II. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Ford. O god sir! Fal. Master Brook, I say you shall. Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want none. Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no come; by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if come; he has pray his Pib.e vell, dat he is no he be come. Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you Rug. He is wise, sir: he knew your worship shall want none. I shall be with her, (I may tell would kill him, if he came. you,) by her own appointment; even as you came Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from kill him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vill tell you me: I say, I shall be with her between ten and how I vill kill him. eleven; for at that time the jealous, rascally knave her husband will be forth. Come you to me at night: you shall know how I speed. Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you know Ford, sir? Fai. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave! I know him not-yet I wrong lim, to call him poor; they say, the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of money for the which his wife seems to me well- favoured. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's coffer; and there's my harvest-home. Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. Caius. Villain-a, take your rapier. Rug. Forbear; here's company. Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor. Shal. 'Save you, master doctor Caius. Page. Now, good master doctor! Slen. Give you good-morrow, sir. Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir; that you for? might avoid him, if you saw him. Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to see Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there; to will stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy my cudgel: it shall hang like a meteor o'er the distance, thy montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? cuckold's horns: master Brook, thou shalt know, is he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says I will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shali my Esculapius? my Galen? my heart of elder? lie with his wife.-Come to me soon at night :-ha? is he dead, bully Stale? is he dead? Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his stile; Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of de thou master Brook, shalt know him for a knave world: he is not show his face. and cuckold:-come to me soon at night. [Exit. Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this! tor of Greece, my boy! Host. Thou art a Castilian king, Urinal! Hec- -My heart is ready to crack with impatience Caius. I pray you bear witness that me have Who says, this is improvident jealousy? My wife stay six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is is no come. made. Would any man have thought this ?-See Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is the hell of having a false woman! my bed shall a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies: if you be abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation should fight, you go against the hair of your pro- gnawn at; and I shall not only receive this villa- fessions: is it not true, master Page? nous wrong, but stand under the adoption of abomi- nable terms, and by him that does me t. is wrong. great fighter, though now a man of peace. Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been a Terms! names!--Amaimon sounds well; Lu- Page. Tis true, master Shallow. cifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they are devil's old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my fin- Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be additions, the names of fiends: but cuckold! wit-ger itches to make one: though we are justices and tol2 cuckold! the devil himself hath not such a doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have name. Page is an ass, a secure ass; he will trust some salt of our youth in us; we are the sons of wo- his wife, he will not be jealous: I will rather men, master Page. trust a Fleming with my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, an Irishman with my aquavitæ bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master gelding, than my wife with herself: then she plots, sworn of the peace: you have showed yourself a then she ruminates, then she devises: and what wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a they think in their hearts they may effect, they wise and patient churchman: you must go with will break their hearts but they will effect. Heaven me, master doctor. be praised for my jealousy!-Eleven o'clock the hour; I will prevent this, detect my wife, be re- venged on Falstaff, and laugh at Page. I will about it; better three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie! cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. SCENE III.-Windsor Park. and Rugby. Caius. Jack Rugby! Rug. Sir. Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack? Enter Caius Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- mised to meet. 1 Add to his title. 3 Usquebaugh. 5 Terms in fencing. 2 Contented cuckold. 4 Fence. Host. Pardon, guest justice :-A word, monsieur Muck-water.7 Caius. Muck-vater! vat is dat? Host. Muck-water, in our English tongue, is val- our, bully.. Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck-vater as de Englishman:-Scurvy jack-dog priest! by gar, me vill cut his ears. Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. Caius. Clapper-de-claw! vat is dat? Host. That is, he will make thee amends. Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- claw me; for, by gar, me vill have it. Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag. Caius. Me tank you for dat. Host. And moreover, bully,-But first, master 6 Cant term, for Spaniard. 7 Drain of a dur.ghill. SCENE I. 57 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, quest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, go you through the town to Frogmore. [Aside to them. Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? Host. He is there: see what humour he is in; and I will bring the doctor about by the fields: will it do well? Shal. We will do it. Page, Shal. and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. Host. Let him die: but, first, sheath thy impa- tience; throw cold water on thy choler: go about the fields with me through Frogmore; I will bring thee where Mrs. Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting; and thou shalt woo her: Cry'd game, said I well? Caius.. By gar, me tank you for dat; by gar, I love you; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to- wards Anne Page; said I well? Caius. By gar, 'tis good; vell said. Host. Let us wag then. Caius. Come at my heels, Jack Rugby. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I-A field near Frogmore. Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's serving-man, and friend Simple by your name, which way have you looked for master Caius, that calls himself Doctor of Physic? Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward, every way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way. Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also look that way. Sim. I will, sir. Eva. 'Pless my soul! how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind!-I shall be glad, if he have deceived me:-how melancholies I am!-I will knog his urinals about his knave's costard,' when I have good opportunities for the 'ork:-'pless my [Sings. soul! To shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals; There will we make our peds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies. To shallow- Eva. Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it in your arms. Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Shal. How now, master parson? Good morrow good sir Hugh. Keep a game ter from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is won derful. Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page! Page. Save you, good sir Hugh! Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you! Shal. What! the sword and the world! do you study them both, master parson? Page. And youthful still, in your double ana hose, this raw rheumatic day? Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, master parson. Eva. Fery well: what is it? Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, who belike, having received wrong by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you saw. Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect. Eva. What is he? Page. I think you know him; master doctor Caius, the renowned French physician. Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of for- ridge. Page. Why? Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen,--and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. Page. I warrant you, he's the man should fight with him. Slen. O, sweet Anne Page! Shal. It appears so, by his weapons:-Keep them asunder;-here comes doctor Caius. Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby. Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your weapon. Shal. So do you, good master doctor. Host. Disarm them, and let them question; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your ear: Verefore will you not meet-a me? Eva. Pray you, use your patience: In good time. Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, John ape. Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to other men's humours; I desire you in friendship, Mercy on me! I have a great dispositions to cry. and I will one way or other make you amends:- Melodious birds sing madrigals ;- When as I sat in Pabylon,2 And a thousand fragrant posies. To shallow- I will knog your urinals about your knave's cogscomb, for missing your meetings and appoint- ments. Caius. Diable !-Jack Rugby,-mine Host de Jarlerre, have I not stay for him, to kill him? have Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. I not, at de place I did appoint? Eva. He's welcome:- To shallow rivers, to whose falls Heaven prosper the right!-What weapons is he? Sim. No weapons, sir: There comes my master, master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- more, over the stile, this way. 1 Head Eva. As I am a Christians soul, now, look you, this is the place appointed; I'll be judgment by mine host of the Garter. Host. Peace, I say, Guallia and Gaul, French and Welsh; soul-curer and body-curer. Caius. Ay, dat is very good! excellent! Host. Peace, I say; hear mine host of the Gar ter. Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machia- 2 Babylon, the first line of the 137th Psalm. 58 ACT. III. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. vel? Shall I lose my coctor? no; he gives me the plots !-they are laid; and our revolted wives potions, and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? share damnation together. Well; I will take him, my priest? my sir Hugh? no; he gives me the then torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of pro-verbs and the no-verbs.-Give me thy hand, modesty from the so seeming³ mistress Page, di- terrestrial; so:--Give me thy hand, celestial; so. vulge Page himself for a secure and wilful Acteon; Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have and to these violent proceedings all my neighbours directed you to wrong places: your hearts are shall cry aim.4 [Clock strikes.] The clock gives mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack me my cue, and my assurance bids me search be the issue.-Come, lay their swords to pawn:- there I shall find Falstaff: I shall be rather praised Follow me, lad of peace; follow, follow, follow. for this, than mocked; for it is as positive as the Shal. Trust me, a mad host:-Follow, gentle-earth is firm, that Falstaff is there: I will go. men, follow. Slen. O, sweet Anne Page! [Exeunt Shal. Slen. Page, and Host. Caius. Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make- a de sot¹ of us? ha, ha! 2- Eve. This is well; he has made us his vlouting- stay. I desire you, that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of the Garter. Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh Evans, Caius, and Rugby." Shal. Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. Ford. Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer at home; and, I pray you, all go with me. Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. Slen. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine with mistress Anne, and I would not break with her for more money than I'll speak of. Cans. By gar, vit all my heart; he promise to bring me vere is Anne Page: by gar, he de- Shal. We have linger'd about a match between ceive me too. Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles:-Pray we shall have our answer. you, follow. [Exeunt. Slen. I hope, I have your good-will, father Page. Enter Page. You have, master Slender; I stand whol- ly for you:-but my wife, master doctor, is for you altogether. SCENE II.-The Street in Windsor. Mrs. Page and Robin. a Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you were wont to a follower, but now you are leader: Wheth had you rather, lead mine yes, or eye your master's Heels? like Rob. I had rathe forsooth, go before you a man, than folle nim like a dwarf. Mrs. Page, O you are a flattering boy; now, see, you'll be a courtier. Enter Ford. Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go you? Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife: Is she at home? Ford. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, for want of company: I think, if your husbands were dead, you two would marry. Mrs. Page. Be sure of that,-two other hus- bands. Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of: What do you call your knight's name, sirrah? Rob. Sir John Falstaff. Ford. Sir John Falstaff! Caius. Ay, by gar; and de maid is love-a me; my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. Host. What say you to young master Fenton ? writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he and May: he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry't. Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gentlemen is of no having: he kept company with the wild Prince and Poins; he is of too high a re- knot in his fortunes with the finger of my sub- gion, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a stance: if he take her, let him take her simply; the wealth I have waits on my consent, and my consent goes not that way. Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home with me to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have sport; I will show you a monster.- Master doctor, you shall go ;-so shall you, master Page;-and you, sir Hugh. freer wooing at master Page's. Shal. Well, fare you well:-we shall have the [Exeunt Shallow and Slender. Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon. [Exit Rugby. Host. Farewell, my hearts: I will to my honest Mrs. Page. He, he: I can never hit on's name. knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. There is such a league between my good man and he!-Is your wife at home, indeed? Ford. Indeed, she is. Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir;-I am sick, till I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath [Exit Host. Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe- wine first with him, I'll make him dance. Will you go, gentles? All. Have with you, to see this monster. Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. [Exeunt. no use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter SCENE III.-A room in Ford's house. Enter twenty miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- blank twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's in- clination; he gives her folly motion, and advan- tage: and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her. A man may hear this shower sing basket- Mrs. Ford. What, John! what, Robert! Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly: is tne buck in the wind!-and Falstaff's boy with her!-Good Mrs. Ford. I warrant :--what, Robin, I say, 1 Fool. 2 Flouting-stock. 4 Shall encourage. 3 Specious. 5 Out of the common style. 6 Not rich. SCENE III. 59 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Enter Servants with a basket. Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. Fal. What made me love thee? let that per- suade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge; we must Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and be brief. that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds, Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and that come like women in men's apparel, and sinell Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-house; like Bucklersbury in simple-time; I cannot: but and when I suddenly call you, come forth, and I love thee; none but thee; and thou deservest it. (without any pause or staggering,) take this basket Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir; I fear, you on your shoulders: that done, trudge with it in all love mistress Page. haste, and carry it among the whitsters' in' Datchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddy ditch by the Thames' side. Mrs. Page. You will do it? Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over: they lack no direction: begone, and come when you are called. Exeunt Servants. Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. Enter Robin. Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket? news with you? Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk by the Counter-gate; which is as hateful to me as the reek of a lime-kiln. Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows, how I love you; and you shall one day find it. Fal. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do; or else I could not be in that mind. Rob. [within.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! here's mistress Page at the door, sweating and what blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you presently. Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back door, mistress Ford; and requests your com- pany. Fal. She shall not see me; I will ensconce' me behind the arras. Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so; she's a very tat- [Falstaff hides himself. Mrs. Page. You little Jack-o-lent, have you tling woman.- been true to us? Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn; my master knows not of your being here; and hath threatened to put me Enter Mistress Page and Robin. into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it; for, he What's the matter? how now? swears, he'll turn me away. Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have you Mrs. Ford. What's the maer, good mistress Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress Ford! hav- ing an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion! Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy; this secrecy of done? You're shamed, yo are overthrown, you thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee are undone for ever. a new doublet and hose.-I'll go hide me. Mrs. Ford. Do so:-Go tell thy master, I am Page? alone. Mrs. Page, remember you your cue. [Exit Robin. Mrs. Page. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, [Exit Mrs. Page. Mrs. Ford. Go to, then, we'll use this unwhole- some humidity, this gross watry pumpion;-we'll teach him to know turtles from jays. hiss me. Enter Falstaff. Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion? Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ?--Out up- on you! how am I mistook in you! Mrs. Ford. Why, alas! what's the matter? Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo- man, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for ja gentleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his ab- Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough; sence. You are undone. this is the period of my ambition: O this blessed Mrs. Ford. Speak louder.-[Aside.]-Tis not so, I hope. hour! Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John! Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, have such a man here; but 'tis most certain your mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: Ihusband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, would thy husband were dead: I'll speak it before to search for such a one. I come before to tell you: the best lord, I would make thee my lady. if you know yourself clear, why I am glad of it: Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John! alas, I should but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him be a pitiful lady. out. Be not amazed; call all your senses to you; Fal. Let the court of France show me such an-defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good other; I see how thine eyes would emulate the life forever. diamond; thou hast the right arched bent of the Mrs. Ford. What shall I do?-There is a gentle- brow, that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, man, my dear friend; and I fear not mine own or any tire of Venetian admittance.4 shame so much as his peril: I had rather than a Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John: my thousand pound, he were out of the house. brows become nothing else; nor that well neither. Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so; thou would'st rather, and you had rather; your husband's here make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of at hand, bethink you of some conveyance: in the thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, house you cannot hide him.-O, how have you de- in a semicircled farthingale. I see what thou wert,ceived me!-Look, here is a basket; if he be of if fortune thy foe wert not: nature is thy friend: any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and come, thou canst not hide it. throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 1 Bleachers of linen. 2 A young small hawk. 4 Venetian fashions. 5 Formerly chiefly inhabited by druggists. 3 A puppet thrown at in Lent, like shrove-cocks 6 Prison. 7 Hide. 8 Tapestry. 60 ACT III. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. bucking: or, it is whiting-time,' send him by your men to Datchet Mead. Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: what shall I do? Re-enter Falstaff. Fal. Let me see't, let me see't! O let me see't! I'll in, I'll in;-follow your friend's counsel;- I'll in. Mrs. Page. What! sir John Falstaff! Are these your letters, knight? Fal. I love thee, and none but thee; help me away: let me creep in here; I'll never- [He goes into the basket; they cover him with foul linen.] Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: call your men, mistress Ford:-You dissembling knight! Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John! [Exit Robin; re-enter Servants.] Go take up these clothes here, quickly; where's the cowl-staff?2 look, how you drumble: carry them to the laun- dress in Datchet Mead; quickly, come. Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect with- out cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be your jest; I deserve it.-How now? whither bear you this? Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it? you were best meddle with buck- washing. Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into the water; and give him another hope, to be- tray him to another punishment? Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for to- morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. bragged of that he could not compass. Ford. I cannot find him: may be the knave Mrs. Page. Heard you that? Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace:-You use me well, master Ford, do you? Ford. Ay, I do so. Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your thoughts! Ford. Amen. Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master Ford. Ford. Ay, ay; I must bear it. Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment! Caius. By gar, nor I too; dere is no bodies. Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not asham- ed? What spirit, what devil suggests this imagina tion? I would not have your distemper in this kind, for the wealth of Windsor Castle. Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page: I suffer for it. Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five thousand, and five hundred too. Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. the buck! Buck, buck, buck? ay, buck; I war- Ford. Well;-I promised you a dinner :-Come, rant you, buck; and of the season too, it shall ap- come, walk in the park: I pray you, pardon me; pear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentle-I will hereafter make known to you, why I have men, I have dreamed to-night; I'll tell you my done this. Come, wife ;-come, mistress Page; I dream. Here, here, here be my keys: ascend my pray you pardon me; pray heartily, pardon me. chambers, search, seek, find out: I'll warrant, we'll Page. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me, unkennel the fox:-Let me stop this way first:- we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morn- So, now, uncape.4 ing to my house to breakfast; after, we'll a bird- ing together; I have a fine hawk for the bush: Page. Good master Ford, be contented: you wrong yourself too much. Ford. True, master Page.-Up, gentlemen; you shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jea- lousies. Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France: it is not jealous in France. Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this? Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, that my husband is deceived, or sir John. Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your husband asked who was in the basket! Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of washing; so throwing him into the water will do him a benefit. Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would, all of the same strain were in the same distress. Mrs. Ford. I think, my husband hath some spe- cial suspicion of Falstaff's being here; for I never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that: And we will yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dis- solute disease will scarce obey this medicine. Bleaching-time. 2 A staff for carrying a large tub or basket. shall it be so? Ford. Any thing. Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the company. Caius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de tird. Eva. In your teeth: for shame. Ford. Pray you go, master Page. Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on the lousy knave, mine host. Caius. Dat is good; by gar, vit all my heart. Eva. A lousy knavé; to have his jibes and his mockeries. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-A room in Page's house. Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love; Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. Anne. Alas! how then? Fent. I Why, thou must be thyself He doth object, I am too great of birth; And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, seek to heal it only by his wealth: Besides these, other bars he lays before me, My riots past, my wild societies; And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible I should love thee, but as a property. Anne. May be, he tells you true. 3 Drone. 4 Unbag the fox. 5 What. SCENE V. 6i MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Fent No, heaven so speed me in my time to I come! Albeit, I will confess thy father's wealth. Was the first motive that I wooed thee, Anne: Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; And 'tis the very riches of thyself That now I aim at. Anne. Gentle master Fenton, Yet seek my father's love: still seek it, sir: If opportunity and humble suit Cannot attain it, why then-Hark you hither. [They converse apart. Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly; my kinsman shall speak for himself. Sten. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: slid, 'tis but venturing. Shal. Be not dismay'd. Slen. No, she shall not dismay me: I care not for that,-but that I am afeard. Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a word with you. Anne. I come to him.-This is my father's choice. O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year! [Aside. Quick. And how does good master Fenton ? Pray you, a word with you. Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst a father! Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne;-my uncle can tell you good jests of him :-Pray you, uncle, tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two geese out of a pen, good uncle. Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. Sien. Ay, that I do, as well as I love any woman in Glocestershire. Sha!. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail,2 under the degree of a squire. Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds jointure. Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo himself. for Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave you. Anne. Now, master Slender. Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. Anne. What is your will? Slen. My will? od's heartlings, that's a pretty jest, indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you with me? told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not lo my child. Page. She is no match for you. Fent. Sir, will you hear me? Page. No, good master Fenton, Come, master Shallow: come, son Slender; in:- Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. Quick. Speak to mistress Page. Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your daughter In such a righteous fashion as I do, Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, And not retire: let me have your good will. I must advance the colours of my love, Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better husband. Quick. That's my master, master doctor. Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, and bowl'd to death with turnips. Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: good master Fenton, My daughter will I question how she loves you, I will not be your friend, nor enemy: And as I find her, so am I affected; Till then, farewell, sir :-She must needs go in ; Her father will be angry. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan. Quick. This is my doing now ;-Nay, said I, will you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? Look on master Fenton :-this is my doing. Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to night Give my sweet Nan this ring: there's for thy pains. Exit. Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune! A kind heart he hath: a woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I would my master had mistress Anne; or I would master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would master Fenton had her: I will do what I can for them all three; for so I have promised, and I'll be as good as my word; but speciously for master Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses; what a beast am I to slack' it! [Exit. SCENE V.-A room in the Garter Inn. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. Bardolph, I say,- Bard. Here, sir. Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in a basket, Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or like a barrow of butcher's offal; and to be thrown nothing with you: your father, and my uncle, have into the Thames? Well; if I be served such an- made motions: if it be my luck, so: if not, happy other trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, and but- man be his dole ! They can tell you how things ter'd, and give them to a dog for a new year's gift. go, better than I can: you may ask your father; The rogues slighted me into the river with as little here he comes. Enter Page, and Mistress Page. Page. Now, master Slender :-Love him, daugh- ter Anne.- Why, how now! what does master Fenton here? You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 1 A proverb-a shaft was a long arrow, and a bolt a thick short one. 5 remorse as they would have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I should down. I had been drowned, but that the shore was she.vy and shallow; a death that I abhor; for the water swells a man; and what a thing should I 2 Come poor or rich. 3 Lot. 4 Specially. 5 Neglect. 6 Pity. 62 ACT. III. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. have been, when I had been swelled! I should hane been a mountain of mummy. Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. Ford. What, while you were there? Fal. While I was there. Ford. And did he search for you, and could not find you? Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have of Ford's approach; and, by her invention, ard Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak it, comes in one mistress Page; gives intelligence with you. Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the Thames water; for my belly's as cold, as if I had buck-basket. swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call her in. Bard. Come in, woman. Enter Mrs. Quickly. Quick. By your leave; I cry you mercy: give your worship good-morrow. Fal. Take away these chalices: go brew me pottle of sack finely. Bard. With eggs, sir? a Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my brewage.-Exit Bardolph.]-How now? Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from mistress Ford. Ford. A buck-basket! Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket: rammed me in with foui shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest compound of villanous smell, that ever offended nostril. Ford. And how long lay you there? Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what 1 have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their mistress, to carry me in the name of foul clothes to Datchet-lane: they took me on their shoulders; met the jealous knave, their master, in the door; who asked them once or twice what they Fal. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I had in their basket. I quaked for fear, lest the was thrown into the ford: I have my belly full of lunatic knave would have searched it; but Fate ford. ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand Quick. Alas the day! good heart, that was not Well: on went he for a search, and away went 1 her fault; she does so take on with her men; they for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook: mistook their erection. I suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish an intolerable fright, to be detected with a jealous woman's promise. rotten-bell-wether: next, to be compassed like a Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it good bilbo,2 in the circumference of a peck, hilt to would yearn your heart to see it. Her husband point, heel to head: and then, to be stopped in, like goes this morning a birding; she desires you once a strong distillation, with stinking clothes that fret- more to come to her between eight and nine: I must ted in their own grease: think of that,--a man of carry her word quickly: she'll make you amends, my kidney,-think of that; that am as subject to I warrant you. heat as butter; a man of continual dissolution and Fal. Well, I will visit her: tell her so; and bid thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape suffocation. And her think, what a man is: let her consider his frailty, and then judge of my merit. Quick. I will tell her. Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou Quick. Eight and nine, sir. Fal. Well, be gone: I will not miss her. Quick. Peace be with you, sir! [Exit. Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook; he sent me word to stay within: I like his money well. O, here he comes. Enter Ford. Ford. Bless you, sir! Fal. Now, master Brook; you come to know what hath passed between me and Ford's wife? Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was at her house the hour she appointed me. Ford. And how speed you, sir? in the height of this bath, when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot, ? in that surge, like a horse-shoe; think of that;- hissing hot,-think of that, master Brook. Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is desperate; you'll undertake her no more. Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into Etna, as I have been into the Thames, ere I will leave her thus. Her husband is this morning gone a bird- ing: I have received from her another embassy of meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. Ford. "Tis past eight already, sir. Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and you shall know how I speed; and the conclusion shall be crowned with your enjoying her: adieu. You shall have her, master Brook; master Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook. Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her deter- Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? mination? do I sleep? Master Ford, awake; awake, master Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking cornu- Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master to, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a con- Ford. This 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have linen, tinual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant and buck-baskets!-Well, I will proclaim myself of our encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, what I am: I will now take the lecher; he is at my protested, and, as it were, spoke the prologue of house: he cannot 'scape me; 'tis impossible he our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of his com- should; he cannot creep into a half-penny purse, panions, thither provoked and instigated by his dis- nor into a pepper-box: but, lest the devil that temper, and, forsooth, to search his house for his guides him should aid him, I will search impossible wife's love. places. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to 1 Cups. 2 Bilboa, where the best blades are made. 3 Seriousness. 4 Make myself ready. SCENE I, II. 63 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. be what I would not, shall not make me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The Street. Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, think'st thou ? Quick. Sure he is by this; or will be presently but truly, he is very courageous' mad, about his throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires you to come suddenly. Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but bring my young man here to school: look, where his master comes; 'tis a playing-day, I see. Enter Sir Hugh Evans. How now, sir Hugh? no school to-day? Eva. No; master Slender is let the boys leave to play. Quick. Blessing of his heart! Eva, 'Oman, forbear. Mrs. Page. Peace. Eva. What is your genitive case, plural, William? Will. Genitive case? Eva. Ay. Will. Genitive,-horum, harum, horum. Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case! fie on her! -never name her, child, if she be a whore. Eva. For shame, 'oman. Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words: he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll fie upon you! do fast enough of themselves; and to call horum: understandings for thy cases, and the numbers of Eaa. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no tures as I would desires. the genders? Thou art as foolish Christian crea- Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions of your pronouns. Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. Eva. It is kie, ke cod; if you forget your kies. your kes, and your cods, you must be preeches.a Go your ways, and play, go. Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar tban 1 thought he was. Eva. He is a good sprag³ memory. Farewell, mistress Page. Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son profits nothing in the world at his book; I pray Hugh.] you, ask him some questions in his accidence. Get you home, boy.-Come, we stay too Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sar [Exeunt. Eva. Come hither, William; hold up your long. head; come. Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah; hold up your SCENE II-A room in Ford's house. Enter head; answer your master, be not afraid. Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns? Will. Two. Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one my sufferance: I see, you are obsequious in your number more; because they say, od's nouns. Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is fair, Wil- liam? Will. Pulcher. Quick. Poulcats! there are fairer things than poulcats, sure. Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oman; I pray you, peace. What is lapis, William? Will. A stone. Eva. And what is a stone, William ? Will. A pebble. Eva. No, it is lapis; I pray you remember in your prain. Will. Lapis. Eva. That is good William. What is he, Wil- liam, that does lend articles? Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun; and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hic, hæc, hoc. Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, mark: genitivo, hujus: Well, what is your accu- sative case? Will. Accusativo, hinc. love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremo- ny of it. But are you sure of your husband now? Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John. Mrs. Page. [Within.] What hoa, gossip Ford! what hoa! Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. [Exit Falstaff. Enter Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who's at home beside yourself? Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. Mrs. Page. Indeed? Mrs. Ford. No, certainly;-speak louder. [Aside. Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no, body here. Mrs. Ford. Why? his old lunes again: he so takes on yonder with Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in my husband; so rails against all married mankind; so curses all Eve's daughters, of wnat complexion Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, soever; and so buffets himself on the forehead, child; Accusativo, hing, hang, hog. Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant ever yet beheld, seemed but tameness, civility crying, peer out, peer out! that any madness f you. Eva. Leave your prabbles, oman. he focative case, William? Will. O-Vocativo, O. What is Eva. Remember, William; focative is, caret. Quick. And that's a good root. i Outrageous. 2 Breeched, i. e. flogged. and patience, to this his distemper he is in now: I am glad the fat knight is not here. Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? Mrs. Page. Of none but him; and swears, he was carried out, the last time he searched for him, in a basket: protests to my husband, he is now 6 As children call on a snail to push forth his 3 Apt to learn. 4 Sorrowful. 5 Mad fits. horns. 64 Acr IV MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. here; and hath drawn him and the rest of their their company from their sport, to make another experi- ment of his suspicion: but I am glad the knight is not 'ere; now he shall see his own foolery. Mrs. Ford. How near is he Mistress Page? Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end; he will be here anon. Mrs. Ford. I am undone !--the knight is here. Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you!-Away with him, away with him: better shame than murder. Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the basket again? Re-enter Falstaff. Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket: may I not go out, ere he come ? Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen for him straight. Exit. Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet! we cannot misuse him enough. We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, Wives may be merry, and yet honest too: We do not act, that often jest and laugh; 'Tis old but true, Still swine eat all the draff. [Exit. Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two servants. Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your shoulders; your master is hard at door: if he bid you set it down, obey him: quickly, despatch. 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. Exit. 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight again. 1 Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so much Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro- thers watch the door with pistols, that none should lead. issue out; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. But what make you here? Fal. What shall I do?-I'll creep up into the chimney. Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge their birding-pieces: creep into the kiln-hole. Fal. Where is it? Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. have you any way then to unfool me again?-Set Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, down the basket, villain :-Somebody call my Mrs. Ford. He will seek there on my word. wife:-You, youth in a basket, come out here! Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but, you panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a conspiracy against me: now shall the devil be shamed. What! wife, I say! come, come forth; behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. he hath an abstract' for the remembrance of such places, and goes to them by his note: there is no hiding you in the house. Fal. I'll go out then. Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem- blance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out guised,- Page. Why, this passes; Master Ford, you dis-are not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned. Eva. Why, this is lunatics! this is mad as a mad Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him? Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is no woman's gown big enough for him; other wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a ker- chief, and so escape. Fal. Good hearts, devise something: any extre- mity, rather than a mischief. Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of Brentford, has a gown above. Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him she's as big as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her muffler too: run up, sir John. Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John; mistress Page and I will look some linen for your head. Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you straight: put on the gown the while. [Exit Fal. Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brentford; he swears, she's a witch; forbade her my house, and hath threatened to beat her. Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel after- wards! Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness,2 is he; and talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had telligence. dog! indeed. Enter Mrs. Ford.. Ford; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the Ford. So say I too, Sir.-Come hither, mistress jealous fool to her husband:-I suspect without modest wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the cause, mistress, do I? you suspect me in any dishonesty. Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if Come forth, sirrah. Ford. Well said, brazen-face; hold it out.- [Pulls the clothes out of the basket. Page. This passes! clothes alone. Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the Ford. I shall find you anon. wife's clothes? Come away. Eva. 'Tis unreasonable! Will you take up your Ford. Empty the basket, I say. Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why,- Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was in-basket: Why may not he be there again? In my one conveyed out of my house. yesterday in this house I am sure he is my intelligence is true; my jealousy is reasonable: Pluck me out all the Mrs. Ford. We'll try that; for I'll appoint my men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door with it, as they did last time. Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently: go dress him like the witch of Brentford. let's 1 Short note of. 2 Seriousness. linen. die a flea's death. Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall Page. Here's no man. 3 Gang. 4 Surpasses, to go beyond bounds. FALSTAFF AND FORD. FORD.-"Out of my door, you witch." "Merry Wives of Windsor," Act IV., Scene II. OF SCENE III, IV. 65 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master licly shamed: and, methinks, there would be ne Ford; this wrongs you. period to the jest, should he not be publicly Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not shamed. follow the imaginations of your own heart: this is jealousies. Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. Mrs. Page. Come to the forge with it, then shape it: I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. SCENE III-A room in the Garter Inn. Enter Ford. Help to search my house this one time: Host and Bardolpb. if I find not what I seek, show no colour for my come into the chamber. ford. extremity, let me for ever be your table-sport: let Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that search'd your horses; the duke himself will be to-morrow at a hollow walnut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me court, and they are going to meet him. once more; once more search with me. Host. What duke should that be comes so secret- Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page! come ly? I hear not of him in the court: Let me speak you, and the old woman down; my husband will with the gentlemen; they speak English? Bard. Ay, sir; I'll call them to you. Ford Old woman! What old woman's that? Host. They shall have my horses; but I'll make Mrs. Ford. Why, it's my maid's aunt of Brent-them pay, I'll sauce them: they have had my house a week at command; I have turned away my other Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! guests: they must come off; I'll sauce them: Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of Come. errands, does she? We are simple men; we do not know what's brought to pass under the profes-SCENE IV-A room in Ford's House. Enter sion of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by the figure, and such daubery as this is; beyond our element: we know nothing.--Come down, you witch, you hag you; come down, I say. Mrs. Ford. Nay, good sweet husband;-good as ever I did look upon. gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. Enter Falstaff in women's clothes, led by Mrs. Page. Mrs. Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, give me your hand.. Ford. I'll prat her:Out of my door, you witch! [beats him.] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you ronyon 2 out! out! I'll conjure you, P'il fortune-tell you. [Exit Falstaff. Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed? I think, you have kill'd the poor woman. Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it:-'Tis a goodly credit for you. Ford. Hang her, witch! Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard under her muffler. [Exeunt. Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Sir Hugh Evans. Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman. Page. And did he send you both these letters at an instant? I Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. Ford. Pardon me, wife: Hnceforth do what thou wilt; rather will suspect the sun with cold, Than thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour stand, In him that was of late a heretic, As firm as faith. Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more. Be not as éxtreme in submission, As in offence; But let our plot go forward: let our wives Yet once again, to make us public sport, Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke of. Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I Page. How! to send him word they'll meet him cry out thus upon no trail,³ never trust me when I in the park at midnight! fie, fie; he'll never come. open again. Eva. You say he has been thrown in the rivers; Page. Let's obey his humour a little further; and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman; Come, gentlemen. (Ex. Page, Ford, Shal, and Eva. methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. should not come; methinks his flesh is punished, Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he shall have no desires. he beat him most unpitifully, methought. Page. So think I too. he comes, And let us two devise to bring him thither. Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter, Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and! Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious service. Mrs: Ford. What think you? May we, with the warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good conscience, pursue him with any further revenge? Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest, scared out of him; if the devil have him not in fee-Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle; Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a have served him? chain Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to In a most hideous and dreadful manner. scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If You have heard of such a spirit; and well you they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous know, fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will The superstitious idle-headed eld Receiv'd, and did deliver to our age, till be the ministers. Mrs. Ford. 'll warrant, they'll have him pub- This tale of Herne the hunter for a truth. 1 Love: 2 Ccab. 3 Scent. 4 Cry out. 5 Strikes. 6 Old age. 66 ACT. IV. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, snap. In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak; But what of this? Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device; Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John Falstaff from master Slender. That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, Disguis'd like Herne, with huge horns on his head. his standing-bed, and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new: Go, And in this shape: When you have brought him knock and call; he'll speak like an Anthropophagi nian unto thee: Knock, I say. thither, What shall be done with him? what is your plot? Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought up-up into his chamber; I'll be so bold as to stay, sir, till she come down: I come to speak with her, in- deed. on, and thus: Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress Like urchins, ouphes,' and fairies, green and white, With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, And rattles in their hands; upon a sudden, As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once With some diffused2 song; upon their sight, We two in great amazedness will fly: Then let them all encircle him about, And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight; And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, In shape profane. Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,3 And burn him with their tapers. Mrs. Page. The truth being known, We'll all present ourselves; dis-horn the spirit, And mock him home to Windsor. Ford. The children must Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours; and I will be like a jack-an-napes also, to burn the knight with my taber. Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them vizards. Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the fairies, Finely attired in a robe of white. Page. That silk will I go buy ;-and in that time Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside. And marry her at Eton.--Go, send to Falstaff straight. Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook: He'll tell me all his purpose: sure he'll come. Mrs. Page. Fear not you that: Go, get us pro- peties,4 And tricking for our fairies. Eva. Let us about it: It is admirable pleasures, and fery honest knaveries. [Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. [Exit Mrs. Ford. I'll to the doctor; he hath my good will, And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; And he my husband best of all affects: The doctor is well money'd, and his friends Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her, Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. [Exit. SCENE V.-A room in the Garter Inn. Enter Host and Simple. Host. Ha! a fat woman! the knight may be rob- bed: I'll call.-Bully knight! Bully sir John! speak from thy lungs military: Art thou there? it is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. Fal. [Above.] How now, mine host? Host. Here's a Bohemian Tartar tarries the coming down of thy fat woman: Let her descend, bully, let her descend: my chambers are honoura- ble: Fie! privacy? fie! Enter Falstaff. Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even now with me; but she's gone. Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of Brentford? Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What would you with her? Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to her, seeing her go through the streets, to know sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, had the chain, or no. Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir? Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man. that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him of it. Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the woman herself; I had other things to have spoken with her too, from him. Fal. What are they? let us know. Host. Ay, come; quick. Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about mistress Anne Page; to know, if it were my mas- ter's fortune to have her, or no. Fal. "Tis, 'tis his fortune. Sim. What, sir? Fal. To have her,-or no: Go; say, the women told me so. Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir? Fal. Ay, sir Tike; who more bold? Sim. I thank your worship: I shall make my master glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John: Was there a wise woman with thee? Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before in my life and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my learning. Enter Bardolph. Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage! meer cozenage! Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, varletto. Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, Bard. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon 1 Elfs, hobgoblins. 2 Wild, discordant. 3 Soundly. 4 Necessaries. 5 Cannibal. 6 Cunning woman, a fortune-teller. 7 Scholar-like. SCENE VI. 67 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. Enter Fenton and Host. as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from SCENE VI.-Another Room in the Garter Inn. behind one of them, in a slough of mire; and set; spurs, and away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faustuses. Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, vil-jis lain: do not say they be fled; Germans are honest men. Enter Sir Hugh Evans. Eva. Where is mine host? Host. What is the matter, sir? Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind heavy, I will give over ali. Fent. Yet hear me speak: Assist me in my purpose, And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee A hundred pounds in gold, more than your loss. Host. I will hear you, master Fenton; and I will, at the least, keep your counsel. Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you Eva. Have a care of your entertainments: there With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there Who, mutually, hath answered my affection is three cousin Germans, that has cozened all the (So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, Even to my wish: I have a letter from her of horses and money. I tell you for a good-will, of such contents as you will wonder at; look you: you are wise, and full of gibes and The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, vlouting-stogs; and 'tis not convenient you should That neither, singly, can be manifested, be cozened: Fare you well. [Exit. Without the show of both; wherein fat Falstaff Hath a great scene; the image of the jest Enter Doctor Caius. Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre? Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and doubtful dilemma. [Showing the letter. I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: To-night at Herne's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a The purpose why, is here;2 in which disguise, me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke de While other jests are something rank on foot, Jarmany: by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de Her father hath commanded her to slip court is know to come; I tell you for good vill: Away with Slender, and with him at Eton adieu. [Exit. Immediately to marry: she hath consented: Host. Hue and cry, villain, go:-assist me, Now, sir, knight; I am undone :-fly, run, hue and cry, vil- Her mother, even strong against that match, lain! I am undone! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened; That he shall likewise shuffle her away, for I have been cozen'd and beaten too. If it should While other sports are tasking of their minds, come to the ear of the court, how I have been And at the deanery, where a priest attends, transformed, and how my transformation hath been Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot washed and cudgelled, they would melt me out of She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots Made promise to the doctor;-Now, thus it rests. with me; I warrant, they would whip me with Her father means she shall be all in white; their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a dried And in that habit, when Slender sees his time pear. I never prospered since I forswore myself To take her by the hand, and bid her go, at Primero. Well, if my wind were but long She shall go with him :-her mother hath intended, enough to say my prayers, I would repent.- Enter Mrs. Quickly. Now! whence come you? Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the other, and so they shall be both bestowed! I have suffered more for their sakes, more, than the vil- lanous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. The better to denote her to the doctor, (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,) That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd, With ribbands pendant, flaring 'bout her head; And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token, The maid hath given consent to go with him. Host. Which means she to deceive? father or mother? Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me: And here it rests, that you'll procure the vicar And, in the lawful name of marrying, To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I warrant; speciously one of them; mistress Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you can-To give our hearts united ceremony. not see a white spot about her. Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the vicar; Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. witch of Brentford; but that my admirable dex- Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt. Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber: you shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, to your content. Here is a letter will ACT V. say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado here is to SCENE I-A Room in the Garter Inn. Enter bring you together! Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well, that you are so crossed. Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 1 A game at cards. Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. Fal. Pry'thee, no more prattling;-go.-I 2 In the letter. 3 Fantastically 68 ACT V. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. nold. This is the third time; I hope good luck the very instant of Falstaff's and our meeting, they lies in odd numbers. Away, go; they say, there will at once display to the night. is divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.-Away. Quick. I'll provide you a chain; and I'll do what I can to get you a pair of horns. Ful. Away, I say; time wears; hold up your nead, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly. Enter Ford. Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. Mrs. Page, Against such lewdsters, and their lechery, Those that betray them do no treachery. Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on: To the oak, [Exeunt. How now, master Brook? Master Brook, the mat-to the oak. ter will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the Park about midnight, at Herne's oak, and you SCENE IV.-Windsor Park. Enter Sir Hugh shall see wonders. Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you told me you had appointed? Evans, and Fairies. Eva. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, your parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into like a poor old man: but I came from her, master the pit; and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave, pid you: Come, come; trib, trib. [Exeunt. Ford her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed SCENE V-Another part of the Park. Enter phrensy. I will tell you.-He beat me grievously, Falstaff disguised, with a buck's head on. in the shape of a woman; for in the shape of man, Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's beam; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am minute draws on: Now, the hot-blooded gods assist in haste, go along with me; I'll tell you all, mas-me!-Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy ter Brook. Since I plucked' geese, played truant, Europa; love set on thy horns.-O powerful love! and whipped top, I knew not what it was to be that, in some respects, makes a beast a man; in things of this knave Ford: on whom to-night I will love! how near the god drew to the complexion of beaten, till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you strange some other, a man a beast.-You were also, Jupiter, a swan, for the love of Leda; 0, omnipotent be revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand.-Follow: Strange things in hand, master a goose!-A fault done first in the form of a beast; [Exeunt. -O Jove, a beastly fault! and then another fault in the semblance of a fowl; think on't, Jove; a Brook! follow. low, and Slender. SCENE II.-Windsor Park. Enter Page, Shal- foul fault.-When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; and the fattest, I think, i' the forest: send me a Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle-cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss ditch, till we see the light of our fairies.-Remem- my tallow! Who comes here? my doe? ber, son Slender, my daughter. Slen. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. we have a nay-word,2 how to know one another. Mrs. Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer? I come to her in white, and cry, mum; she cries, my male deer? budget; and by that we know one another. Fal. My doe, with the black scut?-Let the sky Shal. That's good too: But what needs either rain potatoes, let it thunder to the tune of Green your mum, or her budget? the white will decipher Sleeves, hail kissing comfits, and snow eringoes; her well enough.-It hath struck ten o'clock. let there come a tempest of provocation, I will Page. The night is dark; light and spirits will shelter me here. become it well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know sweetheart. him by his horns. Let's away; follow me. [Embracing her. Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch: [Exeunt. I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your husbands. Am I a woodman? ha! Speak I like Herne the hunter?-Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome! SCENE III.-The Street in Windsor. Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in green: when you see your time, take her by the hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch quickly: Go before into the park; we two must" go together. [Noise within. Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise? Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins Fal. What should this be? Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page. Away, away. [They run off. Caius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu. Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.] Fal. I think, the devil will not nave me damned My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse lest the oil that is in me should tet hell on fire; he of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marry-would never else cross me thus. ing my daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a lit- tle chiding, than a great deal of heart-break. Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of fairies? and the Welsh devil, Hugh? Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's oak, with obscured lights; which, at 1 Keep to the time. 2 Watch-word. Enter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr; Mrs. Quickly and Pistol; Anne Page, as the Fairy Queen, at tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies, with waxen tapers on their heads. Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 3 Keeper of the forest. SCENE V. 69 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny, Attend your office, and your quality.' Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- swept, There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry:2 Jur radiant queen hates sluts, and sluttery. Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them, shall die. I'll wink and couch: No man their works must eye. [Lies down upon his face. Eva. Where's Pede ?-Go you, and where you find a maid, That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, Raise up the organs of her fantasy, Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and shins. Quick. About, about; Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out: Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; That it may stand till the perpetual doom, In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit; Worthy the owner, and the owner it. The several chairs of order look you scour With juice of balm, and every precious flower: Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: The expressure that it bears, green let it be, More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write, In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white; Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: Fairies use flowers for their charactery.3 Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock, Our dance of custom, round about the oak Of Herne the hunter, let us not forget. Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in order set: And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, To guide our measure round about the tree. But, stay; I smell a man of middle earth. Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of cheese! Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'er-look'd even in thy birth. Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger end: if he be chaste, the flame will back descend, And turn him to no pain; but if he start, It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. Pist. A trial, come. Fra. ? Come, will this wood take fire [They burn him with their tapers, Fa!. Oh, oh, oh! Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire! About him, fairies; sing a scornful rhyme: And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. Eva. It is right; indeed he is full of lecheries and niquity. SONG. Fie on sinful fantasy! Fie on lust and luxury! 1 Fellowship. The letters 2 Whortleberry. Lust is but a bloody fire, Kindled with unchaste desire, Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. Pinch him, fairies, mutually; Pinch him for his villany; Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about Till candles, and star-light, and moonshine, be out During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doc- tor Caius comes one way, and steals away a fairy in green; Slender another way, and takes off a fairy in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made within. All the fairies run away. Falstafi pulls off his buck's head, and rises. Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. They lay hold on him. Page. Nay, do not fly: I think, we have watch'd you now; Will none but Herne the hunter serve your turn? Mrs. Page. I pray you, come; hold up the jest Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives? no higher;- See you these, husband? do not these fair yokes^ Become the forest better than the town? Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now ?-Master Brook, Falstaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here are his horns, master Brook: And, master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck- basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which must be paid to master Brook; his horses are arrested for it, master Brook. Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could never meet. I will never take you for my love again, but I will always count you my deer. Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made ar ass. Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought, they were not fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden sur- prise of my powers, drove the grossness of the fop- pery into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit may be made a Jack-a-lent, when 'tis upon ill employment! Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. Eva. And leave vou your jealousies too, I pray you. Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou art able to woo her in good English. Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er reaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize?5 'tis time were choaked with a piece of toasted cheese. I Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; your pelly is all putter. Fal. Seese and putter! Have I lived to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? This is enough to be the decay of lust and late- walking, through the realm. Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by 4 Horns which Falstaff had. 5 A fool's cap of Welch materials. 70 ACT. V. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves cozened; I ha' married un garçon, a boy; un pai- without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could san, by gar, a boy; it is not Anne Page: by gar, 1 nave made you our delight? am cozened. Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? Mrs. Page. A puffed man? Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable entrails. Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green? Catus. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, I'll raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius, Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? Anne? Page. And as poor as Job? Ford. And as wicked as his wife? Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drink- ings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch flannel; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er me: use me as you will. Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to whom you should have been a pander: over and above that you have suffered, I think, to repay that money will be a biting affliction. Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make amends: Page. My heart misgives me: Here comes mas- ter Fenton. Enter Fenton and Anne Page. How now master Fenton ? Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother pardon! Page. Now, mistress? how chance you went not with master Slender? Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doc- tor, maid? Fent. You do amaze¹ her: Hear the truth of it. You would have married her most shamefully, Where there was no proportion held in love. The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. The offence is holy, that she hath committed: And this deceit loses the name of craft, Of disobedience, or unduteous titie; Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a Since therein she doth evitate and shun posset to-night at my house; where I will desire A thousand irreligious cursed hours, Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. Ford. Well, here's my hand; all's forgiven at last. her. thee to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee: Which forced marriage would have brought upon Tell her, master Slender hath married her daughter. Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that: If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. [Aside. Enter Slender. Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page! Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you despatched? Sten. Despatched-I'll make the best in Gloces- tershire know on't; would I were hanged, la, else. Page. Of what, son? Ford. Stand not amaz'd: here is no remedy :- In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are soid by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give thee joy! What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are chas'd. Eva. I will dance and eat plumbs at your wed- ding. Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further :- Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy: If it had not been i' the church, I would have swinged Heaven give you many, many merry days' Master Fenton, him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not Good husband, let us every one go home, think it had been Anne Page, would I might never And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire; stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy. Page. Upon my life then, you took the wrong. Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when I took a boy for a girl: If I had been mar- ried to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have had him. Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I tell you, how you should know my daughter by her garments? Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so:-Sir John, To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. [Exeunt. Slen. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; Of this play there is a tradition preserved by Mr. and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. Rowe, that it was written at the command of Eva. Jeshu! Master Slender, cannot you see Queen Elizabeth, who was so delighted with the but marry poys? character of Falstaff, that she wished it to be dif- Page. O, I am vexed at heart: What shall I do? fused through more plays; but suspecting that it Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I might pall by continued uniformity, directed the knew of your purpose; turned my daughter into poet to diversify his manner, by showing him in green; and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at love. No task is harder than that of writing to the the deanery, and there married. Enter Caius. ideas of another. Shakspeare knew what the queen, if the story be true, seems not to have known, that by any real passion of tenderness, the selfish craft, the careless jollity, and the lazy luxury of Falstaff, Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am must have suffered so much abatement, that little of his former cast would have remained. Falstaff 1 Confound her by your questions. 2 Avoid. could not love, but by ceasing to be Falstaff. He MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 71 could only counterfeit love, and his professions of forming ridiculous characters, can confer praise could be prompted, not by the hope of pleasure, but only on him who originally discovered it, for it re- of money. Thus the poet approached as near as he quires not much of either wit or judgment; its suc- could to the work enjoined him; yet having perhaps cess must be derived almost wholly from the player, in the former plays completed his own idea, seems but its power in a skillful mouth, even he that des- not to have been able to give Falstaff all his former pises it, is unable to resist. power of entertainment. The conduct of this drama is deficient; the actfon This comedy is remarkable for the variety and begins and ends often, before the conclusion, and number of the personages, who exhibit more char- the different parts might change places without in- acters appropriated and discriminated, than perhaps convenience; but its general power, that power can be found in any other play. by which all works of genius shall finally be Whether Shakspeare was the first that produced tried, is such, that perhaps it never yet had reader upon the English stage the effect of language dis- or spectator who did not think it too soon at the torted and depraved by provincial or foreign pro- end. nunciation, I cannot certainly decide. This mode JOHNSON. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL Orsino, duke of Illyria. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother to Viola. Antonio, a sea-captain, friend to Sebastian. A sea-captain, friend to Viola. Valentine, gentlemen, attending on the duke. Sir Toby Belch, uncle of Olivia. Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Malvolio, steward to Olivia. Fabian, Clown, S servants to Olivia. Olivia, a rich countess. Viola, in love with the duke. Maria, Olivia's woman. Lords, priests, sailors, officers, musicians, and other attendants. Scene, a city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it. ACT I. SCENE I-An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; musicians attending. Duke. IF music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.- That strain again;-it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odour.-Enough; "Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price, no more; Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantastical.2 Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? Duke. What, Curio? The hart. Cur. Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 0, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence; That instant was I turn'd into a hart; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E'er since pursue me.-How now? what news from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, But from her handmaid do return this answer: The element itself, till seven years heat,' Shall not behold her face at ample view; But, like a cloistress, she will 1iled walk, And water once a day her chamber round, With eye-offending brine: all this, to season A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh, And lasting, in her sad remembrance. Hath. kill'd the flock of all affections else, That live in her! when, liver, bram, and heart, These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd (Her sweet perfections) with one self-king! Away before me to sweet beds of flowers; Love-thoughts be rich, when canopied with bowers. [Exeunt. SCENE II-The sea-coast. Enter Viola, Cap- tain and Sailors. Vio. What country, friends, is this. Cap. My brother he is in Elysium, Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? Illyria. Perchance, he is not drown'd:-What think you, Duke. O, she that hath a beart of that fine frame,| To pay this debt of love but to a brother, How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 1 Value. 2 Fantastical to the height. sailors? Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were saved. Vio. O my poor brother! and so, perchance, may he be. Cap. True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance, Assure yourself, after our ship did split, When you, and that poor number saved with you Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself (Courage and hope both teaching him the prac- tice) To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, So long as I could see. Vio. For saying so, there's gold: Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, Whereto thy speech serves for authority, The like of him. Know'st thou this country? Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born, Not three hours' travel from this very place. Vio. Who governs here? As in his name. Cap. A noble duke, in nature, What is his name? Orsino, Vic. Cap. Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father rame him: He was a bachelor then. 3 Heated. SCENE III. E TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 73 Cap. And so is now, Or was so, very late: for but a month Ago I went from hence; and then 'twas fresh In murmur (as, you know, what great ones do, The less will prattle of,) that he did seek The love of fair Olivia. Vio. What's she? Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her In the protection of his son, her brother, Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, They say she hath abjur'd the company And sight of men. Vio. O, that I serv'd that lady; And might not be delivered to the world, Till I had made niine own occasion mellow, What my estate is. Cap. That were hard to compass; Because she will admit no kind of suit, No, not the duke's. Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; And though that nature with a beauteous wall Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character. I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, Conceal me what I am; and be my aid For such disguise as, haply, shall become The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke; Thou shalt present me as a eunuch to him, It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, And speak to him in many sorts of music, That will allow me very worth his service. What else may hap, to time I will commit; Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be: When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see! Vio. I thank thee: lead me on. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's an enemy to life. Mar. By troth, sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great exceptions to your ill hours. Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order. Sir To. Confine? I'll confine myself no finer than I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their own straps. Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be her wooer. Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? Mar. Ay, he. Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Mar. What's that to the purpose? Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats year. a Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. Mar. He hath, indeed,-almost natural: for, be- sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller; and, but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and substractors, that say so of him. Who are they? Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk night- ly in your company. Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my throat, and drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his brains turn o' the toe, like a parish-top. What, wench? Castiliano vulgo; for here comes sir An- drew Ague-face. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Sir And. Sir Toby Belch! how now, sir Toby Belch? Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew? Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. Mar. And you too, sir. Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. Sir And. What's that? Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. Mar. My name is Mary, sir. Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,- Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front her, board her, woo her, assail her. Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of accost? Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would thou might'st never draw sword again. Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have fools in hand? Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. Mar. Now, sir, thought is free; I pray you, bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what's your metaphor? Mar. It's dry, sir. Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest? Mar. A dry jest, sir. Sir And. Are you full of them? Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. [Exit Maria. Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: when did I see thee so put down? Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down: methinks, sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and, 1 believe, that does harm to my wit. Sir To. No question. Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight? Sir To. Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not do? I viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, word for word without book, and hath all the good that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: gifts of nature. 10. had I but followed the arts! 1 Approve. 2 Stout. 3 Keystril, a bastard hawk. 74 ACT! TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head To thee the book even of my secret soul: of hair. Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? Sir To. Past question; for thou seest, it will not curl by nature. Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't not? Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a dis- taff; and I hope to see a housewife take thee be- tween her legs, and spin it off. Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby: your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me: the count himself, here hard by, woos her. Sir To. She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life in't, man. Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fel- low o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare with an old man. Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply as strong as any man in Illyria. Therefore, good youth, address thy gait³ unto her; Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors, And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, Till thou have audience. Vio. Sure, my noble lord, If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow As it is spoke, she never will admit me. Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds, Rather than make unprofited return. Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord what then? Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: It shall become thee well to act my woes; She will attend it better in thy youth, Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. Vio. I think not so, my lord. Duke. Dear lad, believe it; For they shall yet belie thy happy years That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, And all is semblative a woman's part. I know, thy constellation is right apt For this affair:-Some four, or five, attend him, All, if you will; for I myself am best, When least in company:-Prosper well in this, And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, To call his fortunes thine. Vio. I'll do my best, To woo your lady: yet [Aside.] a barful strife! Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? Maria and Clown. [Exeunt. Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, SCENE V.-A room in Olivia's house. Enter and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not so much as make water, but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard. Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a flame-coloured stock.2 Shall we set about some revels? Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? Sir And. Taurus? that's sides and heart. Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!-excellent! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.A room in the Duke's palace. Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me: he, that is well hanged in this world, needs to fear no colours. Mar. Make that good.. Clo. He shall see none to fear. Mar. A good lenten' answer: I can tell thee where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery. Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; En- and those that are fools, let them use their talents. ter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long Val. If the duke continue these favours towards as a hanging to you? absent: or, to be turned away, is not that as good you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he hath known you but three days, and already riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- you are no stranger. Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli- gence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? Val. No, believe me. Enter Duke, Curio, and attendants. Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.-Cesario, Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd 1 Cinque-pace, the name of a dance. 2 Stocking. 3 Go thy way. 4 Full of impediments. out. Mar. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neither; but I am resolved on two points. Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold; or, if both break, your gaskins fall. Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy way; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Exit. 5 Short and spare. 6 Points were hooks which fastened the hose lor breeches. SCENE V. 75 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Enter Olivia and Malvolio. Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fool- ing! Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapa- lus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.-God bless thee, lady! Oli. Take the fool away. Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? take away the lady. Oli. Go to, you are a dry fool; I'll no more you: besides, you grow dishonest. of Re-enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen. tleman, much desires to speak with you. Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay ? Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks no- thing but madman: fie on him! [Exit Maria. Go you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fool- ing grows old, and people dislike it. Clo. Two faults, madonna,' that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest mend Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if eldest son should be a fool: whose skull Jove cram he cannot, let the botcher mend him: any thing, with brains, for here he comes, one of thy kin has that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans- a most weak pia mater. gresses, is but patched with sin; and sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue: if that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower :-the lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree!-Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum; that's as much as to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma- donna, give me leave to prove you a fool. Oli. Can you do it? Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. Oli. Make your proof. Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna; good my mouse of virtue, answer me. Oli. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 'bide your proof. Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou? Oli. Good fool, for my brother's death. Clo. I think, his soul is in hell, madonna. Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven.-Take away the fool, gentlemen. Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend? Mal. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death shake him: infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the better fool. Enter Sir Toby Belch. at the gate, cousin? Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.-What is he at the gate, cousin? Sir To. A gentleman. Oli. A gentleman? What gentleman? these pickle-herrings !-How now, sot? Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here-A plague o' Clo. Good sir Toby,- Oli. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy? Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at the gate. Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. Oli. What's a drunken man like, fool? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a mad- man: one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads him; and a third drowns him. sit o' my coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, Oli. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him he's drown'd: go, look after him. shall look to the madman. Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool [Exit Clown. Re-enter Malvolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for speak with you. I told him you were sick; he takes the better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be on him to understand so much, and therefore comes sworn, that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for two-pence that you are no fool. Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio? Mal. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard already unless you laugh and minister oc- casion to him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than the fools' zanies.2 to speak with you: I told him you were asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that too, and said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. therefore comes to speak with you. What is to be Oli. Tell him, he shall not speak with me. stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the Mal. He has been told so: and he says, he'll supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. Oli. What kind of man is he? Mal. Why, of man kind. Oli. What manner of man? will you, or no. Mal. Of very ill manner : he'll speak with Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? you, Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts,3 that you deem cannon-bul- Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young lets: there is no slander in an allowed fool, though enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, with him e'en standing water, between boy and for thou speakest well of fools! He is very well-favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out of him. 1 Italian, mistress, dame. 2 Fools' baubles. S Short arrows. 4 Lying. man. 5 The cover of the brain. 76 ACT L TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Oli. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Re-enter Maria. [Exit. Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it. Where lies your text? Vio. In Orsino's bosom. Oli. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of Oli. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my his heart. face; We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy Enter Viola. Vio. The honourable lady of the house, is she? Oli. Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Oli. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no more to say? Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to which text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you negociate with my face? you are now out of your this present:3 is't not well done? the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was [Unveiling Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. "Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. Your will? Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty,--I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady of the house, for I never saw her: I would be loath to Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and cast away my speech; for, besides that it is excel- white lently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive, very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. If you will lead these graces to the grave, Óli. Whence came you, sir? And leave the world no copy. Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. Oli. Are you a comedian? Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. Are you the lady of the house? Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, la- belled to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one hither to 'praise me? Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud: Vio. Most certain, if you are, she, you do usurp My lord and master loves you; O, such love But, if you were the devil, you are fair, yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours Could but be recompens'd, though you were to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will crown'd on with my speech in your praise, and then show The nonpareil of beauty! you the heart of my message. Oli. Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise. Oli. How does he love me? Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love him: Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. Oli. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates: Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant, you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, gone; if you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him; time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping He might have took his answer long ago. a dialogue. Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. Vio. No, good swabber: I am to hull here a lit. tle longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet lady. Oli. Tell me your mind. Vio. I am a messenger. Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, With such a suffering, such a deadly life, In your denial I would find no sense I would not understand it. Oli. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- Write loyal cantons of contemned love, And call upon my soul within the house; liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak And sing them loud even in the dead of night; your office. Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no And make the babbling gossip of the air Holla your name to the reverberate hills, overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold Cry out Olivia! O, you should not rest the olive in my hand: my words are as full of peace Between the elements of air and earth, But you should pity me. as matter. Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you? Vio. The rudeness that hath appear'd in me, have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, I and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. Oli, Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity. [Exit Maria.]Now; sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet lady, I Oli. You might do much: What is your parent age? am a gentleman. Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: Oli. Get you to your lord; Unless, perchance, you come to me again, cannot love him: let him send no more; To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: 3 Presents. 1 Accountable. 5 2 It appears from several parts of this play, that the original actress of Maria was very short. 6 4 Blended, mixed together. 7 Echoing. Well spoken of by the world. Cantos, verses. SCENE I-III. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 77 I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. Vio. I am no fee'd post,' lady; keep your purse; My master, not myself, lacks recompense. Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love; And let your fervour, like my master's, be Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. Oli. What is your parentage? Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: I am a gentleman.. -I'll be sworn thou art; Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, Do give thee five-fold blazon:2-Not too fast:- soft! soft! Unless the master were the man.--How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague ? Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, With an invisible and subtle stealth, To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.- What, ho, Malvolio!- Mal. Re-enter Malvolio. - Here, madam, at your service. Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, The county's man: he left this ring behind him, Would I, or not: tell him, I'll none of it. Desire him not to flatter with his lord, Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him: If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. Mal. Madam, I will. [Exit. Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;4 What is decreed, must be; and be this so! [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I.-The sea-coast. Sebastian. Enter Antonio and Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, that I go with you? not but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her remem brance again with more. Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant. Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's court: farewell. Exit. Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee! I have many enemies in Orsino's court, Else would I very shortly see thee there: But, come what may, I do adore thee so, That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. SCENE II-A street. Enter Viola; Malvolio following. Mal. Were not you even now with the countess Olivia ? Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since arrived but hither. Mal. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself. She adds moreover, that you should put your lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him: and one thing more; that you be never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. Vio. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it. Mal. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that finds it. [Exit. Vio. I left no ring with her: what means this lady? Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! She made good view of me; indeed, so much, That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine dark- ly over me: the malignancy of my fate might, For she did speak in starts distractedly. perhaps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion of you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: Invites me in this churlish messenger. it were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. I None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none. am the man;-if it be so (as 'tis,) Poor lady, she were better love a dream. Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex-How easy is it, for the proper-false" cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore Alas! our frailty is the cause, not we; it charges me in manners the rather to express For, such as we are made of, such we be. myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my How will this fadge? My master loves her dearty name is Sebastian, which I called Rodrigo; my And I, poor monster, fond as much on him; father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: know, you have heard of: he left behind him, What will become of this! As I am man, inyself, and a sister, both born in an hour. If the My state is desperate for my master's love; heavens had been pleased, 'would we had se As I am woman, now alas the day! ended! but you, sir, altered that; for, some hour What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? before you took me from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. Ant. Alas, the day! time, thou must untangle this, not I; It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. Enter SCENE III-A room in Olivia's house. Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many accounted beauti- ful: but, though I could not, with such estimable Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed wonder, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will after midnight, is to be up betimes; and dil cul boldly publish her, she bore a mind that envy could surgere, thou know'st, 1 Messenger. 3 Count. 2 Proclamation of gentility. 4 Own, possess. 5 Reveal. 6 Dexterous, ready fiend. 7 Fair deceiver. 8 Suit. 6 78 ACT II. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up late, is to be up late. Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou knave. Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate it as an un- Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight? I shall filled can: to be up after midnight, and to go to be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after mid- night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four elements? Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking. Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.-Maria, I say!-a stoop of wine! Enter Clown. Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of we three?¹ Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have constrain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool; it begins Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace. Sir And. Good, i'faith! Come, begin. [They sing a catch. Enter Maria. Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not called up her steward, Malvo- lio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. [Singing. Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. Sir To. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent Malvolio's a Peg-a-Ramsey, and Three merry men breast.2 I had rather than forty shillings I had such we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool blood? Tilly-valley, lady! There dwelt a man in has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling Babylon, lady, lady! last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable the Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- thy leman: hadst it? posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity;4 for Malvo-grace, but I do it more natural. tio's nose is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fool- ing, when all's done. Now, a song. Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song. Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a- Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song good life? Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. Sir And. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. SONG. Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith. Sir To. Good, good. Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come, is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. of Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight. Sir To. A contagious breath. Str And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con- tagion. But shall we make the welkin dances in- deed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do that? Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch. Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. I Loggerheads be. 2 Voice. 3 Mistress. 4 I did impetticoat thy gratuity. 5 Drink till the sky turns round. 6 Romancer. 7 Name of an old song. fooling. Sir To. O, the twelfth day of December, Mar. For the love of God, peace. Enter Malvolio. [Singing. Mal. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any miti- gation or remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!10 Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. Mal. Is't even so? Sir To. But I will never die. Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. Mal. This is much credit to you. Sir To. Shall I bid him go? Clo. What an if you do? [Singing. not? Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare Clo. U no, no, no, no, you dare not. Sir To. Out o' time? sir ye lie.-Art any more than a steward? Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too. Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain' with crums: a stoop of wine, Maria! Mal. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's fa vour at any thing more than contempt, you would 8 Equivalent to filly fally, shilly shally. 9 Cobblers. 10 Hang yourself. 11 Stewards anciently wore a chain. SCENE IV. 79 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast [Exit. her not i' the end, call me Cut." not give means for this uncivil rule;' she shall know of it, by this hand. Mar. Go shake your ears. Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how Sir And. "Twere as good a deed as to drink you will. when a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, field; and then to break promise with him, and 'tis too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight. make a fool of him. Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a chal- lenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.A room in the Duke's palace. En- ter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Duke. Give me some music: Now, good mor- row, friends:- Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the count's was to-day with my Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur Mal-That old and antique song we heard last night; volio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull him Methought, it did relieve my passion much; into a nay-word, and make him a common recrea- More than light airs and recollected terms, tion, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:- in my bed: I know I can do it. Come, but one verse. 3 Sir To. Possess us, possess us; tell us some- thing of him. Mur. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Pu- ritan. Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exqui- site reason, dear knight? Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but have reason good enough. I Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it. Duke. Who was it? Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool, that the lady Olivia's father took much delight in: he is about the house. Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither, boy; If ever thou shalt love, [Exit Curio.-Music. Mur. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing For, such as I am, all true lovers are; In the sweet pangs of it remember me: constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, that cons state without book, and utters it by great Save, in the constant image of the creature swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so cram- That is belov'd.-How dost thou like this tune? med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat ground of faith, that all that look on him, love him; Where love is thron'd. and on that vice in him will my revenge find nota- ble cause to work. Sir To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epis- tles of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated: I can write very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten mat- ter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. Sir And. I hav't in my nose too. Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. Sir And. And your horse now would make him Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath it not, boy? Hath stay'd upon some favours that it loves; Vio. A little, by your favour. Duke. What kind of woman is't? Vio. Of your complexion. Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, i'faith? Vio. About your years, my lord. Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman take Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou An elder than herself; so wears she to him, wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that So sways she level in her husband's heart; she is in love with him. Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. Vio. I think it well, my lord. Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself For women are as roses; whose fair flower, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; an ass. Mar. Ass, I doubt not. Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you: I know, my physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his construction of it. For this To die, even when they to perfection grow! night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. [Exit. Re-enter Curio, and Clown. Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had st night:- Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: adores me; What o' that? Sir And, I was adored once too. Sir To. Let's to bed, knight.-Thou hadst need send for more money. Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am foul way out. 1 Method of life. 2 By-word. 3 Inform us. 4 Affected. 5 The row of grass left by a mower. The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,' a And dallies with the innocence of love, Do use to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,10 Like the old age.11 6 Amazon. 7 Horse. 8 Countenar.co. 10 Simple truth. 9 Lace makers. 11 Times of simplicity. 80 ACT II, TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Cio. Are you ready, sir? Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. SONG. Clo. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it; My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet Music, Duke. And what's her history?, Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? We men may say more, swear more: but, indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love. Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too;-and yet I know not:- Sir, shall I to this lady? Duke. Ay, that's the theme. My love can give no place, bide no denay.3 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be To her in haste; give her this jewel; say, thrown; A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, To weep there. Duke. There's for thy pains. Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another. Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Olivia's Garden. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian. Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. Fab. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this spórt, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some nota- ble shame? Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-bait- Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taf- feta, for thy mind is a very opal-I would haveing here. Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. Enter Maria. inen of such constancy put to sea, that their busi- Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue:-Shall we ness might be every thing, and their intent every where; for that's it, that always makes a good not, sir Andrew? voyage of nothing.-Farewell. [Exit Clown. Duke. Let all the rest give place.- [Exeunt Curio and attendants. Once more, Cesario, Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune; But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, That nature pranks2 her in, attracts my soul. Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir? Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, Hath for your love as great a pang of heart As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her: You tell her so; Must she not then be answer'd? Duke. There's is no woman's sides, Can 'bide the beating of so strong a passion As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,- No motion of the liver, but the palate,- That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; But mine is all as hungry as the sea, Sir To. Here comes the little villain:-How now, my nettle of India. Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal- volio's coming down this walk; he has been yon- der i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; throws down a letter] for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling. And can digest as much: make no compare Between that love a woman can bear me, And that I owe Olivia. Vio. Ay, but I know,- Duke. What dost thou know? Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: In faith, they are as true of heart as we. My father had a daughter lov'd a man, As it might be, perhaps, were I woman, I should your lordship. 1 A precious stone of all colours. 3 Denial. Enter Malvolio. [Exit Maria. Mal. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect, than any one else that follows her. What should I think on't? Sir To. Here's an over-weening rogue! Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his ad. vanced plumes! Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue :- Sir To. Peace, I say. Mal. To be count Malvolio!- Sir To. Ah, rogue! Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. Sir To. Peace, peace! Mal. There is example for't; the lady of the strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. Sir And. Fie on him; Jezebel! Fab. O, peace! now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him! 2 Decks. 4 Love. 5 Struts. 6 Puffs him up. We 712 7 2 MALVOLIO. MALVOLIO (reads.)-"Some are born great; some achieve greatness; and some have greatness thrust upon 'em." "Twelfth Night," Act II., Scene V. B OF MICH SCENE V. 31 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Mal. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my state,¹- Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! Mal. Calling my officers about me, in my branch- ed velvet gown; having come from a day-bed," where I left Olivia sleeping. Sir To. Fire and brimstone! Fab. O, peace, peace! Mal. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.-Nay, but first, let me see,--let me see,-let me see. Fab. What a dish of p ison hath she dressed him? Sir To. And with what wings the stanyel checkss at it! Mal. I may command where I adore. Why, she may command me; I serve hcr, she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There Mal. And then to have the humour of state: is no obstruction in this; And the end,-What and after a demure travel of regard,-telling them, should that alphabetical position portend? if I could I know my place, as I would they should do their's make that resemble something in me,-Softly! M, -to ask for my kinsman Toby: Sir To. Bolts and shackles! O, A, I- Sir To. O, ay! make up that:-he is now at a cold scent. Fab. Sowter will cry upon't, for all this, though be as rank as a fox. Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. Mal. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him: I frown the while; and, per-it chance, wind up my watch, or play with come rich jewel. Toby approaches; court'sies there to me: name. Sir To. Shall this fellow live? Mal. M,-Malvolio;-M, why, that eguns my Fab. Did not I say he would work it out? the Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with cur is excellent at faults. cars, yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? Mal. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech:- Sir To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkenness. Sir To. Out, scab Mal. M,-But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation: A should follow, but O does. Fab. And O shall end, I hope. Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry, O. Mal. And then I comes behind; Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels, than for tunes before you. Mal. M, Ò, A, I;-This simulation is not as Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of the former :-and yet, to crush this a little, it would our plot. bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my Mal. Besides, you waste the treasure of your name. Soft! here follows prose.-If this fall into time with a foolish knight; Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. Mal. One sir Andrew: thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have great- Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me ness thrust upon them. Thy fates open their foo!. hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them. Mal. What employment have we here? And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, [Taking up the letter. cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be op- Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. posite with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thy Sir To. O, peace! and the spirit of humours tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into intimate reading aloud to him! the trick of singularity: She thus advises thee, Mal. By my life, that is my lady's hand: these that sighs for thee. Remember who commended be her very C's, her U's, and her T's; and thus thy yellow stockings; and wished to see thee ever makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of cross-gartered: I say remember. Go to; thou art question, her hand. made if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not that? worthy to touch fortune's fingers. Farewell. She Mal. [reads] To the unknown beloved, this, and that would alter services with thee, my good wishes: her very phrases! By your leave, The fortunate-unhappy; wax.-Soft!-and the impressure her Lucrece, Day light and champain discovers not more: this with which she uses to seal: 'tis my lady: To is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, whom should this be? Fab. This wins him, liver and all. Mal. [reads] Jore knows, I love: But who? Lips do not move, No man must know. No man must know.-What follows!-the numbers altered!-No man must know:-if this should be thee, Malvolio? Sir To. Marry. hang thee, brock.3 Mal. I may command where I adore: But silence, like a Lucrece knife, With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. Fab. A fustian riddle! Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 1 State chair. 2 Conch. 3 Badger. 4 Hawk.5 Flies at it I will baffle sir Toby, I will wash off gross ac- quaintance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this she manifests herself to my love and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross- gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised!-Here is yet a post. script. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prythee 6 Name of a hound. 8 Open country. 7 Skin of a snake. 9 Utmost exactness. 82 ACT III TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Jove, I thank thee.-I will smile; I will do every thing that thou wilt have me. Vio. I warrant, thou art a merry fellow, and car- est for nothing. [Exit, Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but in pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be Sir To. I could marry this wench for this de- to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you vice. invisible. Sir And. So could I too. Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: such another jest. Enter Maria. Sir And. Nor I neither. Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? Sir And. Or o' mine either? Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip,' and become thy bond-slave? Sir And. I'faith, or I either. Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad. Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she de- tests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me. Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel- lent devil of wit! Sir And. I'll make one too. ACT III. [Exeunt. she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married: and fools are as like husbands, as pilchards are to her- rings, the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her fool, but her corrupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery, sir, dost walk about the orb, like the sun; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as with my mistress: I think, I saw your wisdom there.be Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee; I am almost sick for one; though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady within? to Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. Clo. I would play lord Pandarus4 of Phrygia, sir, bring a Cressida to this Troilus. Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, beg- ging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come: who you are, and what you would, are out of my welkin: I might say, clement; but the word is over-worn. [Exit. Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; SCENE I.-Olivia's Garden. Enter Viola, and And, like the haggard, check at every feather Clown with a tabor. That comes before his eye. This is a practice, As full of labour as a wise man's art: Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; thou live by thy tabor? Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. Vio. Art thou a churchman? Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church: for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church. Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies2 by a beg- gar, if a beggar dwell near him: or, the church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague- cheek. Sir To. Save you, gentleman. Vio. And you, sir. Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. Vio. Et vous aussi: votre serviteur. Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous you should enter, if your trade be Clo. You have said, sir.-To see this age!--A sentence is but a cheveril³ glove to a good wit; to her. How quickly the wrong side may be turned out- ward! Vio. Nay that's certain; they that dally nicely with words, may quickly make them wanton. Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir. Vio. Why, man? is I Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she the lists of my voyage. Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than understand what you mean by bidding me taste legs. my Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance with that word might make my sister wanton. But we are prevented. But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them. Vio. Thy reason, man? Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loathi to prove reason with them. 1 A boy's diversion, three and tip, 2 Dwells. 3 Kid. Enter Olivia and Maria. odours on you! Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain odours! well. 4 See the play of Troilus and Cressida. 5 A hawk not well trained. 6 Bound, limit SCENE II. 83 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your A murd'rous guilt shows not itself mere soon own most pregnant' and vouchsafed ear. Than love that would seem hid: love's night is no Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed:-Ces rio, by the roses of the spring, I'll get 'em all three ready. by maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, to my hearing. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. Give me your hand, sir. Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. Oli. What is your name? Vio. Cæsario is your servant's name, fair princess. Oli. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world, Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment: You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours; Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts On his behalf:- Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you; I bade you never speak again of him: But, would you undertake another suit, I had rather hear you to solicit that, Than music from the spheres. Vio. Dear lady, Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you: I did send, After the last enchantment you did here, A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you: Under your hard construction must I sit, To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, Which you knew none of yours: What might you think? Have you not set mine honour at the stake, And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving2 Enough is shown; a cyprus, not a bosom, Hides my poor heart: So let me hear you speak. Vio. I pity you. Oli. That's a degree to love. Vio. No, not a grise ;3 for 'tis a vulgar proof, That very oft we pity enemies. Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again: O world, how apt the poor are to be proud! If one should be a prey, how much the better To fall before the lion, than the wolf? [Clock strikes. The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.- Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, Your wife is like to reap a proper man: There lies your way, due west. Vio. Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship! Then westward-hoe: You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me? Oli. Stay: Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause; But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter: Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. And that no woman has; nor never none Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. And so adieu, good madam; never more Will I my master's tears to you deplore. I I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. Vio. Then think you right; I am not what I am. Oli. I would, you were as I would have you be! Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, J wish it might; for now I am your fool. Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks, beautiful In the contempt and anger of his lip! 1 Ready. 2 Ready apprehension. 4 In spite of. 3 Step. Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, may'st move That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and Fabian. Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. Fab. You must need yield your reason, sir An- drew. Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more fa- vours to the count's serving-man, than ever she bestowed upon me: I saw't i' the orchard. Sir To. Did she see thee, the while, old boy? tell me that. Sir And. As plain as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me? Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since before Noah was a sailor. Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim- stone in your liver. You should then have accosted her, and with some excellent jest, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, but this was baulked: the double gilt of this oppor- tunity you let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour or policy. Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with val- as a politician. our; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist Sir To. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's my niece shall take note of it: and assure thyself, youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places; there is no love-broker in the world can more pre- vail in man's commendation with woman, than re- port of valour. Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst" and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be 5 Separatists in queen Elizabeth's reign. 6 Crabbed. 84 ACT IIL TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. eloquent, and full of invention: taunt him with Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night; the license of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes it shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie With the memorials, and the things of fame, in thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big That do renown this city. enough for the bed of Ware' in England, set 'em Ant. "Would, you'd pardon me, down; go, about it. Let there be gall enough in do not without danger walk these streets : thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his galleys, matter: About it. I did some service; of such note, indeed, That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be an- swer'd. Sir And. Where shall I find you? Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo:2 Go. [Exit Sir Andrew. Fab. This is a dear manikin to you, sir Toby. Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two thousand strong or so. Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll not deliver it. I Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people; Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature. Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel, Might well have given us bloody argument. It might have since been answer'd in repaying What we took from them; which, for traffic sake, Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means Most of our city did: only myself stood out: stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and For which, if I be lapsed in this place, wainropes cannot hale them together. For An- I shall pay dear. drew, if he were opened, and you find so much! Seb. blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of the anatomy. Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter Maria. Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes. Do not then walk too open. Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse; In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- ledge, With viewing of the town; there shall you have me. Seb. Why I your purse? Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy You have desire to purchase; and your store, think, is not for idle markets, sir. I Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me: yon' gull Mal- volio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian, that means to be saved by believing Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages An hour. of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. Sir To. And cross-gartered? Ant. Seb. you To the Elephant.- I do remember. and Maria. for [Exeunt. Mar. Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' the church.-I have dogged him, like his murderer: he does obey every point of the letter SCENE IV.-Olivia's Garden. Enter Olivia that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into more lines, than are in the new map, with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen How shall I feast him? what bestow on him? Oli. I have sent after him: He says, he'll come; such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or bor things at him. I know, my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile, and take't for a great favour. Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A street. Enter Antonio and Se- bastian. Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you; But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, I will no further chide you. Ant. I could not stay behind you; my desire, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; And not all love to see you (though so much, As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) But jealousy what might befall your travel, Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger, Unguided, and unfriended, often prove Rough and unhospitable: my willing love The rather by these arguments of fear, Set forth in your pursuit. Seb. My kind Antonio, I can no other answer make, but, thanks, And thanks, and ever thanks: Often good turns Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay: But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, You should find better dealing. What's to do? Shall we go see the reliques of this town? Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging. 1 In Hertfordshire, which held forty persons. 2 Chamber. 3 Wagon ropes. row'd. I speak too loud. Where is Malvolió?-he is sad, and civil, And suits well for a servant with my fortunes; Where is Malvolio? Mar. He's coming, madam; But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. Oli. Why, what's the matter? does he rave? Mar. No, madam He does nothing but smile: your ladyship Were best have guard about you, if he come; For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. Oli. Go call him hither.-I'm as mad as he, If sad and merry madness equal be.- Enter Malvolio. How now, Malvolio? Mal. Sweet lady, ho, ho! [Smiles fantastically Oli. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee upon a sad' occasion. Mai. Sad, lady? I could be sad: this does make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering: but what of that, if it pleases the eye of one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: Please one and please all. Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what is the mat ter with thee? Mal. Not black in my mind, though yellow in 4 Wealth. 5 Caught. 6 Grave and demure. 7 Grave. SCENE IV. 85 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. my legs: It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman hand. Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? Mal. To bed? ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come to thee. Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft? Mar. How do you, Malvolio? Mal. At your request? Yes; nightingales swer daws. Mal. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my pri- vate; go off. Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did I not tell you?-Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a care of him. Mal. Ah ha! does she so? Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Mal- volio? how is't with you? What, man! defy the an-devil: consider, he's an enemy to mankind. Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- ness before my lady? Mal. Be not afraid of greatness:-'Twas well writ. Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? Mal. Some are born great,- Oli. Ha? Mal. Some achieve greatness,- Oli. What say'st thou ? Mal. And some have greatness thrust upon them. Oli. Heaven restore thee! Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings ;- Oli. Thy yellow stockings? Mal. And wished to see thee cross-gartered. Oli. Cross-gartered? Mal. Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to be so;- Oli. Am I made? Mal. If not, let me see thee a servant still. Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness." Enter Servant. Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count Grsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him back; he attends your ladyship's pleasure. Mal. Do you know what you say? Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God, he be not be- witched! Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say. Mal. How now, mistress? Mar. O lord! Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace; this is not the way: Do you not see, you move him? let me alone with him. Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock ?4 how dost thou, chuck? Mal. Sir? Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pits with Sa tan: Hang him, foul collier !6 Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir Toby get him to pray. Mal. My prayers, minx? Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear oi godliness. Mal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle, shallow things: I am not of your element; you shall know more hereafter. [Exit Sir To. Is't possible! Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, i could condemn it as an improbable fiction. Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man. Mar. Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take air, and taint. Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. Mar. The house will be the quieter. Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] 'Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a spe- cial care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the half of my dowry. [Exit Olivia and Mar. Mal. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than sir Toby to look to me? This con- curs directly with the letter: she sends him on pur- pose, that I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. Cast the humble slough, says she; be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants, let thy tongue tang with arguments Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, of state,-put thyself into the trick of singularity;-and bound. My niece is already in the belief that and, consequently, sets down the manner how; as, he is mad; we may carry it thus for our pleasure. a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of the habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have breath, prompt us to have mercy on him: at which limed her but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make time, we will bring the device to the bar, and me thankful! And, when she went away now, Let crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. this fellow be looked to: Fellow !3 not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing adheres together; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe circumstance,-What can be said? Nothing, that can be, can come between me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. Re-enter Marie, with Sir Toby, Belch, and Fabian, Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? if all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Le- gion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him. Fab. Here he is, here he is :-How is't with you, 8.r? how is't with you, man? 1 Hot weather madness. 2 Caught her as a bird with birdlime. 3 Companion. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. Fab. More matter for a May morning. Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it; I war rant, there's vinegar and pepper in't. Fab. Is't so saucy? Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him: do but read. Sir To. Give me. [reads.] Youth, whatsoeve. thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. Fab. Good, and valiant. Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't. Fab. A good note: that keeps you from the blow of the law. 4 Jolly cock, beau and coq. 5 A play among boys. 6 Colliers were accounted great cheats. 86 ACT III TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Re-enter Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian. Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [Ex. my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for. Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill Fab. Good. me,- Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: Good. Sir To. Fare thee well; And God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope is better, and so look to thy- self. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy Andrew Ague-cheek. sworn enemy. Sir To. If this letter moves him not, his legs cannot: I'll giv't him. Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart. Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and as thou drawest, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft, that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more appro- bation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away. Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. Vio. And you, sir. Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know not; but thy intercepter, full of despight, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and orchard end: dismount thy tuck,2 be yare in thy deadly. Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man hath any quarrel to me; my remembrance is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man. Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him: what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal. Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhacked devil in private brawl: souls and bodies hath he rapier, and on carpet consideration; but he is a ment is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none divorced three; and his incensement at this mo- but by pangs of death and sepulchre: hob, nob, is Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Ex. his word; give't, or take't. Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for the Vio. I will return again into the house, and de- behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out sire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I to be of good capacity and breeding; his employ- purposely on others, to taste their valour: belike, have heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels ment between his lord and my niece confirms no less; therefore this letter, being so excellently ig- this is a man of that quirk.4 norant, will breed no terror in the youth, he will Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itsell find it comes from a clodpole. But, sir, i will de-out of a very competent injury; therefore, get you liver his challenge by word of mouth; set upon on, and give him his desire. Back you shall not to liver his challenge by word of mouth; set upon the house, unless you undertake that with me, Ague-cheek a notable report of valour; and drive which with as much safety you might answer him: the gentleman (as, I know, his youth will aptly re- therefore, on, or strip your sword stark naked; ceive it,) into a most hideous opinion of his rage; for meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to skill, fury, and impetuosity. This will so fright them both, that they will kill one another by the wear iron about you. look like cockatrices. Enter Olivia and Viola. Fab. Here he comes with your niece: give them way, till he take leave, and presently after him. Si To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge. [Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. Olt. I have said too much unto a heart of stone, And laid mine honour too unchary' out: There's something in me, that reproves my fault; but such a headstrong potent fault it is, 1 nat it but mocks reproof. Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight what my offence to him is; it is something of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Toby. Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you, even to a mortal arbitrament; but nothing of the circumstance more. Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to find him in the Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most bears, Go on my master's griefs. skilful, bloody, and fatal opposites that you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria: will you Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my pic-walk towards him? I will make your peace with ture; efuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you: And I beseech you, come again to-morrow. What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny; That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give? Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my master. Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that Which I have given to you? Vio. I will acquit you. him, if I can. Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir knight: 1 care not who knows so much of my met- [Exeunt. t.e. Re-enter Sir Toby with Sir Andrew. Sir To. Why man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: Fare thee stuck-in, with such a mortal motion, that it is in- well; 1 Uncautiously, 4 Sort. 2 Rapier. 3 Ready. 5 Decision. 6 Adversary. evitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely 7 Stoccata an Italian term in fencing. 8 Does for you. SCENE IV. 87 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. as your feet hit the ground they step on: they say, he has been fencer to the Sophy. Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. Makes me to ask you for my purse: It grieves me: What will you do? Now my necessity Much more for what I cannot do for you, Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd; But be of comfort. 2 Off. Come, sir, away. Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. Vio. What money, sir? Sir And. Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damned ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey For the fair kindness you have shown me here, Capilet. And, part, being prompted by your present troubles Sir To. I'll make the motion: stand here, make Out of my lean and low ability Re-enter Fabian and Viola. a good show on't; this shall end without the per- I'll lend you something: my having is not much: dition of souls: marry, I'll ride your horse as well I'll make division of my present with you: as I ride you. [Aside. Hold, there is half my coffer. Ant. Will you deny me now? Is't possible, that my deserts to you I have his horse [to Fab.] to take up the quarrel; Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery, I have persuaded him, the youth's a devil. Lest that it make me so unsound a man, Fab. He is as horribly conceited' of him; and As to upbraid you with those kindnesses pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his That I have done for you. heels. Vio. I know of none; Sir To. There's no remedy, sir; he will fight Nor know I you by voice, or any feature: with you for his oath sake: marry, he hath better I hate ingratitude more in a man, bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will not Inhabits our frail blood. hurt you. Vio. Pray God defend me! A little thing A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack of a [Aside. man. Ant. O heavens themselves! Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth tha 2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. you see here, Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death; And to his image, which, methought, did promise Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,- Most venerable worth, did I devotion. Sir To Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you: he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't. Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath! [Draws. Enter Antonio. Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. [Draws. Ant. Put up your sword;-If this young gen- tleman Have done offence, I take the fault on me; If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. Sir To. You, sir? why, what are you? 1 Off. What's that to us? The time goes by: away. Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature she Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this gedi- In nature there's no blemish, but the mind; None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind: Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 1 Off. The man grows mad; away with him. Come, come, sir. Vio. Methinks, his words. do from such passion Ant. Lead me on. [Exe. Officers, with Antonio. fly, Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do That he believes himself; so do not I. more, Than you have heard him brag to you he will. Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you. [Draws. Enter two Officers. Fab. O good sir Toby, hold; here come the officers. Prove true, imagination, O prove true, That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hitner, Fa- bian; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws. Vio. He nam'd Sebastian; I my brother know Yet living in iny glass;4 even such and so, In favour was my brother; and he went Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, For him I imitate: O, if it prove, [To Sir Andrew. Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio. Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please. Sir And. Marry, will I, sır?-and, for that fromised you, I'll be as good as my word: He will bear you easily, and reins well. 1 Off. This is the man; do thy office. 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit Of count Orsino. You do mistake me, sir. [Crit. I Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare: his dishonesty appears, in leav ing his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. Ant. 1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well, Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.- Take him away; he knows, I know him well. Ant. I must obey.-This comes with seeking you; But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. 1 Horrid conception. $ Ornamented. Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it. Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him. Sir To. Do, cuffhim soundly, but never draw thy sword. Sir And. An I do not,- Fab. Come, let's see the event. [Exit. 2 Laws of duel. 4 In the reflection of my own figure. 88 ACT IV TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing In this uncivil and unjust extent- yet. ACT IV. [Exeunt. Against thy peace. Go with me to my house; And hear there how many fruitless pranks This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby May'st smile at this; thou shalt not choose, but go: He started one poor heart of mine in thee. Do not deny: beshrews his scul for me, SCENE I-The street before Olivia's house. Enter Sebastian and Clown. Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not sent for vou? Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; Let me be clear of thee. Clo. Well held out, i'faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not master Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither.- Nothing, that is so, is so. Seb. I pr'ythee, vent¹ thy folly somewhere else; thou know'st not me. Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? Or I am mad, or else this is a dream :- Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep! Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'would thou'dst be rul'd by me! Seb. Madam, I will. Oli. O, say so, and so be! [Exe. SCENE II-A room in Olivia's house. Enter Maria and Clown. Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and Clo. Vent my folly! he has heard that word of this beard; make him believe thou art sir Topas some great man, and now applies it to a fool. the curate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the whilst. Exit Maria. world, will prove a cockney.-I pr'ythee now, un- Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble gird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever o my lady; shall I vent to her, that thou art dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough coming? to become the function well; nor lean enough to be thought a good student; but to be said, an honest man, and a good housekeeper, goes as The competitors' enter. fairly, as to say, a careful man, and a great scho- Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me; There's money for thee; if you tarry longer, I shall give worse payment. Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand:-lar. These wise men, that give fools money, get them- ves a good report after fourteen years' purchase. Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you. Enter Sir Toby Belch. nd Maria. Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit [Striking Sebastian. of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wit- Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: tily said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, are all the people mad? [Beating Sir Andrew. is: so I, being master parson, am master parson; Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er for what is that, but that? and is, but is? the house. Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be in some of your coats for two-pence. [Exit Clown, Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Seb. Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way so work with him; I'll have an action of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. Seb. Let go thy hand. Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed; come on. Seb. 1 will be free from thee. What would'st thou now? If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. [Draws. Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws. Enter Olivia. Oli. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee, hold. Sir To. Madam? Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves, Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight! denot offended, dear Cesario:- Rudesby, be gone!-I pr'ythee, gentle friend, [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 1 Let out. 2 Rude fellow. 3 Violence 4 Made up. 5 Ill betide. Sir To. To him, sir Topas. Clo. What, hoa, I say,-Peace in this prison! Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. Mal. [in an inner chamber.] Who calls there? Malvolio the lunatic. Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to my lady. Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies? Sir To. Well said, master parson. Mal. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged!- good sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me here in hideous darkness. Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by the most modest terms: for I am one of those gen- tle ones, that will use the devil himself with cour- tesy: say'st thou, that house is dark? Mal. As hell, sir Topas. Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows, transparent as barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south- north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruction? Mal. I am not mad, sir Topas; I say to you, this house is dark. Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness, but ignorance: in which thou art more puzzled, than the Egyptians in their fog. Mal. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there was never man thus abused: I am no more 6 Disguise. 8 Bow-windows. 7 Confederates. SCENE III. 89 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR. WHAT YOU WILL. mad than you are; make the trial of it in any con- stant question.¹ Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concern- ing wild-fowl? Mal. That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird. Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? Mal. I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap- prove his opinion. Clo. Fare thee well: remain thou still in dark- ness: thou shalt hold the cpinion of Pythagoras, ere! I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a wood- cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam.j Fare thee well. Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas,- Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas! Clo. Nay, I am for all waters.2 Mar. Thou might'st have done this without thy beard and gown; he sees thee not. I his Mal. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. Mal. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree pr'ythee, be gone. Clo. I am gone, sir, And anon, sir, I'll be with you again, In a trice; Like to the old vice, Your need to sustain; Who with dagger of lath, In his rage and his wrath, Cries, ah, ha! to the devil. Like a mad lad, Pare thy nails, dad, Adieu, goodman drivel. [ xit. Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring SCENE III.-Olivia's garden. Enter Sebastian me word how thou findest him: I would we were Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveni- ently delivered, I would he were; for I am now so far in offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber. [Exe. Sir Toby and Mar. Clo. Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, Tell me how thy lady does. Mal. Fool,- Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy. Mal. Fool,- Clo. Alas, why is she so? Mal. Fool, I say;- This pearl she gave me, I do feel't, and see't: And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then? I could not find him at the Elephant: Yet there he was; and there I found this credit," That he did range the town to seek me out. [Singing. His counsel now might do me golden service: For though my soul disputes well with my sense, That this may be some error, but no madness, Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune, So far exceed all instance, all discourse, That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me To any other trust but that I am mad, Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so, She could not sway her house, command her fol- lowers, 10 Clo. She loves another-Who calls, ha? Mal. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, and ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't. Clo. Master Malvolio! Mal. Ay, good fool. Take, and give back, affairs, and their despatch, With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you beside your five wits?3 As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't, Mal. Fool, there was never man so notoriously That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool. Mal. They have here propertied me: keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to face me out of my wits. Clo. Advise you what you say; the minister is here.-Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble babble. Mal. Sir Topas,-- Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi you, good sir Topas.--Marry, amen.-I will, sir, I will. Mal. Fool, fool, fool, I say,- Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you. Enter Olivia and a Priest. Oli. Blame not this haste of mine: if you mean well, Now go with me, and with this holy man, Into the chantry" by: there, before him, And underneath that consecrated roof, Plight me the full assurance of your faith; That my most jealous and too doubtful soul May live at peace: he shall conceal it, Whiles12 you are willing it shall come to note; What time we will our celebration keep According to my birth.-What do you say? Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you: And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. Oli. Then lead the way, good father;-And heavens so shine, Mal. Good fool, help me to some light, and some paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any That they may fairly note this act of mine! [Exe man in Illvria. Clo. Well a-day,-that you were, sir! Mal. By this hand, I am good fool, some ink, paper, and light, and convey what I will set down ACT V. to my lady; it shall advantage thee more than ever SCENE I.-The street before Olivia's house. the bearing of letter did. Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad, indeed? or do you but counterfeit? 1 Regular conversation. 2 Any other gem as a topaz. 4 Taken possession of. 5 Scolded, reprimanded. 3 Senses. Enter Clown and Fabian. Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. 6. A buffoon character in the old plays and father of the modern harlequin. 9 Belief. 7 Account. 8 Reason. 10 Servants. 11 Little chapel. 12 Until 90 ACT V. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re-I know not what 'twas, but distraction quest. Fab. Any thing. Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, des re my dog again. Enter Duke, Viola, and attendants. Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. Duke. I know thee well; How dost thou, my good fellow? Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the wrse for my friends. Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief! What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, Hast made thine enemies? Ant. Orsino, noble sır, Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me, Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth That most ungrateful boy there, by your side, His life I gave him, and did thereto add Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was: All his in dedication: for his sake, My love, without retention, or restraint, Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town; Cio. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass Where being apprehended, his false cunning Drew to defend him, when he was beset; of me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so (Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that, And grew a twenty-years-removed thing, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives While one would wink; denied me mine own make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Duke. Why, this is excellent. Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy fr ends. Jo. No, sir, the worse. Duke. How can that be? lo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends. Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there's gold. Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another. Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer; there's another. Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; One, two, three. Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw: if you will let your lady know, I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty further. Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think, that my desire of having is the sin of co- vetousness: but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. Enter Antonio and Officers. Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. Duke. That face of his I do remember well; Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war: A bawbling vessel was he captain of, For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable: With which such scathful grapple did he make With the most noble bottom of our fleet, That very envy, and the tongue of loss, Cry'd fame and honour on him.-What's the matter? 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, Candy; 2 from And this is he, that did the Tiger board, When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, In private brabble did we apprehend him. Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 2 Freight. 1 Mischievous. purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. Vio. How can this be? Duke. When came he to this town? Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) before Both day and night did we keep company. Enter Olivia and attendants. Duke. Here comes the countess; now heaven But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness: walks on earth.- Three months this youth hath tended upon me; But more of that anon.--Take him aside. Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?- have, Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Vio. Madam? Duke. Gracious Olivia,- Oli. What do you say, Cesario?-Good my lord,-- Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear, As howling after music. Duke. Still so cruel? Oli. Still so constant, lord. Duke. What! to perverseness? you uncivil lady, To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- come him. Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, Kill what I love; a savage jealousy, That sometime savours nobly?-But hear me this: Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, And that I partly know the instrument That screws me from my true place in your favour, Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still; But this your minion, whom, I know, you love, And whom, by heaven, I swear, I tender dearly, Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 3 Dull, gross. SUEN I. 91 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.- Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is:--You broke Come oy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mis-my head for nothing; and that that I did, I was set cef: I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going. Vie. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. [Following. Oli. Where goes Cesario? Vio. After him I love, More than I love these eyes, more than my life, More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife: If I do feign, you witnesses above, Punish my life, for tainting of my love! Oli. Ah, me, detested! how am I beguil'd! Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?- Call forth the holy father. Duke. [Exit an Attendant. Come away. on to do't by sir Toby. Vio. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you: You drew your sword upon me without cause; But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think, you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb. Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown. Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more: but if he had not been in drink, he would havз tickled you othergates than he did. Duke. How now, gentleman? how is't with you! Sir To. That's all one; he has hurt me, and there's the end on't.-Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot? Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; his To Viola. eyes were set at eight i' the morning. Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-meas- 1 Oli. Whither, my lord?-Cesario, husband, stay-ure, or a pavin, I hate a drunken rogue. Duke. Husband? Oli. Ay, husband; Can he that deny? Duke. Her husband, sirrah? Vio. No, my lord, not I. Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear, That makes thee strangle thy propriety:1 Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art As great as that thou fear'st.-0, welcome, father! Re-enter Attendant and Priest. Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, Here to unfold (though lately we intended To keep in darkness, what occasion now Reveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost know, Hath newly past between this youth and me. Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, Attested by the holy close of lips, Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings; And all the ceremony of this compact Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, I have travelled but two hours. Duke. O, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be, When time hath sew'd a grizzle on thy case?2 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet, Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. Vio. My lord, I do protest,- Oli. O, do not swear: Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head broke. Oli. Away with him: who hath made this havoc with them? Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll be dressed together. Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull? Oli. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. [Exeuni Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. Enter Sebastian. Sab. 1 am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins man; But, had it been the brother of my blood, I must have done no less, with wit and safety. You throw a strange regard upon me, and By that I do perceive it hath offended you; Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows We made each other but so late ago. Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons? A natural perspective, that is, and is not. Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, Since I have lost thee. Ant. Sebastian are you? Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? Ant. How have you made division of yourself? An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? Oli. Most wonderful! Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother: Nor can there be that deity in my nature, Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:- Of here and every where. I had a sister, Of charity, what kin are you to me? [To Viola What countryman? what name? what parentage! Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father: Such a Sebastian was my brother, too, Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has So went he suited to his watery tomb: given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too: for the love If spirits can assume both form and suit, of God, your help: I had rather than forty pound, You come to fright us. Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon; send one presently to sir Toby. Oli. What's the matter? I were at home. Oli. Who has done this, sir Andrew? Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate. Duke. My gentleman, Cesario? 1 Disown thy property. 2 Skin. 3 Otherways. 4 Serious dancers. Seb. A spirit I am indeed; But am in that dimension grossly clad, Which from the womb I did participate. Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, And say-Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. Seb. And so had mine. 5 Out of charity tell me. 92 ACT V TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth with the which I doubt not but to do myself much Had number'd thirteen years. Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul! He finished, indeed, his mortal act, That day that made my sister thirteen years. Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, But this my masculine usurp'd attire, Do not embrace me, till each circumstance Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, That I am Viola: which to confirm, I'll bring you to a captain in this town, Where lie my inaiden weeds; by whose gentle help, I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count: All the occurrence of my fortune since Hath been between this lady, and this lord. Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook: [To Olivia. But nature to her bias drew in that. You would have been contracted to a maid; Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd; You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Duke. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood. If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, I shall have share in this most happy wreck : Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, [To Viola. Thou never should'st love woman like to me. Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear; And all those swearings keep as true in soul, As doth that orbed continent the fire That severs day from night. Duke. Give me thy hand; And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, Is now in durance; at Malvolio's suit, A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. Oli. He shall enlarge him:-Fetch Malvolio hither:- And yet, alas, now I remember me, They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. Re-enter Clown, with a letter. right, or you much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my injury. The madly-used Malvolio. Oli. Did he write this? Clo. Ay, madam. Duke. This savours not much of distraction. Oli. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither. [Exit Fabian. My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well a sister as a wife, One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, Here at my house, and at my proper cost. Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.- Your master quits you; [To Viola.] and, for your service done him, So much against the mettle of your sex, So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, And since you call'd me master for so long, Here is my hand; you shall from this time be Your master's mistress. Oli. A sister?-you are she. Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio. Duke. Is this the madman? Oli. How now, Malvolio ? Ay, my lord, this same: Madam, you have done me wrong, Mal. Notorious wrong. Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. Mal. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter: You must not now deny it is your hand, Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase; Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention: You can say none of this: Well, grant it then, And tell me, in the modesty of honour Why you have given me such clear lights of favour; Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you, To put on yellow stockings, and to frown Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people. : And, acting this in an obedient hope, Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, Clo. Truly madam, he holds Beelzebub at the Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do: And made the most notorious geck and gull, he has here writ a letter to you; I should have giv-That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why. en it to you to-day morning; but as a madman's Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much, when Though, I confess, much like the character: they are delivered. But, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand. And now I do bethink me, it was she A most extracting frenzy of mine own From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. How does he, sirrah? Oli. Open it, and read it. Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling, delivers the madman :-By the Lord, madam,- Oli. How now! art thou mad? And in such forms which here were presuppos'd Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee be content: Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, allow vox.2 Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge Of thine own cause. Fab. Oli. Prythee, read, i' thy right wits. Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits, Good madam, hear me speak; is to read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, and give ear. Taint the condition of this present hour, Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian. Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shalt not, Fab. [reads. By the Lord, madam, you wrong Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, me, and the world shall know it: though you have Set this device against Malvolio here, put me into darkness, and given your drunken Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts cousin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my We had conceiv'd against him: Maria writ senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own The letter, at sir Toby's great importance ;7 letter that induced me to the semblance I put on; In recompence whereof, he hath married her. How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 1 Hinders. 2 Voice. 3 Attend. 4 Frame and constitution. 5 Inferior. 6 Fool. 7 Importunity. SCENE I 93 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. May rather pluck on laughter than revenge; If that the injuries be justly weigh'd, That have on both sides past. Oli. Alas, poor fool! how have they baffled¹ thee! Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve great- ness, and some have greatness thrown upon them. I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir Topas, sir; but that's all one:-By the Lord, fool, I am not mad;-But do you remember? Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd: And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. Mal. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you. [Exit. 2 Oh. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to peace:- He hath not told us of the captain yet; When that is known, and golden time convents, A solemn combination shall be made Of our dear souls.-Meantime, sweet sister, We will not part from hence. Cesario, come ;- For so you shall be, while you are a man; But, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen. SONG. [Exeunt. Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. Cheated. 2 Shall serve. 7 But when I came to man's estate, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came, alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came unto my bed, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken head, For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that's all one, our play is done, And we'll strive to please you every day. [Exit. This play is in the graver part elegant and easy, and in some of the lighter scenes exquisitely humo- rous. Ague-cheek is drawn with great propriety, but his character is, in a great measure, that of natural fatuity, and is therefore not the proper prey of a satirist. The soliloquy of Malvolio is truly comic; he is betrayed to ridicule merely by his pride. The marriage of Olivia, and the succeed- ing perplexity, though well enough contrived to divert on the stage, wants credibility, and fails to produce the proper instruction required in the dra- ma, as it exhibits no just picture of life. JOHNSON. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Vincentio, duke of Vienna. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Angelo, lord deputy in the duke's absence. Clown, servant to Mrs. Over-done. Abhorson, an executioner. Escalus, an ancient lord, joined with Angelo in Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner. the deputation. Claudio, a young gentleman. Lucio, a fantastic. Two other like gentlemen. Varrius, a gentleman, servant to the duke. Provost. Peter, two friars. A Justice. Elbow, a simple constable. Froth, a foolish gentleman. ACT I. SCENE I-An apartment in the Duke's palace. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and attendants. ESCALUS, Escal. My lord. Duke. Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; Since I am put to know that your own science, Exceeds, in that, the lists' of all advice My strength can give you: then no more remains But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them work. The nature of our people, Our city's institutions, and the terms For common justice, you are as pregnant2 in, As art and practice hath enriched any That we remember: there is our commission, From which we would not have you warp.-Call hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo.- [Exit an attendant. What figure of us think you he will bear? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply; Lent him our terror, drest him with our love; And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power: what think you of it? Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is lord Angelo. Duke. Enter Angelo. Look, where he comes. Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. Angelo, Duke. There is a kind of character in thy life, That, to the observer, doth thy history Fully unfold: thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 1 Bounds. 2 Full of. 3 Endowments. 4 So much thy own property, Isabella, sister to Claudio. Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. Juliet, beloved by Claudio. Francisca, a nun. Mistress Over-done, a bawd. Lords, gentlemen, guards, officers, and ther s tendants. Scene, Vienna. Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do; Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd, But to fine issues: nor nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. But I'do bend my speech To one that can my part in him advértise; Hold therefore, Angelo; In our remove, be thou at full ourself; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary. Take thy commission. Ang. Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it. Duke. No more evasion: We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall impórtune, How it goes with us; and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions. Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. Duke. My haste may not admit it; Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple: your scope is as mine own;? So to enforce or qualify the laws, As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand; I'ii privily away: I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes: Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause, and aves8 vehement 5 For high purposes. 7 Extent of power. 6 Of interest. 8 Hailings. SCENE II. 95 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes! Escal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- ness. Duke. I thank you: fare you well. [Exit. Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place: A power I have; but of what strength and nature I am not yet instructed. Ang. 'Tis so with me:-Let us withdraw to- gether, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. Escal. I'll wait upon your honour. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A street. Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not to composition with the king of Hungary, why, then all the dukes fall upon the king. 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the king of Hungary's! 2 Gent. Amen. Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the ten command- ments, but scraped one out of the table. 2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal? Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com- mand the captain and all the rest from their func- tions; they put forth to steal: there's not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish the petition well that prays for peace. 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. Lucio. I believe thee; for, I think, thou never wast where grace was said. 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 1 Gent. What? in metre? Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language. 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. Lucio. Ay! why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy: as for example; thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers between us.2 Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet: thou art the list. 1 Gent. And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief be a list of an English kersey, as be fil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? Lucio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong; have I not? 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art tainted, or free. Lucio. A French crown more. 1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me: but thou art full of error; I am sound. Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound, as things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast of thee. Enter Bawd. 1 Gent. How now? Which of your hips has the most profound sciatica ? Bawd. Well, well; there's one yonder arrested, and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee? Bawd. Marry,sir,that's Claudio, signior Claudio. 1 Gent. Claudio to prison! 'tis not so. Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so: I saw him ar- rested; saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his head's to be chopped off. Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so: art thou sure of this? Bawd. I am too sure of it: and it is for getting madam Julietta with child. Lucio. Believe me, this may be: he promised cise in promise-keeping. to meet me two hours since; and he was ever pre- 2 Gent. Besides you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the pro- clamation. Lucio. Away; let's go learn the truth of it. [Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat; what with the gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now? what's the news with you? Enter Clown. Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. Bawd. Well; what has he done? Clo. A woman. Bawd. But what's his offence? Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him? Clo. No; but there's a woman with maid by him: you have not heard of the proclamation, have you? Bawd. What proclamation, man? Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be pluck'd down. Bawd. And what shall become of those in the city? Clo. They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pull'd down? Clo. To the ground, mistress. Bawd. Why, here's a change, indeed, in the commonwealth! What shall become of me? Clo. Come; fear not you: good counsellors lack no clients: though you change your place, you need not change your trade; I'll be your tapster still. Lucio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitiga- Courage; there will be pity taken on you: you that tion comes! I have purchased as many diseases under her roof, as come to- 2 Gent. To what, I pray? 1 Gent. Judge. 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a year. 1 Gent. Ay, and more. 1 Measure. 2 A cut of the same cloth. 3 A jest on the loss of hair by the French disease. have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. Bawd. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster let's withdraw. Clo. Here comes signior Claudio, led by the pro- vost to prison: and there's madam Juliet. [Exe 4 Corona Veneris. 5 The sweating sickness. 96 ACT 1 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. SCENE III.-The same.-Enter Provost,' Clau- Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found. dio, Juliet, and Officers; Lucio, and two Gen-I pr'thee, Lucio, do me this kind service: tlemen. This day my sister should the cloister enter, And there receive her approbation: Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to Acquaint her with the danger of my state; the world? Bear me to prison, where I am committed. Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, But from lord Angelo by special charge. Claud. Thus can the demi-god, Authority, Make us pay down for our offence by weight.- The words of heaven;-on whom it will, it will; On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio? whence comes this restraint? Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint: our natures do pursue (Like rats that ravin² down their proper bane,) A thirsty evil; and when we drink, we die. Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom, as the morality of imprisonment.-What's thy offence, Claudio? Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. Lucio. What is it? murder? Claud. No. Lucio. Lechery? Claud. Call it so. Prov. Away, sir; you must go. Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him; I have great hope in that: for in her youth There is a prones and speechless dialect, Such as moves men; besides, she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse. Lucio. I pray she may: as well for the encourage- ment of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition; as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. Lucio. Within two hours. Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-A monastery. Enier Duke and Friar Thomas. Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Duke. No; holy father; throw away that thought; Can pierce a complete bosom :" why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth. Fri. May your grace speak of it? Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd;8 Claud. One word, good friend:-Lucio, a word And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, [Takes him aside. Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps." with you. Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good.I have delivered to lord Angelo Is lechery so look'd after? Claud. Thus stands it with me:-Upon a true contract, I got possession of Julietta's bed; You know the lady; she is fast my wife, Save that we do the denunciation lack Of outward order: this we came not to, Only for propagation of a dower Remaining in the coffer of her friends; From whom we thought it meet to hide our love, Till time had made them for us. But it chances, The stealth of our most mutual entertainment, With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. Lucio. With child, perhaps? Claud. Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the duke,- Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness; Or whether that the body public be A horse whereon the governor doth ride, Who, newly in the seat, that it may know He can command, lets it straight feel the spur: Whether the tyranny be in his place, Or in his eminence that fills it up, I stagger in:-But this new governor Awakes me all the enrclled penalties, Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, And none of them been worn; and, for a name, Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me:-'tis surely for a name. Lucio. I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and appeal to him. 1 Gaoler. Voraciously devour. 4 Ticklish. 3 Yearly circles. 5 Enter on her probation. 6 Prompt. (A man of stricture,10 and firm abstinence,) My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, And so it is receiv'd: now, pious sir, You will demand of me, why I do this? Fri. Gladly, my lord. Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws (The needful bits and curbs for headstrong steeds,) Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; Even like an over-grown lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey: now, as fond fathers Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, Only to stick it in their children's sight, For terror, not to use; in time the rod Becomes more mock'd, than fear'd: so our decrees, Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; And liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum. Fri. It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd: And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, Than in lord Angelo. Duke. I do fear, too dreadful: Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive past, And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my I have on Angelo impos'd the office; father, Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home And yet my nature never in the sight, 7 Completely armed. 9 Showy dress resides. 11 Since. 8 Retired. 10 Strictness. SCENE V. 97 MEASURE FOR MEASURE To do it slander: and to behold his sway, I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people: therefore, I pr'ythee, Supply me with the habit, and instruct me How I may formally in person bear me Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, At our more leisure shall I render you; Only, this one:-Lord Angelo is precise; Stands at a guard' with envy; scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, If power change purpose, what our seemers be. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-A nunnery. Enter Isabella and Francisca. Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges? Fran. Are not these large enough? Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more; But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare. Lucio. Ho! peace be in this place! [Within. Isab. Who's that which calls? Fran. It is a man's voice: gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn: When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men, But in the presence of the prioress: Then, if you speak, you must not show your face; Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again; I pray you answer him. [Exit Francisca. Isab. Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls? Enter Lucio. To teeming foison;4 even so her plenteous womb Expresses his full tilth and husbandry. Isab.. Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? Lucio. Is she your cousin? Isab. Adoptedly: as school-maids change theu names, By vain though apt affection. Lucio. She it is. Isab. O, let him marry her! Lucio. This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence; Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand, and hope of action: but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings out were of an infinite distance From his true-meant design. Upon his place, And with full line of his authority, Governs lord Angelo; a man, whose blood Is very snow-broth; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense; But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge With profits of the mind, study and fast He (to give fear to use and liberty, Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act, Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Falls into forfeit: ke arrests him on it; And follows close the rigour of the statute, To make him an example: all hop is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer, To soften Angelo: and that's my pith Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. Isab. Doth he so seek his life? Lucio. Has censur'de him Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath warrant for his execution. Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-A roses Proclaim you are no less! can you so stead me, As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A novice of this place, and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio? Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask; The rather, for I now must make you know I am that Isabella, and his sister. Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you: Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. Isab. Wo me! For what? Lucio. For that, which, if myself might be his judge, He should receive his punishment in thanks: He hath got his friend with child. Isab. Sir, make me not your story. Lucio. I would not-though 'tis my familiar sin It is true. With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, Tongue far from heart,-play with all virgins so: I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted; By your renouncement, an immortal spirit; And to be talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint. Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me. Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus: Your brother and his lover have embrac'd: As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 1 On his defence. Isab. Alas! what poor ability's in me To do him good? Lucio. Isab. My power! Lucio. Assay the power you have. Alas! I doubt,- Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt: go to lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them. Isab. I'll see what I can do. Lucio. But speedily. Isab. I will about it straight; No longer staying but to give the mother10 Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you: Commend me to my brother: soon at night I'll send him certain word of my success. Lucio. I take my leave of you. Isab. ACT II. Good sir, adieu. [Exeunt Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Provost, Officers, a SCENE 1. A hall in Angelo's house. Enter attendants. Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the i, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 2 Do not make a jest of me. Their perch, and not their terror. 3 In few and true words. 6 Extent. 5 Tilling. 4 Breeding plenty. 7 Power of gaining favour. 9 Have. 10 Abbess. 8 Sentenc 11 Scare 98 ACT II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Escal. Ay, but yet Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall, and bruise to death: alas! this gentleman, Whom I would save, had a most noble father. Let but your honour know¹ (Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,) That, in the working of your own affections, Had time coher'd2 with place, or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him, And pull'd the law upon you. Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two Escal. How know you that? Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest 12 before heɛ."en and your honour.- Escal. How! thy wife? Elb. Ay, sir; whom I thank heaven, is an hon est woman,- it Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore? Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself alsc, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. Escal. How dost thou know that, constable? Elb. Marry sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been ac- cused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. Escal. By the woman's means? Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over-done's means: Guiltier than him they try: what's open made to but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. justice, That justice seizes. What know the laws, That thieves do pass on thieves? "Tis very nant,4 Clo. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou preg-honourable man, prove it. Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, Because we see it; but what we do not see, We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence, For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, When I, that censures him, do so offend, Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. Ang. Where is the provost? Prov. Here, if it like your honour. Ang. See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Ex. Prov. Escal. Well, heaven forgive him; and forgive us all! Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: Some run from brakes" of vice, and answer none; And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, &c. Elb. Come, bring them away: if these be good people in a common weal, that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law; bring them away. Ang. How now, sir! what's your name? and what's the matter? Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. Ang. Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they are they not malefactors? Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well what they are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world, that good Christians ought to have. Escal. This comes off well; here's a wise officer. Ang. Go to; what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow? Clo. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. Ang. What are you, sir? [To Angelo. Clo. Sir, she came in great with child, and long- ing (saving your honour's reverence) for stew'd prunes: sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- dish, a dish of some three-pence: your honours have seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes. Escal. Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir, Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are there- fore in the right: but, to the point: as I say, this mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and be- ing great belly'd, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; -for, as you know, master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. I Froth. No, indeed. Clo. Very well: you being then, if you be re- member'd, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes. Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. Clo. Why, very well: I telling you then, if you be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one, were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you. Froth. All this is true. Clo. Why, very well then. Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool: to the pur- pose.-What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your ho- nour's leave: and I beseech you, look into master Froth here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas :-Was't not at Hallowmas, master Froth? Froth. All-hollond¹³ eve. Clo. Why, very well; I hope here be truths: he, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel 10-bawd; one 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed you that serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, have a delight to sit: have you not? as they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs; and now Froth. I have so; because it is an open room, she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very and good for winter. 11 house too. 1 Examine. 2 Suited. 3 Pass judgment. 4 Plain. 7 Thickest, thorny paths of vice. 8 Wealth. 5 Because. 6 Sentence. 9 Well told. 10 Partly. 11 Keeps a bagnio 12 For protest. 13 Eve of All Saints' day. 14 Easy. SCENE 1. 99 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Clo. Why, very well then;-I hope here be Clo. Mistress Over-done. truths. Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave, And leave you to the hearing of the cause; Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all. Escal. I think no less: good morrow to your lordship. [Exit Angelo. Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband? Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. Escal. Nine!-Come hither to me, master Froth Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters; they will draw you, master Froth, and you will hang them: get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's Froth. I thank your worship: for mine own wife, once more? part, I never come into any room in a taphouse, Clo. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her but I am drawn in. ence. Escal. Well; no more of it, master Froth: fare- Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man well. [Exit Froth.]-Come you hither to me, did to my wife? Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. Escal. Well, sir: what did this gentleman to her? Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face-Good master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose: doth your honour mark his face? Escal. Ay, sir, very well. Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. Escal. Well, I do so. Clo. Doth your honour see any harm in his face? Escal. Why, no. master tapster; what's your name, master tapster? Clo. Pompey. Escal. What else? Clo. Bum, sir. Escal. "Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the better for you. Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would live. Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pom- pey? is it a lawful trade? a Clo. I'll be suppos'd' upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him: good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would Cio. If the law would allow it, sir. know that of your honour. Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; Escal. He's in the right: constable, what say nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. you to it? Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay Escal. No, Pompey. Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a re- all the youth in the city? spected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman. Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then: if your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the Elb. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked var- bawds. let: the time is yet to come, that she was ever re- spected with man, woman, or child. Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. Escal. Which is the wiser here? justice, or ini- quity ?2 Is this true? Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging. Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads. If this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wick-in it, after three-pence a bay: if you live to see ed Hannibal ! I respected with her, before I was this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. married to her? If ever I was respected with her, Escal. Thank you, good Pompey: and, in re- or she with me, let not your worship think me the quital of your prophecy, hark you,-I advise you, poor duke's officer:-Prove this, thou wicked Han- let me not find you before me again upon any com- nibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, might have your action of slander too. and prove a shrewd Cæsar to you; in plain deal- Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it: ing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so for this what is't your worship's pleasure I should do with time Pompey, fare you well. Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel; Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some of- but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall fences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou better determine. this wicked caitiff? couldst, let him continue in his courses, till thou Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; know'st what they are The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Ex. Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it:-thou Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow; come seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon hither, master Constable. How long have you been thee; thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou in this place of constable? art to continue. Escal. Where were you born, friend? [To Froth. Froth. Here, in Vienna, sir. Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year? Froth. Yes, and't please you, sir. Escal. So.-What trade are you of, sir? [To the Clown. Clo. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster. Escal. Your mistress's name? 1 Deposed, sworn. 2 Constable or Clown. Elb. Seven years and a half, sir. Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time: You say, seven years together? Elb. And a half, sir. Escal. Alas! it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong to put you so oft upon't: Are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters 3 For cannibal. 4 Measures 100 ACT II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for For which I must not plead, but that I am them; 1 do it for some piece of money, and go At war, 'twixt will, and will not. through with all. Escal. Lock you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. Elb. To your worship's house, sir? Escal. To my house: Fare you well. Elbow.] What's o'clock, think you? Just. Eleven, sir. Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. Just. I humbly thank you. [Exit Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there's no remedy. Just. Lord Angelo is severe. Escal. It is but needful: Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so: Pardon is still the nurse of second wo: But yet,-Poor Claudio!-There's no remedy. Come, sir. SCENE II. Another room in the same. Provost and a Servant. Ang. Well; the matter? Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die: do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. I Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it' Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done: Mine were the very cypher of a function, To find the faults, whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. Isab. O just, but severe law! I had a brother then.-Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring. Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him. again, entreat him; Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; [Exeunt. You are too cold: if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire i: Enter To him, I say. Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight. I'll tell him of you. Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know His pleasure; may be, he will relent: Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream! All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he To die for it! Enter Angelo. Ang. Now, what's the matter, provost? Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order? Why dost thou ask again? Prov. Lest I might be too rash: Under your good correction, I have seen, When, after execution, judgment hath Repented o'er his doom. Ang. Go to; let that be mine: Go to; let that be mine; Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar'd. Prov. I crave your honour's pardon.- What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet She's very near her hour. Ang. Dispose of her To some more fitter place; and that with speed. Re-enter Servant. Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, Desires access to you. Ang. Hath he a sister? Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. ? Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Ex. Serv. See you the fornicatress be remov'd; Let her have needful, but not lavish, means; There shall be order for it. Enter Lucio and Isabella. Prov. Save your honour! [Offering to retire. Ang. Stay a little while.--[To Isab.] You are welcome: What's your will? Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. Ang. Well; what's your suit? Isab. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; 1 Pity. 2 Be assured. Isab. Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedy. Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. Ang. I will not do't. Isab. But can you, if you would? Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse¹ As mine is to him? Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. May call it back again: Well believe this, Isab. Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been so stern- Ang. Pray you, begone. Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. Lucio. Ay, touch him: there's the vein. [Aside Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. Isab. Alas! alas! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once: And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy: How would you be If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made. Ang. Be you content, fair maid: the law, not I, condemns your brother: ere he my kinsman, brother, or my son, should be thus with him ;-He must die to-mor row. Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him: He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens. We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, betnink you: Who is it that hath died for this offence? 3 When in season. SCENE III. 101 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. There's many have committed it. Lucio. Ay, well said. Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, If the first man that did the edict infringe, Had answer'd for his deed: now, 'tis awake; Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils (Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) Are now to have no successive degrees, But, where they live, to end. Isab. Lucio. You had marr'd all else. Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested³ gold, Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, As fancy values them; but with true prayers, That shall be up in heaven, and enter there, Ere sun-rise; prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. Ang. To-morrow. Well; come to me Lucio. Go to: it is well; away. [Aside to Isab Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe! Ang. Yet show some pity. Am that way going to temptation, Where prayers cross. Isab. Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. Amen: for 1 [Aside At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship? Ang. At any time 'fore noon. Isab. Save your honour! [Exe. Luc. Isa. and Pro. From thee; even from thy virtue!- Ang. Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this What's this? what's this? Is this her fault, or mine? sentence: And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. Lucio. That's well said. Isab. Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting' petty officer, Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder.- Merciful heaven! Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, Than the soft myrtle:-0, but man, proud man! Drest in a little brief authority; Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy essence,-like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal. Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent; He's coming, I perceive't. Prov. The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I, That lying by the violet, in the sun, Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be, That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, And pitch our evils there ?5 O, fie, fie, fie! What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully, for those things That make her good? O, let her brother live: Thieves for their robbery have authority, When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her; That I desire to hear her speak again, And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on? O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous Is that temptation, that doth goad us on To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet, With all her double vigour, art, and nature, Pray heaven, she win him! Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Subdues me quite ;-Ever, till now, Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them; When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. But, in less, foul profanation. Lucio. Thou art in the right, girl; more o' that. Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Lucio. Art advis'd o' that? more on't. Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? Isub. Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skims the vice o' the top: Go to your bosom; Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know That's like my brother's fault: if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life. Ang. She speaks, and 'tis Such sense, that my sense breeds with it.--Fare you well. Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. Ang. I will bethink me:--Come again to-morrow. [Exit. SCENE III-A room in a prison. Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. Duke. Hail to you, provost; so, I think you are. Prov. I am the provost: What's your will, good friar? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison: do me the common right To let me see them; and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To them accordingly. Prov. 1 would do more than that, if more were needful. Enter Juliet. Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord, Who falling in the flames of her own youth, Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine, turn back. Ang. How! bribe me? Hath blister'd her report: She is with child; And he that got it, sentenc'd: a young man Than die for this. Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share More fit to do another such offence, with you. 2 Knotted. 1 Paltry. 4 Preserved from the corruption of the world. 3 Attested, stamped. Duke. I When must he diet 5 See 2 Kings, x. 27. 102 ACT II. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Prov. As I do think, to-inorrow. The general subject to a well-wish'd king, I have provided for you; stay awhile. [To Juliet. Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness And you shall be conducted. Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? Juliet. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on. Juliet. I'll gladly learn. Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? Juliet. Yes, as I lov'd the woman that wrong'd him. Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act Was mutually committed? Juliet. Mutually. Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do repent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,- Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not heaven; Showing, we'd not spare' heaven, as we love it, But as we stand in fear,- Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil; And take the shame with joy. Duke. There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, And I am going with instruction to him.- Grace go with you! Benedicite! [Exit. Juliet. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious love, That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror! Prov. 'Tis pity of him. SCENE IV-A room in Angelo's house. Angelo. Enter Isabella. How now, fair maid? Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. Ang. That you might know it, would much bet ter please me, Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. Isab. Even so?-Heaven keep your honour! [Retiring. Ang. Yet may he live a while; and it may be, As long as you, or I: Yet he must die. Isab. Under your sentence? Ang. Yea. Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted, That his soul sicken not. Ang. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made, As to put mettle in restrained means, To make a false one. Isab. "Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. Ang. Say you so? then I shall poze you quickly. Which had you rather, That the most just law Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness, [Exeunt. As she that he hath stain'd? Isab. Sir, believe this, Enter I had rather give my body than my soul. Ang. I talk not of your soul: Our compell'd sins Stand more for number than accompt. Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects: heaven hath my empty words; Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil Of my conception: The state, whereon I studied, Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, Could I, with boot,2 change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form! How often dost thou with thy case,3 thy habit, Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood: Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 'Tis not the devil's crest. Enter Servant. How now, who's there? Serv. Desires access to you. Ang. O heavens! One Isabel, a sister, Teach her the way. [Ex. Serv. Why does my blood thus muster to my heart; Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all the other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive: and even so 1 Spare to offend heaven. 2 Profit. 3 Outside 4 People. Isab. How say you? Ang. Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this ;- I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: Might there not be a charity in sin, To save this brother's life? Isab. Please you to do't. I'll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but charity. Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul, Were equal poize of sin and charity. Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer. Ang. Nay, but hear me: Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so, craftily; and that's not good. Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, When it doth tax itself: as these black masks Proclaim an enshields beauty ten times louder Than beauty could displayed.-But mark me; To be receiv'd plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die. Isab. So. Accountant to the law upon that pain. Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears Isab. True. Ang. Admit no other way to save his life 5 Enshielded, covered. 6 Penalty. SCENE I. 103 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. (As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question, 2) that you, his sister, Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-binding law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else let him suffer; What would you do? Isab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: That is, Were I under the terms of death, The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield My body up to shame. Ang. Then must your brother die. Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were, a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever. Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon, Are of two houses: lawful mercy is Nothing akin to foul redemption. Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a ty- rant, And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we'd have, we speak not what mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. Ang. We are all frail. Isab. 4 we I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't: Or, with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world Sign me a presen pardon for my brother, Aloud, what man thou art. Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i'the state, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle of your own report, And smell of calumny. I have begun; And now I give my sensual race the rein: Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite, Lay by all nicety, and prolixious" blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance: answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I'll prove a tyrant to him: As for you, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. [Exit. Isab. To whom shall I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Either of condemnation or approof! Bidding the law make court'sy to their will; Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, That had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr'd pollution. Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: Else let my brother die, More than our brother is our chastity. I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, If not a feodary, but only he, Owe, and succeed by weakness. 5 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- selves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women!-Help heaven! men their creation mar, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. ACT III. In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail: SCENE I-A room in the prison. Enter Duke, For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. I think it well: ; Ang. And from this testimony of your own sex, (Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold; I do arrest your words; Be that you are, That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; If you be one, (as you are well express'd By all external warrants,) show it now, By putting on the destin❜d livery. Isab. I have no tongue but one, gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me That he shall die for it. Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. Ang. My words express my purpose. Believe me, on mine honour, Isab. Ha! little honour to be much, believ'd, And most pernicious purpose!--Seeming, seeming! 1 Agree to. 2 Conversation. 3 Ignominy. 4 Associate. 5 Own. 6 Impressins. Claudio, and Provost. Duke. So, then, you hope of pardon from lord Angelo? Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, But only hope: I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. Duke. Be absolute 10 for death; either death, or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life, If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, (Servile to all the skiey influences,) That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun, And yet run'st towards him still: Thou art not noble, For all the accommodations that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant: For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm: Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not: 7 Hypocrisy. 8 Attestation. 9 Reluctant 10 Determined. 104 ACT III. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; And what thou hast, forget'st; Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,' After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art poor; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth, nor age; Eut, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg thee alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. Claud. I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find, I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: Let it come on. Enter Isabella. Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company! Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. Duke. Provost, a word with you. Prov. As many as you please. Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be conceal'd, Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort? Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good in- deed; Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:4 Therefore your best appointments make with speed; To-morrow you set on. Claud. Is there no remedy? Isab. None, but such remedy, as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. Claud. But is there any? Isab. Yes, brother, you may live; There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. Claud. Perpetual durance? Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determin'd scope. Claud. But in what nature? Isab. In such a one, as (you consenting to't) Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear And leave you naked. Claud. Let me know the point. Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake Lest thou a feverish life should'st entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar's thou die? 1 Affects, affections. 2 Leprous eruptions. 5 Preparation. 4 Resident. 3 Old age. 6 Vastness of extent. 7 Shut up. The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. Claud. Why give you me this sheme? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. Isab. There spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i'the head, and follies doth enmew, As falcon doth the fowl,-is yet a devil; His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. The princely Angelo? Claud. Isub. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In princely guards! Dost thou think, Claudio,. If i would yield him my virginity, Thou mightest be freed? Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be. Isah. Yes, he would give it thee, from this rank offence, That I should do what I abhor to name, So to offend him still: This night's the time Or else thou diest to-morrow. Claud. Thou shalt not do't. I'd throw it down for your deliverance Isab. O, were it but my life, As frankly as a pin. Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. Claud. Yes.-Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; Or of the deadly seven it is the least. Isab. Which is the least? Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, Why, would he for the momentary trick, Be perdurably 10 fined ?-O, Isabel! Isab. What says my brother! Claud. Death is a fearful thing Isab. And shamed life a hateful. Claud. Ay, but to do die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become JA kneaded cold; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless¹¹ winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those,that lawless and incertain thoughts Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible! The wearied and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment To what we fear of death. Can lay on nature, is a paradise Isab. Alas! alas! Claud. Sweet sister, let me live: What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far, That it becomes a virtue. Isab. O, you beast! 8 Laced robes. 9 Freely. 10 Lastingly. 11 Invisible. SCENE I. 105 MEASURE FOR MEASURE, 0, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is't not a kind of incest, to take life From thine own sister's shame? What should think? Heaven shield, my mother played my father fair! for such a warped slip of wilderness¹ Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance: Die; perish! might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. Isab, O, fie, fie, fie! Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade:3 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: "Tis best thou diest quickly. Claud, I [Going. O hear me, Isabella. Re-enter Duke. Duke. That shall not be much amiss: yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you only.-Therefore, fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your bro- ther from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hear- ing of this business. Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearfu Have not you heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarried at sea? Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; was Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: word. Isab. What is your will? between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of his would by and by have some speech with you: the sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned benefit. Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you a while. brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of her for- tune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combi- nates husband, this well-seeming Angelo. Duke. [To Claudio, aside.] Son, I have over- Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? heard what hath passed between you and your sis- Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of ter. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, only he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour in few, his judgment with the disposition of natures: she, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she having the truth of honour in her, hath made him yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her that gracious denial which he is most glad to re- tears, is washed with them, but relents not. ceive; I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: do not poor maid from the world! What corruption in this satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible: life, that it will let this man live!-But how out of to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and this can she avail? make ready. Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. Duke. Hold you there: farewell. [Ex. Claud. Re-enter Provost. Provost, a word with you. pany. Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. Isab. Show me how, good father. Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection; his unjust un- kindness, that in all reason should have quenched Prov. What's your will, father? her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone: made it more violent and unruly. Go you to An- eave me a while with the maid; my mind promises gelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedi- with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my com- ence; agree with his demands to the point: only refer yourself to this advantage,-first, that your Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. stay with him may not be long; that the time may Duke. The hand that hath make you fair, hath have all shadow and silence in it; and the place made you good: the goodness, that is cheap in answer to convenience: this being granted in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, course, now follows all. We shall advise this being the soul of your complexion, should keep the wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my under- hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense; standing; and, but that frailty hath examples for and here, by this, is your brother saved, your ho his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How would nour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to Isab. I am now going to resolve him: I had carry this as you may, the doubleness of the bene- rather my brother die by the law, than my son fit defends the deceit from reproof. What thinit should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is you of it? the good duke deceived in Angelo! if ever he re- Isab. The image of it gives me content already; turn, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips and, I trust it will grow to a most prosperous per- in vain, or discover his government. 1 Wildness. 2 Refusa. 3 An established habit. 4 Continue in that resolution. fection. Duke. It lies much in your holding up: haste 5 Betrothed. 6 Gave up to her sorrows. 7 Have recourse to. 8 Overreached. 106 ACT III MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ? Procures she still? Ha? Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and you speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat yon to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana; at that she is herself in the tub. place call upon me; and despatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. Isab. I thank you for this comfort: fare you well, good father. [Exeunt severally. Lucio. Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so: ever your fresh whore, and your pow- der'd bawd: an unshunn'd consequence; it must be so: art going to prison, Pompey? Clo. Yes, faith, sir. Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey, farewell; SCENE II.-The street before the prison. Enter Duke, as a friar; to him Elbow, Clown, and go; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? Or how? Officers. Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that Lucio. Well, then, imprison him: if imprison- you will needs buy and sell men and women like ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd- white bastard.2 born. Farewell, good Pompey: commend me to Duke. O, heavens! what stuff is here? the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two now, Pompey; you will keep the house. usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep bail. him warm; and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not too, to signify, that craft, being richer than inno- the wear." I will pray, Pompey, to increase your cency, stands for the facing. Elb. Come your way, sir:-Bless you, good fa- ther friar. Duke. And you, good brother father: What offence hath this man made you, sir? Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have sent to the deputy. Duke. Fie, sirrah; a bawd, a wicked bawd! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live: do thou but think What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,- From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend. Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove- Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer; Correction and instruction must both work, Ere this rude beast will profit. bondage: if you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey.-Bless you, friar. Duke. And you. Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha? Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. Clo. You will not bail me then, sir? Lucio. Then, Pompey? nor now.-What news abroad, friar? what news? Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. Lucio. Go,-to kennel, Pompey, go: [Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers. What news, friar, of the duke? Duke. I know none: can you tell me of any? Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of Rus- sia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you? Duke. I know not where: but wheresoever, I wish him well. Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to't. Duke. He does well in't. Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes friar. before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, Free from our faults, as faults from seeming, free! Enter Lucio. Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord,4 sir. Clo. I spy comfort; I cry, bail: here's a gentle- man, and a friend of mine. Lucio. How now, noble Pompey? What, at the Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well ally'd: but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man and woman, after the downright way of crea- tion: is it true, think you? Duke. How should he be made then? heels of Cæsar? Art thou led in triumph? What, Luci. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him :- is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes: woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the but it is certain, that when he makes water, his pocket, and extracting it clutch'd? What reply ? urine is congeal'd ice; that I know to be true: and Ha? What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and he is a motion ungenerative, that's infallible. method? Is't not drown'd the last rain? Ha? Duke. You are pleasant, sir; and speak apace. What say'st thou, trot? Is the world as it was, Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away words? Or how? The trick of it? Duke. Still thus, and thus! still worse! 1 A solitary farm-house. 3 For a Spanish padlock. ? A sweet wine. 4 Tied like your waist with a rope. the life of a man? Would the duke, that is absent, have done this? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have 5 Powdering tub. 7 Fashion. 6 Stay at home. 8 Puppet. SCENE II. 107 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feel- ing of the sport; he knew the service, and that in- structed him to mercy. Duke. I never heard the absent duke much de- tected' for women; he was not inclined that way. Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. Duke. 'Tis not possible. Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty;-and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack- dish: the duke had crotchets in him: he would be drunk too; that let me inform you. Duke. You do him wrong, surely. Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his: a shy fellow was the duke: and, I believe, I know the cause of his withdrawing. Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause? Lucio. No,-pardon;-'tis a secret must be lock'd within the teeth and the lips; but this I can let you understand,-The greater file2 of the sub- ject held the duke to be wise. Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes: What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? But who comes here? Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. Escal. Go, away with her to prison. Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me; your ho- nour is accounted a merciful man: good my lord. Escal, Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit" in the same kind? This would make mercy swear, and play the tyrant. it Prov. A bawd of eleven years continuance, may please your honour. Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me: mistress Kate Keep-down was with child by him in the duke's time, he promised her marriage; his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me. Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much license: -let him be called before us.-Away with her to Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- prison: Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and taking; the very stream of his life, and the business Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, alter'd, Claudio must die to-morrow; let him be give him a better proclamation. Let him be but furnished with divines, and have all charitable pre- testimonied in his own bringings forth, and he shall paration: if my brother wrought by my pity, it appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and should not be so with him. a soldier: therefore, you speak unskilfully; or, if your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. Escal. Good even, good father. Duke. Bliss and goodness on you! Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and Escal. Of whence are you? knowledge with dearer love. Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return (as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make your answer before him: if it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name? Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke. Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. Lucio. I fear you not. Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, indeed, I can do you little harm: you'll forswear this again. if Lucio. I'll be hang'd first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this: can'st thou tell, Claudio die to-morrow, or no? Duke. Why should he die, sir? Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the see, In special business from his holiness. Escal. What news abroad i' the world? Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it; novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be constant in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive, to make societies secure; but security enough, to make fellowships accurs'd: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke? Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, contend- ed especially to know himself. I Duke. What pleasure was he given to? Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which profess'd to make him rejoice; a gentleman of all temperance. But Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again: prove prosperous: and let me desire to know how this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province you ind Claudio prepared. I am made to under- with continency; sparrows must not build in his stand, that you have lent him visitation. house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke Duke. He professes to have received no sinister yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd; he measures from his judge, but most willingly hum- would never bring them to light: would he were bles himself to the determination of justice: yet return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I pr'ythee, pray frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I. for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat by my good leisure, have discredited to him, and mutton on Fridays. He's now past it; yet, and I now is he resolved to die. say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, she smelt brown bread and garlic: say, that I said and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I [Exit. have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex- 7 Transgress 30. Farewell. 1 Suspected. 3 Inconsiderate. 2 The majority of his subjects. 6 Have a wench. 4 Guided. 5 Opponent. 8 Satisfied. 108 ACT IV. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. tremest shore of my modesty; but my brother jus-is come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me a little; may be, I will call upon you anon, for some to tell him, he is indeed-justice. advantage to yourself. Duke. If his own life answers the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein, if ne chance to fail, he hath sentenc'd himself. Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner: Fare you well. Duke. Peace be with you! [Exeunt Escalus and Provost. He, who the sword of heaven will bear, Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying, Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him, whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice, and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness,' made2 in crimes, Making practice on the times, Draw with idle spiders' strings Most pond'rous and substantial things! Craft against vice I must apply: With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed, but despis'd; So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. ACT IV. [Exit. SCENE I-A room in Mariana's house. Mari- ana discovered sitting; a Boy singing. SONG. Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, bring again, seal'd in vain. Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away. Here come's a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.- Enter Duke. [Exit Boy. I cry you mercy, sir, and well could wish You had not found me here so musical: Let me excuse me, and believe me so,- My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my wo. Duke. "Tis good: though music oft hath such a charm, To make bad, good, and good provoke to harm. I pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promis'd here to meet. Mari. You have not been inquired after: I have sat here all day. Enter Isabella. [Exit. Mari. 1 am always bound to you. Duke. Very well met, and welcome. What is the news from this good deputy? Isab. He hath a garden circummur'ds with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key: This other doth command a little door, Which from the vineyard to the garden leads; There have I made my promise to call on him, Upon the heavy middle of the night. Duke. I do constantly believe you :-The time 1 Appearance. 3 Walled round. 5 Informed. 2 Trained. 4 Planked, wooden. 6 Waits. Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this way? Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't; With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o'er. Duke. Are there no other tokens Between you 'greed, concerning her observance Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark; And that I have possess'd' him, my most stay Can be but brief: for I have made him know, I have a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me; whose persuasion is, I come about my brother. Duke. "Tis well borne up. I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this:-What, ho! within! come forth. Re-enter Mariana. I pray you, be acquainted with this maid; She comes to do you good. Isab. I do desire the like. Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? Mari. Good friar, I know you do; and have found it. Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand, Who hath a story ready for your ear: I shall attend your leisure; but make haste; The vaporous night approaches. Mari. Will't please you walk aside? [Exeunt Mariana and isabella. Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report Run with these false and most contrarious quests? Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapess of wit Make thee the father of their idle dream, And rack thee in their fancies!--Welcome! How agreed? Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it. Duke. It is not my consent, But my entreaty, too. Isab. Little have you to say, When you depart from him, but, soft and low, Remember now my brother. Mari. Fear me not. Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all: He is your husband on a pre-contract: To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin; Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish10 the deceit. Come, let us go; 7 Inquisitions, inquiries. 8 Sallies. 9 Since. 10 Gild or varnish over. SCENE II. 109 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's¹ to sow. One has my pity: not a jot the other, [Exeunt. Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Enter Claudio. SCENE II-A room in the prison. Enter Provost and Clown. Prov. Come hither, sirrah: can you cut off man's head? a Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless la- bour, Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can: but if he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I When it lies starkly" in the traveller's bones: can never cut off a woman's head. He will not wake. [Knocking within. Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and Prov. Who can do good on him? yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning Well, go prepare yourself. But hark, what noise? are to die Claudio and Barnardine: here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office Heaven give your spirits comfort! [Exit Claudio. lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist By and by :--- him, it shall redeem you from your gyves;2 if not, I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve, you shall have your full time of imprisonment, and For the most gentle Claudio.-Welcome, father. your deliverance with an unpitied whipping; for you have been a notorious bawd. Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out of mind; but yet I will be content to be a law- ful hangman. I would be glad to receive some in- struction from my fellow partner. Prov. What ho, Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there? Enter Abhorson. Abhor. Do you call, sir? Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- morrow in your execution: if you think him meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you: if not, use him for the present, and dismiss him he cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd. Enter Duke. Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the Envelop you, good provost! Who call'd here of late? night Prov. None, since the curfew rung. Duke. Prov. No. Duke. Not Isabel? They will then, ere't be long. Prov. What comfort is for Claudio? Duke. There's some in hope. Prov. It is a bitter deputy. Duke. Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself, which he spurs on his power To qualify in others: were he meal'd With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather But this being so, he's just.-Now are they come.- [Knocking within-Provost goes out. Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him, he will dis- credit our mystery.3 will turn the scale. [Exit. Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour (for, surely, This is a gentle provosť: Seldom, when sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a How now? What noise? That spirit's possess'd mystery? Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- tery; and your whores, sir, being members of my .occupation, using painting, do prove my occupa- tion a mystery: but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. Clo. Proof. Abhor. Every trues man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's apparel fits your thief. Re-enter Provost. Prov. Are you agreed? with haste, That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. Prov. There he must stay, until the officer Arise to let him in; he is call'd up. Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow? Prov. None, sir, none. You shall hear more ere morning. Duke. As near the dawning, Provost, as it is, Prov. Happily, 10 You something know; yet, I believe, there comes No countermand; no such example have we: Besides, upon the very siege¹¹ of justice, Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Clo. Sir, I will serve him; for I do find, your Profess'd the contrary. hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe, to-morrow four o'clock. Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow. Enter a Messenger. Duke. This is his lordship's man. Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. Mess. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this further charge, that you swerve not from Clo. I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, have occasion to use me for your own turn, you nor other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I shall find me yare: for, truly, sir, for your kind- take it, it is almost day. ness, I owe you a good turn. Prov. Call hither, Barnardine and Claudio: [Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. 1 Tilth, land prepared for sowing. 2 Fetters. 4 Countenance. 3 Trade. 5 Honest Prov. I shall obey him. Duke. This is his pardon; sin, 6 Ready. 7 Stiffly. 9 Defiled. 10 Perhaps. [Exit Messenger. purchased by such [Aside. 8 Moderate. 11 Seat. 8 110 ACT IV MEASURE FOR MEASURE. For which the pardoner himself is in: When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, Hence hath offence his quick celerity, When it is borne in high authority: Duke. O, death's a great disguiser: and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death; you know, the course is That for the fault's love, is the offender friended.-common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more Now, sir what news? than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom Prov. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike, thinking I profess, I will plead against it with my life. me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- Prov. Pardon me, good father; it is against my wonted putting on:1 methinks, strangely; for he oath. hath not used it before. Duke. Pray you, let's hear. Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and, in the afternoon, Barnardine: for my better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let this be duly performed; with a thought, that more depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, as you will answer at your peril. What say you to this, sir? Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be executed in the afternoon? Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy? Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. Duke. You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? Prov. But what likelihood is in that? Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, in- tegrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is not strange to you. Prov. I know them both. Prov. A Bohemian born; but here nursed up and bred: one that is a prisoner nine years old.2 Duke. The contents of this is the return of the Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had duke; you shall anon over-read it at your plea- not either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed sure; where you shall find, within these two days him? I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. he will be here. This is a thing, that Angelo Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for knows not: for he this very day receives letters of him: and, indeed, his fact, till now in the govern-strange tenor; perchance, of the duke's death; ment of lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful perchance, entering into some monastery; but, by proof. Duke. Is it now apparent? Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? How seems he to be touch'd? chance, nothing of what is writ.-Look, the un- folding star calls up the shepherd: put not your self into amazement, how these things should be: all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's Prov. A man that apprehends death no more head: I will give him a present shrift, and advise dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reck-him for a better place. Yet you are amazed; but less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it come; insensible of mortality, and desperately is almost clear dawn. mortal. Duke. He wants advice. Prov. He will hear none: he hath evermore had not mov'd him at all. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Another room in the same. Enter Clown. the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if house of profession: one would think, it were mis- not many days entirely drunk. We have very tress Over-done's own house, for here be many of often awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, her old customers. First, here's young master Rash;" and show'd him a seeming warrant for it: it hath he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old Duke. More of him anon. There is written in he made five marks, ready money: marry, then, ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: If I ginger was not much in request, for the old women read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; were all dead. Then is there here one master Ca- but in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay my-per, at the suit of master Three-pile the mercer, for self in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a some four suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young than Angelo who hath sentenced him: to make Dizy, and young master Deep-vow, and master you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave Copper-spur, and master Starve-lackey the rapie but four days respite; for the which you are to do and dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that kill' me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Prov. Pray, sir, in what? Duke. In the delaying death. Prov. Alack! how may I do it? having the hour limited; and an express command, under pe- nalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my cas. as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, if my instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head be borne to Angelo. Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will cover the favour.3 lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the tilter, and brave master Shoe-tie the great traveller, and wild more; all great doers r our trade, and are nex Half-cann that stabb'd Pots, and, I think, forty for the Lord's sake. Enter Abhorson. Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. Clo. Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hang'd, master Barnardine. Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine! dis-pakes that noise there? What are you? Barnar. [Within.] A pox o' your throats! What 1 Spur, incitement. Nine years in prison. Clo. Your friends, sir; the hangman: you must 3 Countenance. SCENE III. 111 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. be so good sir as to rise and be put to death. Barnar. [Within.] Away, you rogue, away; am sleepy. Both Barnardine and Claudio: Ere twice IThe sun hath made his journal greeting to The under generation, you shall find Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quick-Your safety manifested. y, too. Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. Abhor. Go into him and fetch him out. Prov. I am your free dependant. Duke. Quick, despatch, And send the head to Angelo. Now will I write letters to Angelo,- [Exit Provost, Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his The provost, he shall bear them,-whose contents straw rustle. Enter Barnardine. Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? Clo. Very ready, sir. Barnar. How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you? Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night, I am not fitted for't. Shall witness to him, I am near at home; And that, by great injunctions, I am bound To enter publicly: him I'll desire To meet me at the consecrated fount, A league below the city; and from thence, By cold gradation and weal-balanced form, We shall proceed with Angelo. Re-enter Provost. Prov. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. Duke. Convenient is it: Make a swift return; Clo. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, For I would commune with you of such things, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the That want no ear but yours. sounder all the next day. I'll make all speed. [Exit. Isab. [Within.] Peace, ho, be here! Duke. The tongue of Isabel :-She's come to know, Enter Duke. Alhor. ck you, sir, here comes your ghostly father; do we jest now, think you? Prov. Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise But I will keep her ignorant of her good, you, comfort you, and pray with you. To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected. Barnar. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not consent to die this day, that's certain. Duke. O, sir, you must: and therefore, I be- seech you, Look forward on the journey you shall go. Enter Isabella. Isab. Ho, by your leave. Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? man's persuasion. Duke. But hear you,- Barnar. Not a word; if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day. [Exit. Enter Provost. Duke. Unfit to live, or die: O, gravel heart!- After him, fellows; bring him to the block. [Exeunt Abhorson and Clown. Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death; And, to transport him in the mind he is, Were damnable. Prov. Here in the prison, father, There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudio's years; his beard, and head, Just of his colour: What if we do omit This reprobate, till he were well inclin'd; And satisfy the deputy with the visage. Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? Duke. 0, 'tis an accident that Heaven provides! Despatch it presently; the hour draws on Prefix'd by Angelo: See, this be done, And sent according to command; whiles I Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. But Barnardine must die this afternoon: And how shall we continue Claudio, To save me from the danger that might come, If he were known alive? Duke. Let this be done ;-Put them in secret holds, 1 The antipodes. 2 Your heart's desire. Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the world; His head is off, and sent to Angelo. Isab. Nay, but it is not so. Duke. It is no other: Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close pa. tience. Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. Isab. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! Injurious world! Most damned Angelo! Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot Forbear it therefore; give your cause to Heaven. Mark what I say; which you shall find, By every syllable, a faithful verity: The duke comes home to-morrow;-nay, dry your eyes; One of our convent, and his confessor, Gives me this instance: Already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo; Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it go; And you shall have your bosom² on this wretch, Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart.. And general honour. Isab. I am directed by you. Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give, 'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return: Say, by this token, I desire his company At Mariana's house to night. Her cause, and your I'll perfect him withal; and he shall bring you Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self 112 ACT V. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. I am combined by a sacred vow, And shall be absent. Wend' you with this letter: Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course.-Who's here? Lucio. Enter Lucio. Friar, where is the provost? Duke. Good even! Not within, sir. The law against it!-But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me? Yet reason dares her?-no: For my authority bears a credent' bulk, That no particular scandal once can touch, But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, By so receiving a dishonour'd life, With ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had liv'd! [Exit. Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, to see thine eyes so red: thou must be pa- tient: I am fain to dine and sup with water and Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one Nothing goes right; we would and we would not. fruitful meal would set me to't: But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother: if the old fantastical' duke of SCENE V.-Fields without the town. Enter dark corners had been at home, he had lived. Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden [Giving letters. to your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them. The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, as I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest And hold you ever to our special drift; him for. Exit Isabella. Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. ye well. Fare Lucio. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. al Duke. You have told me too many of him ready,, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough. Though sometimes you do blench" from this to that As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house, And tell him where I stay: give the like notice, ITo Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; But send me Flavius first. F. Peter. Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wench with child. Duke. Did you such a thing? It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar. Enter Varrius. Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste; Lucio. Yes, marry, did I: but was fain to for- Come, we will walk': There's other of our friends swear it; they would else have married me to the Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exe. rotten medlar. Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest: SCENE VI.-Street near the city gate. Enter Rest you well. Isabella and Mariana. Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end: If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have, Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath; very little of it: Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, That is your part: yet I am advis❜d to do it ; I I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, shall stick. [Exeunt. He says, to veil fulls purpose. SCENE IV.-A room in Angelo's house. Enter Mari. Be rul'd by him. Angelo and Escalus. Isab. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventure should not think it strange: for 'tis a physic, He speak against me on the adverse side, Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath dis-I vouch'd2 other. Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray Heaven, his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there? Escal. I guess not. That's bitter to sweet end. Mari. I would, friar Peter,- Isab. O, peace; the friar is come. Enter Friar Peter. F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand most fit. Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that if any crave redress of injus- Where you may have such vantage on the duke, tice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street? He shall not pass you: Twice have the trumpets Escal. He shows his reason for that: to have a sounded; despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from The generous 10 and gravest citizens devices hereafter, which shall then have no power Have hent the gates, and very near upon to stand against us. The duke is ent'ring; therefore hence, away. [Exe. Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd: Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house: Give notice to such men of sort and suit,3 As are to meet him. Escal. I shall, sir: fare you well. Ang. Good night.- ACT V. [Exit. SCENE I.-A public place near the city gate. Mariana (veiled,) Isabella, and Peter, at a dis tance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrius, Lords; Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Off- cers, and Citizens. This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- nant, And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid! And by an eminent body, that enforc'd 1 Go. 2 Contradicted. 3 Figure and rank. 4 Calls, challenges her to do it. 5 Credit unquestionable. 6 Utterer. Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met:-- 7 Start off. 10 Most noble. 8 Availful. 9 Advantage. 11 Seized. SCENE I. 113 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. In all his dressings, 2 characts, titles, forms, Ang. & Escal. Happy return be to your royal Be an arch-villain: believe it, royal prince, grace! If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Had I more name for badness. Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital. Ang. You make my bonds still greater. Duke. O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it, To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, When it deserves with characters of brass A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time, And razure of oblivion: Give me your hand, And let the subject see, to make them know That outward courtesies would fain proclaim Favours that keep within.-Come, Escalus; You must walk by us on our other hand ;- And good supporters are you. Friar Peter and Isabella come forward. F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel before him. Isab. Justice, O, royal duke! Vail' your regard Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid! O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye By throwing it on any other object, Till you have heard me in my true complaint, And give me, justice, justice, justice, justice! Duke. Relate your wrongs: In what? By whom? Be brief: Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice; Reveal yourself to him. Isab. O, worthy duke, You bid me seek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak Must either punish me, not being belier'd, Or wring redress from you: hear me, O, hear me, here. Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, Cut off by course of justice. Isab. By course of justice! Ang. And she will speak most bitterly, and strange. Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak: That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange? That Angelo's a murderer; is't not strange? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, A hypocrite, a virgin-violator; Is it not strange, and strange? Duke. Duke. By mine honesty, If she be mad, (as I believe no other,) Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness. Isab. O, gracious duke, Harp not on that; nor do not banish reason For inequality: but let your reason serve To make the truth appear, where it seems hid; And hide the false, seems true. Duke. Many that are not mad, Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication To lose his head: condemn'd by Angelo: I, in probation of a sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother. One Lucio As then the messenger;- Lucio. That's I, an' like your grace; I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, For her poor brother's pardon. Isab. That's he indeed. Duke. You were not bid to speak. Lucio. Nor wish'd to hold my peace. Duke. No, my good lord; I wish you now, then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then Be perfect.. Lucio. I warrant your honour. Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to it Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. Lucio. Right. To speak before your time.-Proceed. Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong Isab. I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy. Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. Isab. Pardon it. The phrase is to the matter. Duke. Mended again: the matter:-Proceed. Isab. In brief,-to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd³ me, and how I reply'd; (For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body Nay, ten times strange. To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, Than this is all as true as it is strange: Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth To the end of reckoning, Duke. Away with her:-Poor soul, She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madness: make not im- possible That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impos- sible. But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, As Angelo; even so may Angelo, 1 Lower. 2 Habits and characters of office. 3 Refuted. 4 Pity. 5 Foolish. Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorse4 confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes, For my poor brother's head. His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant Duke. This is most likely! Isab. O, that it were as like, as it is true! Duke. By heaven, fonds wretch, thou know'st Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour, not what thou speak'st; Stands without blemish: next, it imports no reason, In hateful practice:-First, his integrity That with such vehemency he should pursue He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on? 6 Conspiracy. 114 ACT V MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Duke. Mari. Are you a maid? No, my lord. And is this all? Duke. A widow then? Mari. Neither, my lord, Why, you Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou cam'st here to complain. Isab. Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance !-Heaven shield your grace from WO, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone:-An officer! To prison with her ;-Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. Duke. A ghostly father, belike:-Who knows that Lodowick? Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar; I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord, For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swing'd' him soundly. Duke. Words against me? This' a good friar, belike! And to set on this wretched woman here Against our substitute?-Let this friar be found. Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, A very scurvy fellow. F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute; Who is as free from touch or soil with her, As she from one ungot. Duke. We did believe no less. Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. Lucio. My lord, most villanously; believe it. F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear himself; But at this instant he is sick, my lord, Of a strange fever: Upon his mere2 request (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither, To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true, and false; and what he with his oath, And all probation, will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman (To justify this worthy nobleman, So vulgarly and personally accus'd,) Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Till she herself confess it. Duke. Duke. Are nothing then:-Neither maid, widow, nor wife! Lucio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had some cause To prattle for himself. Lucio. Well, my lord. Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married; And, I confess, besides, I am no maid: have known my husband; yet my husband knows I not, That ever he knew me. Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no better. Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert So, too. Lucio. Well, my lord. Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. Mari. Now I come to't, my lord: She, that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband; And charges him, my lord, with such a time, When I'll depose I had him in mine arms, With all the effect of love. Ang. Charges she more than me? Mari. Not that I know. Duke. No? you say, your husband. Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. Ang. This is a strange abuse: '-Let's see thy face. Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask, [Unveiling. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the look- ing on : This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house, In her imagin'd person. Duke. Know you this woman? Lucio. Carnally, she says.. Duke. Lucio. Enough, my lord. Sirrah, no more. Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this wo- man; And, five years since, there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, Partly, for that her promised proportions Came short of composition; but, in chief, and In levity: since which time of five years, For that her reputation was disvalued Good friar, let's hear it. [Isabella is carried off, guarded; Mariana comes forward. Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo?- O heaven! the vanity of wretched fools!- Give us some seats.-Come, cousin Angelo; In this I'll be impartial; be you judge Of your own cause.-Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face; and, after speak. Mari. Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face, Until my husband bid me. Duke. Mari. No, my lord. 1 Beat. 4 Publicly. What, are you married? 2 Simple. 3 Convened. I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her Upon my faith and honour. Mari. Noble prince. As there comes light from heaven, and words from breath, As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly As words could make up vows: and, my good lord. But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house, He knew me as a wife: As this is true Let me in safety raise me from my knees; 5 Deception. 6 Her fortune fell short. SCENE I. 115 MEASURE FOR MEASURE.. Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument! Ang. I did but smile till now; Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive, These poor informal' women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member, That sets them on: Let me have way, my lord, To find this practice out. Duke. Ay, with my heart; And punish them unto your height of pleasure. Thou foolish friar; and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou, thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, Were testimonies against his worth and credit, That's sealed in approbation?-You, lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd.- There is another friar that set them on; Let him be sent for. Escal. How! know you where you are? Duke. Respect to your great place! and let the devil Be some time honour'd for his burning throne :- Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. Escal. The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak: Look, you speak justly. Duke. Boldly, at least:-But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust Thus to retort your manifest appeal, And put your trial in the villain's mouth, Which here you come to accuse. Lucio. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar! Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women To accuse this worthy man; but, in foul mouth, And in the witness of his proper ear, Te call him villain? F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, And then to glance from him to the duke himself; indeed, Hath set the women on to this complaint: Your provost knows the place where he abides, And he may fetch him. Duke. Go, do it instantly.- [Exit Provost. And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best, In any chastisement: I for a while To tax him with injustice ?-Take him hence; To the rack with him:-We'll touze you joint by joint, But we will know this purpose:--What! unjust? Duke. Be not so hot; the duke Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he Dare rack his own; his subject am I not, Nor here provincial: My business in this state Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, Will leave you; but stir not you, till you have Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, well Determined upon these slanderers. Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly.-[Exit Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person? Lucio. Cucullus non facit monachum: honest in nothing, but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he come, and enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a notable fellow. Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again; [To an attendant.] I would speak with her: Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall see how I'll handle her. Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. Escal. Say you? Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would sooner confess; perchance, publicly she'll be ashamed. Till it o'er-run the stew: laws, for all faults; But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, As much in mock as mark. Escal. Slander to the state! Away with him to prison. Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior Lucio? Is this the man that you did tell us of? Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord.--Come hither, goodman bald-pate: Do you know me? Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke. Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke? Duke. Most notedly, sir. Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a flesh- monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be? Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me. ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke Re-enter Officers, with Isabella; the Duke, in the so of him; and much more, much worse. friar's habit, and Provost. Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. Lucio. That's the way; for women are light at midnight. Lucio. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose, for thy speeches? Duke. I protest I love the duke, as I love myself. Ang. Hark! how the villain would close now. after his treasonable abuses. Escal. Come on mistress: [To Isabella.] here's Escal. Such a fellow is n t to be talk'd withal:-- a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. Away with him to prison:-Where is the provost? Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke Away with him to prison; lay bolts enough upon of; here, with the provost. Escal. In very good time:-speak not you him, till we call upon you. Lucio. Mum. him; let him speak no more. Away with those to giglots too, and with the other confederate com- panion. [The Provost lays hands on the Duke. Duke. Stay, sir; stay a while. Escal. Come, sir: Did you set these women on to slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you did. Duke. "Tis false. i Crazy. 2 Conspiracy. Ang. What! resists he? Help him, Lu:io. Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir: Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal! you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage. 3 To the end. 4 Refer back. 5 Accountable. 6 Wantons. 116 ACT V MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Pulls off the friar's hood, and discovers, The very mercy of the law cries out the Duke. Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a duke.- with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, |Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, and be hang'd an hour! Will't not off? Thereon dependant, for your brother's life,) Most audible, even from his proper' tongue, An Angelo for Claudio, death for death. Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested: Which though thou would'st deny, denies thec vantage: First, provost, let me bail these gentle three:- Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio.] for the friar and you Must have a word anon :-lay hold on him. Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon; sit you down. To Escalus. We'll borrow place of him :-Sir, by your leave: [To Angelo. Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, That yet can do thee office? If thou hast, Rely upon it till my tale be heard, And hold no longer out. Ang. O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive, your grace, like power divine, Hath look'd upon my passes: Then, good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confession; Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, Is all the grace I beg. Duke. Come hither, Mariana :- Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? Ang. I was, my lord. Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her in- stantly.- Do you the office, friar; which consummate, Return him here again:-Go with him, provost. [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Escal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dis- honour, Than at the strangeness of it. Duke. Come hither, Isabel: Your friar is now your prince: As I was then Advértising, and holy to your business, Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. Isab. O, give me pardon, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty. Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel: And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself, Labouring to save his life; and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power, Than let him so be lost: 0, most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose: But, peace be with him! That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort, So happy is your brother. Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. Isab. I do, my lord. Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well-defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudg'd your brother (Being criminal, in double violation 1 Service. 4 Attentive. 2 Devices. 3 Following. 5 Angelo's own tongue. We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste;- Away with him. Mari. O, my most gracious lord, hope you will not mock me with a husband! Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a husband: I Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life, And choke your good to come: for his possessions, Although by confiscation they are ours, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. Mari. O, my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive. Mari. Gentle my liege,-- [Kneeling. Duke. You do but lose your labour: Away with him to death.-Now, sir, [To Lucio.] to you. Mari. O, my good lord!-Sweet Isabel, tak my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you, all my life to do you service. Duke. Against all sense do you impórtune her: Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. Mari. Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad: so may my husband. O, Isabel! will you not lend a knee? Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, As if my brother liv'd: I partly think, A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me; since it is so, Let him not die: My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died: For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects, Intents but merely thoughts. Mari. Merely, my lord. Duke. Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.- I have bethought me of another fault:- Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? Prov. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed Prov. No, my good lord; it was by private mes Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office sage. 6 Reason and affection. SCENE I. 117 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Give up your keys. Prov. Pardon me, noble lord: I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me, after more advice:¹ For testimony whereof, one in the prison That should by private order else have died I have reserv'd alive. What's he? Duke. Prov. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio.- Go, fetch him hither; let me look upon him. Exit Provost. Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. Ang. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure : And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, That I crave death more willingly than mercy: 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 1 Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore! Your highness said even now, made you a duke: good my lord, do not recom- pense me, in making me a cuckold. Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her, Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits:-Take him to prison: And see our pleasure herein executed. Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it.- She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.-- Joy to you, Mariana !--love her, Angelo; I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue.- Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: There's more behind, that is more gratulate. Thanks, provost, for thy care, and secrecy; We shall employ thee in a worthier place:- Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's; Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, and Juliet. The offence pardons itself.-Dear Isabel, Duke. Which is that Barnardine? Prov. This, my lord. Duke. There was a friar told me of this man :- Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no further than this world, And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd; But, for those early faults, I quit them all; And pray thee, take this mercy to provide For better times to come:- -Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand.-What muffled fellow's that? Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd, That should have died when Claudio lost his head; That should have died when Claudio lost his head: As like almost to Claudio, as himself. [Unmuffles Claudio. Duke. If he be like your brother, [To Isabella.] for his sake Is he pardon'd; And, for your lovely sake, Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, He is my brother too: But fitter time for that. By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe: Methinks, I see a quickening in his eye :- Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well: Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth yours.- I find an apt remission in myself: And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon; You, sirrah, [To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, a coward, One all of luxury,3 an ass, a madman; Wherein have I so deserv'd of you, That you extol me thus? Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick:4 If you will hang me for it, you may, but I had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd. Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after.- Proclaim it, provost, round about the city; If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one Whom he begot with child,) let her appear, And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, 1 Consideration. 2 Requites. 3 Incontinence. 4 Thoughtless practice. I I have a motion much imports your good; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine:- So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. [Exeunt. The novel of Giraldi Cinthio, from which Shak- speare is supposed to have borrowed this fable, may be read in Shakspeare Illustrated, elegantly quirer to discover how much absurdity Shakspeare translated, with remarks which will assist the in- has admitted or avoided. modelled the novel of Cinthio, or written a story I cannot but suspect that some other had new- which in some particulars resembled it, and that Cinthio was not the author whom Shakspeare im- mediately followed. The emperor in Cinthio is named Maximine: the duke, in Shakspeare's enu- meration of the persons of the drama, is called Vin- centio. This appears a very slight remark; but mentioned but by his title, why should he be called since the duke has no name in the play, nor is ever Vincentio among the persons, but because the name was copied from the story, and placed superflu- ously at the head of the list, by the mere habit of transcription? It is therefore likely that there was then a story of Vincentio duke of Vienna, different from that of Maximine emperor of the Romans. Of this play, the light or comic part is very natu- sages be excepted, have more labour than elegance. ral and pleasing, but the grave scenes, if a few pas- The plot is rather intricate than artful. The time of the action is indefinite: some time, we know not how much, must have elapsed between the recess of the duke and the imprisonment of Claudio; for he must have learned the story of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated his power to a man al- ready known to be corrupted. The unities of action. and place are sufficiently preserved. JOHNSON. 5 Punishments. 6 To reward. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. Don John, his bastard brother. PERSONS REPRESENTED. A Sexton. A Friar. Claudio, a young lord of Florence, favourite to A Boy. Don Pedro. Benedick, a young lord of Padua, favourite like- Hero, daughter to Leonato. wise of Don Pedro. Leonato, governor of Messina. Antonio, his brother. Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. Conrade, Dogberry, Beatrice, niece to Leonato. Margaret, gentlewomen attending on Herv. Messengers, watch, and attendants. Scene, Messina. Borachio, followers of Don John. Verges, two foolish officers. ACT I. SCENE I-Before Leonato's house. Enter Leo- nato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a Mes- I senger. Leonato. LEARN in this letter, that Don Pedro of gon, comes this night to Messina. Mess. O, he is returned; and as pleasant as ever he was. Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and challenged Cupid at the flight:3 and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.--I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I pro- Arra-mised to eat all of his killing. Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick toc Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio. Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars. Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath an excellent stomach. Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. Beat. And a good soldier to a lady;-But what is he to a lord? Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed remembered by Don Pedro: he hath borne him- with all honourable virtues. self beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion': he hath, in- man: but for the stuffing-Well, we are all mortal. deed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how. Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it. Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece: there is a kind of merry war betwixt signor Bene- dick and her: they never meet, but there is a skir- mish of wit between them. Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last there appears much joy in him; even so much, conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and that joy could not show itself modest enough, with- now is the whole man governed with one: so that out a badge of bitterness. Leon. Did he break out into tears? Mess. In great measure.2 if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse: for it is all the weaith that he hath left Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: There are to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his no faces truer than those that are so washed. How companion now? He hath every month a new much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at sworn brother. weeping? Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned from the wars, or no? Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was none such in the army of any sort. Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? Mess. Is it possible? Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the next block." Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books. Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Beat. No: an he were, I would burn my study. Padua. 1 Kind. 2 Abundance. S At long lengths. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there ne Even. 5 A cuckold. 6 Mould for a hat. SCENE L 119 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. young squarer' now, that will make a voyage with heartily prays some occasion may detain us longer: him to the devil? I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his Mess. He is most in the company of the right heart. noble Claudio. Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be Beat. O Lord! he will hang upon him like a dis- forsworn.-Let me bid you welcome, my lord: ease: he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble you all duty. Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. Beat. Do, good friend. Leon. You will never run mad, niece. Beat. No, not till a hot January. Mess. Don Pedro is approached. Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar, and others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedick. D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. D. John. I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank you. Leon. Please it your grace lead on? D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go to- gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of signior Leonato Bene. I noted her not; but I looked on her. Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a pro- fessed tyrant to their sex? Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judg- Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone, com-ment. fort should remain; but, when you depart from Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for a me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too lit- D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too wil-tle for a great praise: only this commendation I can lingly.-I think, this is your daughter. afford her; that were she other than she is, she were Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her? not like her. Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child. D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself:-Be happy, lady! for you are like an honourable father. Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina, as like him as she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior Benedick; no body marks you. Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet living? thee tell me truly how thou likest her? Claud. Thou thinkest, I am in sport; I pray Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after her? Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this with a sad brow? or do you play the flout- ing jack; to tell us Cupid is a good harc-finder, and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall man take you, to go in the song? a Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that ever I looked on. Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while no such matter: there's her cousin, an she were not she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Bene-possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in dick? Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem- you come in her presence. ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn hus- band; have you? Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat :--But it is certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart that I had not A hard heart; for, truly, I love none. Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith? Hath not the Beat. A dear happiness to women; they would world one man, but he will wear his cap with else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I suspicion? Shall I never see a bachelor of three- thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your hu-score again? Go to, i'faith; an thou wilt needs mour for that; I had rather hear my dog bark at thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, a crow, than a man swear he loves me. and sigh away Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is re- Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind! turned to seek you. so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predesti- nate scratched face. Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such a face as yours were. Re-enter Don Pedro. D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that you followed not to Leonato's ? Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast to tell. of yours. Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance.. tongue; and so good a continuer: But keep your as a dumb man, I would have you think so; but on Bene. You hear, count Claudio: I can be secret way o' God's name; I have done. Beat, You always end with a jade's trick; I know He is in love. With who?-now that is your grace's my allegiance,-mark you this, on my allegiance:- you of old. D. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Leonato,-Leonato's short daughter. signior Claudio, and signior Benedick,-my dear friend Leonato, hath invited you all. I tell him, we part.-Mark, how short his answer is:-With Hero, Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: it is not so, nor hall stay here at the least a month; and he 'twas not so; but, indeed, God forbid it should be so. 1 Quarrelsome fellow. 2 Trust. Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it should be otherwisc. 120 ACT I. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy. Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine. Claud. That I love her, I feel. D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake. D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty. Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his will. D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach; teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn Any hard lesson that may do thee good. Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir: Dost thou affect her, Claudio? Claud. O, my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, That liked, but had a rougher task in hand Than to drive liking to the name of love: But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, that she brought me up, I likewise give her most And tire the hearer with a book of words: humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat' If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle2 in an And I will break with her, and with her father, invisible baldric, all women shall pardon me. Be- And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end, cause I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, That thou began'st to twist so fine a story? I will do myself the right to trust none; and the Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, fine is (for the which I may go the finer,) I will That know love's grief by his complexion! live a bachelor. But lest my liking might too sudden seem, would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than the flood? D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale I with love. Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hun- ger, my lord: not with love: prove, that ever I The fairest grant is the necessity: lose more blood with love, than I will get again Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, thou lov'st; with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad- And I will fit thee with the remedy. maker's pen, and hang me up at the door of a I know, we shall have revelling to-night; brothel-house, for the sign of blind Cupid. D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me; and he that hits me, let him be clap- ped on the shoulder, and called Adam.4 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely painted; and in such great letters as they write, I will assume thy part in some disguise, And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, And take her hearing prisoner with the force And strong encounter of my amorous tale: Then, after, to her father will I beak; And, the conclusion is, she snall be thine. In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A room in Leonato's house. En- ter Leonato and Antonio. Here is good horse to hire, let them signify under! Leon. How now, brother? where is my cousin, my sign,-Here you may see Benedick the married your son? Hath he provided this music? Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed man. Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be horn-mad. not of. Leon. Are they good? D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. a good cover, they show well outward. The prince D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the and count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard repair to Leonato's; commend me to him, and tell by a man of mine: The prince discovered to Clau him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he dio, that he loved my niece your daughter, and hath made great preparation. meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take such an embassage; and so I commit you- the present time by the top, and instantly break Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house with you of it. (if I had it)- D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving friend, Benedick. Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him. and question him yourself. and Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till your discourse is sometimes guarded with fragments, it appears itself:-but I will acquaint my daughter and the guards are but slightly basted on, neither: withal, that she may be the better prepared for an ere you flout old ends any further, examine your answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, conscience, and so I leave you. [Exit Bene. tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me Cousins, you know what you have to do.--0,1 good. cry you mercy, friend; you go with me, and I 1 The tune sounded to call off the dogs. 2 Hunting-horn. 3 Girdle. 4 The name of a famous archer. 6 Once for all. 5 Trimmed 7 Thickly interwoven SCENE II. 121 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. will use your skill:-Good cousins, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another room in Leonato's house. Enter Don John and Conrade. Con. What the goujere,' my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad? D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. Con. You should hear reason. D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing bringeth it? Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suf- ferance. D. John. I wonder that thou being (as thou say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot hide what I am: I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have a stomach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business; laugh when I am merry, and claw2 no man in his humour. hath all the glory of my overthrow; if I can cross him any way, I bless inyself every way. You are both sure, and will assist me? Con. To the death, my lord. D. John. Let us to the great supper; their cheer is the greater, that I am subdued: "Would the cook were of my mind!-Shall we go prove what's to be done? Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-A hall in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and others. Leon. Was not count John here at supper? Ant. I saw him not. Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made just in the mid-way between him and Bene- Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show dick: the one is too like an image, and says of this, till you may do it without controlment. nothing; and the other, too like my lady's eldest You have of late stood out against your brother, son, evermore tattling. and he hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in it is impossible you should take true root, but by count John's mouth, and half count John's melan- the fair weather that you make yourself: it is choly in signior Benedick's face,- heedful that you frame the season for your own Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and money enough in his purse, such a man would win any woman in the world,-if he could get her good will. narvest. D. John. I had rather be a canker³ in a hedge, than a rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get to rob love from any: in this, though I cannot be thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be Ant. In faith, she is too curst. denied that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall les- trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a sen God's sending that way: for it is said, God clog; therefore I have decreed not to sing in my sends a curst cow short horns; but to a cow too cage; if I had my mouth, I would bite; if I had curst he sends none. my liberty, I would do my liking: in the mean Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you time, let me be that I am, and seek not to alter me. no horns. Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who comes here? What news, Borachio? Enter Borachio. Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening: Lord! I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face; I had rather lie in the woollen. Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath Bora, I came yonder from a great supper: the prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo-no beard. nato; and I can give you intelligence of an intend-. Beat. What should I do with him? dress him ed marriage. in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mis-woman? He that hath a beard, is more than a chief on? What is he for a fool, that betroths him- self to unquietness? Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. D. John. Who? the most exquisite Claudio? Bora. Even he. D. John. A proper squire! And who, and who? which way looks he? Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of Leonato. How youth; and he that hath no beard, is less than a man: and he that is more than a youth is not for me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for him. Therefore, I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. Leon. Well then, go you into hell? Beat. No, but to the gate; and there will the his head, and say, Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on you to heaven; here's no place for you maids: so deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens; he shows me where the bachelors Ant. Well, niece, [To Hero.] I trust, you will sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long. be ruled by your father. D. John. A very forward March chick! came you to this? Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and Clandio, hand in hand, in sad conference: whipt me behind the arras; and there heard it Beat. Yes, faith; it is my cousin's duty to make agreed upon, that the prince should woo Hero for courtesy, and say, Father, as it please you :-but himself, and having obtained her, give her to count yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fel- D. John. Come, come, let us thither; this may ther, as it please me. low, or else make another courtesy, and say, Fa- prove food to my displeasure: that young start-up Claudio. 1 The venereal disease. 2 Flatter. 3 Dog-rose. 4 Serious 122 ACT II MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband. Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make an account of her life to a clod of way- waid marl? No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. Leon. Daughter, remember, what I told you: if the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your answer. Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and there's an end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so. Bene. No, you shall pardon me. Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bene. Not now. Beat. That I was disdainful,-and that I had my good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales ;-Well this was signior Benedick that said so. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. Bene. Not I, believe me. Beat. Did he never make you laugh? Bene. I pray you, what is he? Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you be not woo'd in good time: if the prince be too important, tell him, there is measure in every Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slan- Hero; wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a ders: none but libertines delight in him; and the Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as for he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and fantastical; the wedding, mannerly modest, as a then they laugh at him, and beat him: I am sure, measure full of state and ancientry; and then he is in the fleet; I would he had boarded me. comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into what you say. his grave. Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beat. I have a good eye, uncle: I can see a church by day-light. Leon. The revellers are entering; brother, make good room. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, masked. D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your friend ?2 Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and espe- cially, when I walk away. D. Pedro. With me in your company? Hero. I may say so, when I please. D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your favour: for God de- fend, the lute should be like the case! D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove. Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. [Takes her aside. Bene. Well, I would you did like me. Marg. So would not I, for your own sake; for I have many ill qualities. Bene. Which is one? Marg. I say my prayers aloud. Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may cry Amen. Marg. God match me with a good dancer! Balth. Amen. Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when the dance is done !-Answer, clerk. Balth. No more words; the clerk is answered. Urs. I know you well enough; you are signior, Antonio. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you were the very man: Here's his dry hand up and down; you are he, you are he. Ant. At a word, I am not. Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not know you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? 1 Importunate. 4 Incredible. 2 Lover. 3 Forbid. 5 Accosted. Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me; which peradventure, not marked, or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge's wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We must follow the leaders. Bene. In every good thing. them at the next turning. Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave [Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, Borachio, and Claudio. D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and hath withdrawn her father to break with him about it: the ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his bearing. D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? Claud. You know me well; I am he. D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother in his love: he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you, dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth: you may do the part of an honest man in it. Claud. How know you he loves her? D. John. I heard him swear his affection. Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would marry her to-night. D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. [Exeunt Don John and Borachio. Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio.-- 'Tis certain so;-the prince woos for himself. Friendship is constant in all other things, Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues, Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch, Against whose charms faith melteth into blood." This is an accident of hourly proof, Which I mistrusted not: Farewell therefore, Hero! Re-enter Benedick. Bene. Count Claudio? Claud. Yea, the same. Bene. Come, will you go with me? Claud. Whither? Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own business, count. What fashion will you wear the garland of? About your neck, like a usurer's 6 Carriage, demeanour. 7 Passion. SCENE 1. 123 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. chain? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's in hell, as in a sanctuary; and people sin upon pur- scarf? You must wear it one way, for the prince pose, because they would go thither; so, indeed, all hath got your Hero. disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow her. Claud. I wish him joy of her. Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince would have served you thus? Claud. I pray you, leave me. Re-enter Claudio and Beatrice. D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. Bene. Will your grace command me any service to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man; now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the the post. farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Pres- Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. ter John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl! Now will he creep Cham's beard; do you any embassage to the Pig- into sedges.But, that my lady Beatrice should mies, rather than hold three words' conference with know me, and not know me! The prince's fool!-this harpy: You have no employment for me? Ha! it may be, I go under that title, because I am D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good com- merry.-Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong: I am not so reputed: it is the base, the bitter dis- position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be re- venged as I may. Re-enter Don Pedro, Hero, and Leonato. pany. Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not: I can- not endure my lady Tongue. D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the heart of signor Benedick. Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile; and I gave him uses for it, a double heart for his single D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? one: marry, once before, he won it of me with false Did you see him? lice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of it. lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told have put him down. him true, that your grace had got the good will of Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, this young lady; and I offered him my company to lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore worthy to be whipped. are you sad? D. Pedro. To be whipped! What's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who, being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- sion? The transgression is in the stealer. Claud. Not sad, my lord. D. Pedro. How then? Sick? Claud. Neither, my lord. Beat. The count is neither sad nor sick, nor merry, nor well: but civil, count; civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion. Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to been made, and the garland too; for the garland be true; though I'll be sworn, if he be so, his con- he might have worn himself; and the rod he might ceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n name, and fair Hero is won: I have broke with his bird's nest. D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- store them to the owner. Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faith, you say honestly. D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you; the gentleman, that danced with her, told her, she is much wronged by you. her father, and his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy! Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, and all grace say Amen to it! Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue.4 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.- Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of Lady, as you are mine, I am yours: I give away a block; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. would have answered her; my very visor began to Beat. Speak, cousin; or if you cannot, stop his assume life, and scold with her: She told me, not mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. thinking I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that I was duller than a great thaw; hud- D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. Beat. Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it dling jest upon jest, with such impossible¹ convey- keeps on the windy side of care:-My cousin tells ance, upon me, that I stood like a man at a mark, him in his ear, that he is in her heart. with a whole army shooting at me: she speaks Claud. And so she doth, cousin. poniards, and every word stabs: if her breath were Beat. Good lord, for alliance!-Thus goes every as terrible as her terminations, there were no living one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned; I may near her, she would infect to the north star. I sit in a corner, and cry, heigh ho! for a husband. would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he trans- D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather have one of your father's gressed: she would have made Hercules have getting: Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? turned spit; yea, and have cleft his club to make Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could the fire too. Come, talk not of her; you shall find come by them. her the infernal Até2 in good apparel. I would to God, some scholar would conjure her; for, cer- Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another tainly, while she is here, a man may live as quiet for working-days:-your grace is too costly to wear every day:-But, I beseech your grace, pardon 1 Incredible. 2 The Goddess of Discord. 3 Interest. D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady? 4 Turn: a phrase among the payers. 124 ACT IL MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. me; I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour. Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.-Cousins, God give you joy! Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told you of? D. John. Show me briefly how. Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. D. John. I remember. Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's cham- ber-window. D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.-By your grace's this marriage? pardon. [Exit Beatrice. Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. Go you to the prince your brother: spare not to Leon. There's little of the melancholy element tell him, that he hath wronged his honour in mar in her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she rying the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard you mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- such a one as Hero. happiness, and waked herself with laughing. D Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a husband. Leon. O, by no means; she mocks all her woo- ers out of suit. D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- dick. Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week married, they would talk themselves mad. D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to church? Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches, till love have all his rites. Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too, to have all things answer my mind. D. John. What proof shall I make of that? Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato: look you for any other issue? D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour any thing. Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them, that you know that Hero loves me; intend³ a kind of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as-in love of your brother's honour who hath made this match; and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be cozened with the semblance of a maid,- that you have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe this without trial: offer them instances; which shall bear no less likelihood, than to see me D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long at her chamber-window; hear me call Margaret, a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the Hero; hear Margaret term me Borachio; and time shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, bring them to see this, the very night before the in- undertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to tended wedding: for, in the mean time, I will so bring signior Benedick, and the lady Beatrice into fashion the matter, that Hero shall be absent; and a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I there shall appear such seeming truth of Hero's would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but disloyalty, that jealousy shall be called assurance to fashion 1, if you three will but minister such and all the preparation overthrown. assistance as I shall give you direction. Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me I ten nights' watchings. Claud. And I, my lord. D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero? Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help my cousin to a good husband. D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can. will put it in practice: Be cunning in the work- ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. D. John. I will presently go learn their day of marriage. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Leonato's Garden. Enter Bene- dick and a Boy. it Bene. Boy,- Boy. Signior. Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring hither to me in the orchard. D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest husband that I know: thus far can I praise him; he is of a noble strain,' of approved valour, and confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to hu- mour your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Benedick:-and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we can do this, Cupid is no Bene. I know that;-but I would have thee longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.]-I do much ure the only love-gods. Go in with me, and I will wonder, that one man, seeing how much another tell you my drift. [Exeunt. man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to SCENE II-Another room in Leonato's house. love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow Enter Don John and Borachio. D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Leonato. Boy. I am here already, sir. follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, by falling in love: and such a man is Clau- dio. I have known, when there was no music with him but the drum and fife, and now had he rather Bora. Yea, my lord; but I can cross it. hear the tabor and the pipe: I have known, when D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displea- armour; and now will he lie ten nights awake, sure to him; and whatsoever comes athwart his carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was affection, ranges evenly with mine. How canst wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an thou cross this marriage? honest man, and a soldier; and now is he turned or Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly thographer; his words are a very fantastical ban- that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 1 Lineage. 2 Fastidious. 3 Pretend. quet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so converted, and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn. but love may SCENE III 125 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall should have howled thus, they would have hanged never make me such a fool. One woman is fair; him: and I pray God, his bad voice bode no mis- yet I am well: another is wise; yet I am well: chief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, another virtuous; yet I am well: but till all graces come what plague could have come after it. be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.]-Dost grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or thou hear, Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her; fair, excellent music; for to-morrow night we would or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near have it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. me; noble, or not 1 for an angel; of good dis- Balth. The best I can, my lord. course, n excellent musician, and her hair shall D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar be of what colour it please God. Ha! the prince and music.] Come hither, Leonato: What was it and monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour. you told me of to-day? that your niece Beatrice [Withdraws. was in love with signior Benedick? Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? Claud. Yea, my good lord:-How still the evening is, As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid himself? Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended, We'll fit the kid-fox' with a penny-worth. Enter Balthazar, with music. D. Pedro. Come, /Balthazar, we'll hear that song again. Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice To slander music any more than once. D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, To put a strange face on his own perfection:- I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing; Since many a wooer doth commence his suit To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos; Yet will he swear, he loves. D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come: Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, Do it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes, There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets that he speaks; Note, note, foxsooth, and noting! [Music. Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish- ed!-Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale souls out of men's bodies ?-Well, a horn for iny money, when all's done. Balthazar sings. I. Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore; To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of wo Into, Hey nonny, nonny. II. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo¹2 Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so, &c. D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. Claud. O, ay:-Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that lady would have loved any man. Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. Bene. Is't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? [Aside. Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to think of it; but that she loves him with an en- raged affection,-it is past the infinite of thought." D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. Claud. 'Faith, like enough. Leon. O God! counterfeit! There never was sion, as she discovers it. counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas- D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? Claud. Bait the hook well; this fish will bite. [Aside. Leon. What effects, my lord? She will sit you,- You heard my daughter tell you how. Claud. She did indeed. D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: I would have thought her spirit had been in- vincible against all assaults of affection. especially against Benedick. Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. [Aside D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to Benedick? Leon. No; and swears she never will: that's her torment. Claud. 'Tis true, indeed; so your daughter says: Shall I, says she, that have so oft encoun- tered him with scorn, write to him that I love him? Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night; and there she will sit in her smock, till she have writ a sheet of paper:-my daughter tells us all. Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, re- member a pretty jest your daughter told us of. Leon. O-When she had writ it, and was read- ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice be- tween the sheet?- Claud. That. Leon. O! she tore the letter into a thousand half-pence; railed at herself, that she should be so immodest to write to one that she knew would flout her: I measure him, says she, by my own spirit; for I should flout him, if he writ to me; D Pedro. Ha? no; no, faith; thou singest well yea, though I love him, I should. enough for a shift. 1 Young or cub fox. 2 Longer. Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls. 3. Beyond the power of thought to conceive. 126 ACT III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. : Benedick advances from above. weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses:-O sweet Benedick! God give me patience! Bene. This can be no trick: the conference was Leon. She doth, indeed; my daughter says so and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that sadly borne. They have the truth of this from my daughter is sometimes afraid she will do a des- Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems her affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it peate outrage to herself; It is very true. D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the it by some other, if she will not discover it. Claud. To what end? He would make but a love come from her; they say, too, that she will rather die than give any sign of affection.-I did sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to never think to marry-I must not seem proud:- hang him: she's an excellent sweet lady; and, out Happy are they that hear their detractions, and of all suspicion, she is virtuous. can put them to mending. They say, the lady is Claud. And she is exceeding wise. fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and vir- D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. tuous;-'tis so, I cannot reprove it; and wise, but Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating for loving me ;-By my troth, it is no addition to her in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that wit; nor no great argument of her folly, for I will blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have be horribly in love with her.-I may chance have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken on D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage me, because I have railed so long against mar- on me; I would have daff'd all other respects, and riage:-But doth not the appetite alter? A man made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure of it, and hear what he will say. in his age: shall quips, and sentences, and these Leon. Were it good, think you? paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the ca- Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die: for she reer of his humour? No: the world must be peo- says, she will die if he love her not; and she will pled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did die ere she makes her love known; and she will not think I should live till I were married.-Here die if he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one comes Beatrice: By this day she is a fair lady; I do spy some marks of love in her. breath of her accustomed crossness. D. Pedro. She doth well: if she should make ten- der of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. Claud. He is a very proper4 man. 1). Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happiness. Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that are like wit. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come in to dinner. Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than you take pains to thank me; if it had been painful I would not have come. [Exit. Bene. You take pleasure in the message? Leon. And I take him to be valiant. Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon & D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the knife's point, and choke a daw withal:-You have managing of quarrels you may say he is wise; for no stomach, signior: fare you well. either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- Bene. Ha! Against my will I am sent to bid dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. you come to dinner-there's a double meaning in Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily that. I took no more pains for those thanks, than keep peace; if he break the peace, he ought to you took pains to thank me-that's as much as to enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling. say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth thanks:-If I do not take pity of her, I am a vil fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some lain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew: I will go large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for get her picture. your niece: shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her love? Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it out with good counsel. ACT III. [Exit. Leon. Nay, that's impossible; she may wear her SCENE I-Leonato's Garden. Enter Hero. heart out first. Margaret and Ursula. D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour well; and I could wish he would modestly examine There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a Proposing with the prince and Claudio: lady. Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us; never trust my expectation. [Aside. And bid her steal into the pleached bower, D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun, her; and that must your daughter and her gentle- Forbid the sun to enter;-like favourites, woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold Made proud by princes, that advance their pride one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such Against that power that bred it:-there will she matter; that's the scene that I would see, which will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to To listen our propose: this is thy office, call him in to dinner. [Aside. Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre- hide her, [Exit. sently. 1 Alienation of mind. 9 Contemptuous. 2 Thrown off. 4 Handsome. 5 Seriously carried on. 6 Discoursing. SCENE I. 127 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, | It were a better death than die with mocks; As we do trace this alley up and down, Our talk must only be of Benedick: When I do name him, let it be thy part To praise him more than ever man did merit : My talk to thee must be, how Benedick is sick in love with Beatrice: of this matter Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin; Enter Beatrice, behind. For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs Close by the ground, to hear our conference. Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait: So angle we for Beatrice; who even now Is couched in the woodbine coverture: Fear you not my part of the dialogue. Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose nothing Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it- [They advance to the bower. No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful; I know, her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock.1 Urs. But are you sure, That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed lord. Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it: But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of it. Which is as bad as die with tickling. Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion: And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know, How much an ill word may empoison liking. Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without true judgment (Having so swift and excellent a wit, As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. Hero. He is the only man in Italy, Always excepted my dear Claudio. Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick, For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy. Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. Urs. His excellence did carn it, ere he had it.- When are you married, madam? Hero. Why, every day;-to-morrow: come, go in; I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. Urs. She's iim'd, I warrant you; we have caught her, madam. Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. Beatrice advances. Beat. What fire is in mine cars? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? Hero. O god of love! I know, he doth deserve As much as may be yielded to a man: But nature never fram'd a woman's heart Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on; and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self-endeared. Urs. Sure, I think so And therefore, certainly, it were not good She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. Hero. Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, But she would spell him backward: if fair-fac'd, She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister; If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, Made a foul biot: if tall, a lance ill-headed; If low, an agate very vilely cut: If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds: If silent, why, a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out; And never gives to truth and virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. Hero. No: not to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She'd mock me into air; 0, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: 1 A species of hawk. S Ready. 2 Undervaluing. 4 Conversation. [Exit. No glory lives behind the back of such. And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee; Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand; If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee To bind our loves up in a holy band: For others say, thou dost deserve; and I Believe it better than reportingly. SCENE II.-A room in Leonato's house. Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll vouchsafe me. D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow- string, and the little hangman dares not shoot at him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. Leon. So say I; methinks, you are sadder. Claud. I hope, he be in love. D. Pedro. Hang him, truant; there's no true drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love: if he be sad, he wants money. Bene. I have the tooth-ach. D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it! Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after- wards. D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach? 5 Ensnar'd with birdlime. 128 ACT III MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm? Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he that has it. Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. holds you well; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect your ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill spent, and labour ill bestowed! D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in nim, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange dis- guises; as, to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman a to-morrow; or in the shape of two countries at once, as a German from the waist downward, all slop; and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet: unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear he is. Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o'mornings; what should that bode? D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen with him; and the old ornament of his cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by the loss of a beard. D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet: can you smell him out by that? Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's in love. D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melan- choly. Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face? D. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, I hear what they say of him. Cloud. Nay, but his jesting spirit; which is now crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: conclude, conclude, he is in love. Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. D. Pedro. That would I know too; I warrant, one that knows him not. Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in de- spite of all, dies for him. D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- wards. Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach.- Old signior, walk aside with me: I have studied eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which these hobby-horses must not hear. [Exeunt Benedick and Leonato. D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about Beatrice. Claud. 'Tis even so: Hero and Margaret have by this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the two bears will not bite one another, when they meet. Enter Don John. D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. D. Pedro. Good den, brother. D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with you. D. Pedro. In private ? D. John. If it please you;-yet count Claudio may hear; for what I would speak of concerns him. D. Pedro. What's the matter? morrow? D. John. Means your lordship to be married to- [To Claudio. D. John. I know not that, when he knows what D. Pedro. You know he does. D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, cir- cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long talking of,) the lady is disloyal. Claud. Who? Hero? D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, every man's Hero. Claud. Disloyal? D. John. The word is too good to paint out her wickedness; I could say, she were worse; think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Won- der not till further warrant: go but with me to- night, you shall see her chamber-window entered; even the night before her wedding day: if you love her then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your honour to change your mind. Claud. May this be so? D. Pedro. I will not think it. D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- fess not that you know: if you will follow me, I will show you enough; and when you have seen more, and heard more, proceed accordingly. Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow; in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her. D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till midnight, and let the issue show itself. D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! D. John. O plague right well prevented! So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. Dogb. Are you good men and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch. Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour Dogberry. Dogb. First, who think you the most desartless man to be constable. 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for they can write and read. Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. God hath blessed you with a good name: to be a well- favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature. 2 Watch. Both which, master constable,- swer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God Dogb. You have; I knew it would be your an thanks, and make no boast of it; and for your writing and reading, let that appear when there is no need of such vanity. You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable is your charge; you shall comprehend all vagrom of the watch; therefore bear you the lantern: this men: you are to bid any man stand, in the prince's I know. Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you name. 1 discover it. D. John. You may think I love you not; let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now wil! manifest: for my brother, I think, 1 Large loose breeches. 2 Watch. How if he will not stand? Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him go; and presently call the rest of the watch heogether, and thank God you are rid of a knave. Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is none of the prince's subjects. SCENE III. 129 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none now forward with thy tale. but the prince's subjects:-you shall also make no Bora. Stand thee close, then, under this pent- noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble house, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true and talk, is most tolerable, and not to be endured. drunkard, utter all to thee. 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we know what belongs to a watch. Watch. [Aside.] Some treason, masters; yet stand close. Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping John a thousand ducats. should offend: only, have a care that your bills be Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so not stolen:-Well, you are to call at all the ale-hou-dear? ses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were pos- 2 Watch. How if they will not? sible any villany should be so rich; for when such Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are so- villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may ber; if they make you not then the better answer, make what price they will. you may say they are not the men you took them for. 2 Watch. Well, sir. Con. I wonder at it. Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed; thou knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or cloak, is nothing to a man. Con. Yes, it is apparel. Bora. I mean the fashion. Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man. and for a such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him? Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. Bora. Tush! I may as well say, the fool's the Dogb. Truly by your office, you may; but I fool. But seest thou not what a deformed thief this think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the fashion is? most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down your company. of Verg. You have been always called a merciful man, partner. Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will; much more a man who hath any honesty in him. Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will not hear us? Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the child wake her with crying; for the ewe that will not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a calf when he bleats. like a gentleman: I remember his name. Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? Con. No; 'twas the vane on the house. Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty? sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting; sometime, like god Bel's priests in the old church window; sometime, like the shaven Hercules in the smirched worm- eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy as his club? fashion? Con. All this I see; and see, that the fashion Verg. 'Tis very true. wears out more apparel than the man: but art not Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou stable, are to present the prince's own person; if hast shifted out of thy tale to tell me of the you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that I think he cannot. Bora. Not so neither: but know, that I have to- Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewo- that knows the statues, he may stay him marry, man, by the name of Hero: she leans me out at not without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand watch ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay a man against his will. Verg. By'r lady, I think, it be so. Dogb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good night.-Come, neighbour. 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then all to bed. times good night,-I tell this tale vilely:-I should first tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and my master, planted and placed, and possessed by my master' Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable encounter. Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero? Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; but the devil my master knew she was Margaret; and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: I but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for slander that Don John had made, away went Clau- the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great dio enraged: swore he would meet her as he was coil to-night: adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. [Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bora. What! Conrade,- Watch. Peace, stir not. Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. Bora. Conrade, I say! appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he saw over-night and send her home again without a husband. 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, [Aside. stand. 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable, we have here recovered the most dangerous piece Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought of lechery that ever was known in the common- there would a scab follow. Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and 1 Weapons of the watchmen. 2 Unpracticed in the ways of the world. wealth. 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them; I know him, he wears a lock. 3 Smoked. 4 Soiled. 130 Аст III. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Con. Masters, masters. Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, no more sailing by the star. I warrant vou. Con. Masters,- 1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us obey you to go with us. Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, being taken up of these men's bills. Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.A room in Leonato's house. ter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. Beat. What means the fool, trow? Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their heart's desire. Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an excellent perfume. Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. catching of cold. Marg. A maid, and stuffed! there's goodly Beat. O, God help me! God help me! how En-long have you profess'd apprehension? Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and desire her to rise. Urs. I will, lady. Hero. And bid her come hither. Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato¹ were better. Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. Marg. By my troth, it's not so good; and I war- rant, your cousin will say so. Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; I'll wear none but this. Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit become me rarely? Beat. It is not seen enough; you should wear it in your cap.-By my troth, I am sick. Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you some morals in this Benedictus. Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral think, perchance, that I think you are in love. meaning; I meant, plain holy thistle. You may Marg. I like the new tire2 within excellently, I list; nor I list not to think what I can; nor, in- nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what if the hair were a thought browner: and your deed, I cannot think, if I would think my heart gown's a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the out of thinking, that you are in love, or that you duchess of Milan's gown, that they praise so. Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. will be in love, or that you can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, and now is he become Marg. By my troth it's but a night-gown in re- a man: he swore he would never marry; and yet spect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced now, in despite of his heart, he eats his meat with- with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side-out grudging: and how you may be converted, I sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish know not; but methinks, you look with your eyes tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel-as other women do. lent fashion, your's is worth ten on't. Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart is exceeding heavy! Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of a man. Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? Marg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your lord honourable without marriage? I think you would have me say, saving your reverence,- a husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody: Is there any harm in- the heavier for a husband? None, I think, an if it be the right husband, and the right wife; other- wise, 'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady trice else, here she comes. Enter Beatrice. Marg. Not a false gallop. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? Re-enter Ursula. Urs. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, of the town, are come to fetch you to church. signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Another room in Leonato's house. Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh- Bea-bour? Hero. Good morrow, coz. Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. Marg. Clap us into.-Light o' love; that goes without a burden; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. Beat. Yea, Light o' love, with your heels! then if your husband have stables enough, you'll see he lack no barns. Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that with my heels. Beat. "Tis almost five o'clock, cousin; 'tis time you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill; -hey, ho! Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H.* 1 A kind of ruff. 3 Long-sleeves. 4 2 Head-dress. . e. for an ache or pain. Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confi- dence with you, that decerns you nearly. Leon. Brief, I pray you; for you see, 'tis a busy time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. Leon. What is it, my good friends? Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the matter: an old man, sir, and his wits are not so blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; but, in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man living, that is an old man, and no honester than I. Dogb. Comparisons are odorous; palabras, neighbour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in my heart to bestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ha! 5 Hidden meaning. SCENE I. 131 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 'tis: for I hear as good exclamation on your worship, as of any man in the city; and though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. Verg. And so am I. Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, except- ing your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. Dogb. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out; God help us! it is a world to see!'-Well said, Leon. I dare make his answer, none. Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do! not knowing what they do! Bene. How now! interjections? Why, then some be of laughing, as, ha! ha! he! Claud. Stand thee by, friar:-Father, by your leave; Will you with free and unconstrained soul Give me this maid, your daughter? Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose worth, i'faith, neighbour Verges-well, God's a good May counterpoise this rich and precious gift. Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of you. Dogb. Gifts, that God gives. Leon. I must leave you. D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.. Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank fulness.- man; an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind:--an honest soul, i'faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever broke bread: but, God is to be wor- snipped: all men are not alike; aias, good neigh- There, Leonato, take her back again; bour! Give not this rotten orange to your friend; She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:- Behold, how like a maid she blushes here: O, what authority and show of truth Can cunning sin cover itself withal! Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, All you that see her, that she were a maid, By these exterior shows? But she is none: She knows the heat of a luxurious2 bed: Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. Leon. What do you mean, my lord? Claud. Not to be married, Dogb. One word, sir: our watch, sir, have, in- deed, comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would have them this morning examined before your worship. Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring it me; I am now in great haste, as it may appear unto you. Dogb. It shall be suffigance. Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your daughter to her husband. Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready. [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. Dogb. Go, good partner, go; get you to Francis Seacol, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the gaol; we are now to examination these men. Verg. And we must do it wisely. Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; here's that [Touching his forehead.] shall drive some of them to a non com: only get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and meet me at the goal. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I-The inside of a church. Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, &c. Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their particular duties afterwards. Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady? Claud. No. Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to marry her. Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this count? Hero. I do. Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi- Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, And made defeat of her virginity, Claud. I know what you would say; If I have known her, And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large;" But, as a brother to his sister, show'd Bashful sincerity, and comely love. Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? You seem to me as Dian in her orb; Claud. Out on thy seeming! I will write against it: As chaste as in the bud ere it be blown; But you are more intemperate in your blood Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals That rage in savage sensuality. I Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ?4 Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you? D. Pedro. What should I speak? stand dishonour'd, that have gone abcut To link my dear friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream? D. John, Sir, they are spoken. and these things are true. Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. Hero. True, O God' Claud. Leonato, stand I here? Is this the prince? Is this the prince's brother? Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? Leon. All this is so; but what of this, my lord? Claud. Let me but move one question to your daughter; ment why you should not be conjoined, I charge And, by that fatherly and kindly power you, on your souls, to utter it. Claud. Know you any, Hero? Hero. None, my lor I. Friar. Know you any, count? 1 It is worth secing. 9 Licentious. 2 Lascivious. That you have in her, bid her answer truly. Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. Hero. O God defend me! how am I beset!- What kind of catechizing call you this? Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 4 Remote from the business in hand. 132 ACT IV. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name With any just reproach? Claud Marry, that can Hero; Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. What man was he talk'd with you yesternight Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must hear; upon mine honour, Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window; Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal' villain, Confess'd the vile encounters they have had A thousand times in secret. D. John. Fie, fie! they are Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; There is not chastity enough in language, Without offence, to utter them: thus, pretty lady, I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, If half thy outward graces had been placed About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart! But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, And never shall it more be gracious.2 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? [Hero swoons. Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you down? D. John. Come, let us go: these things, come thus to light, Smother her spirits up. [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. Bene. How doth the lady? Beat. Dead, I think;-help, uncle Hero! why, Hero!-Uncle!-Signior Benedick friar! Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! Death is the fairest cover for her shame, That may be wish'd for. Beat. How now, cousin Hero? Friar. Have comfort, lady. Leon. Dost thou look up? Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood?- Do not live, Hero; do not ope thine eyes: For did I think thou would'st not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ?3 0, one too much by thee! Why had I one? Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not, with charitable hand, Took up a beggar's issue at my gates; Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, I might have said, No part of it is mine, This shame derives itself from unknown loins? But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, And mine that I was proud on; mine so much, That I myself was to myself not mine, Valuing of her; why, she-O, she is fallen 1 Too free of tongue. 3 Disposition of things. 2 Attractive. Into a pit of ink! that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; And salt too little, which may season give To her foul tainted flesh! Bene. Sir, sir, be patient: For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, I know not what to say. Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? Beat. No, truly, not: although, until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger made, Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie? Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her; let her die. Friar. Hear me a little; For I have only been silent so long, And given way unto this course of fortune, By noting of the lady: I have mark'd A thousand blushing apparitions start. Into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes; And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth :--Call me a fool; Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenor of my book; trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here Under some biting error. Leon. Friar, it cannot be: Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not add to her damnation A sin of perjury; she not denies it: Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse That which appears in proper nakedness? Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accused of? Hero. They know that do accuse me; I know none: If I know more of any man alive, Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, Let all my sins lack mercy!-O my father, Prove you that any man with me convers'd At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. Friar. There is some strange misprision' in the princes. Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; And if their wisdoms be misled in this, The practice of it lives in John the bastard, Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. Leon. I know not; if they speak but truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them thoroughly. Friar. Pause a while, And let my counsel sway you in this case. Your daughter here the princes left for dead; Let her a while be secretly kept in, And publish it, that she is dead indeed: 4 Sullied. 5 Misconception. SCENE I. 133 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Maintain a mourning ostentation; And on your family's old monument Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites That appertain unto a burial. Leon. What shall become of this? What will this do? Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf Change slander to remorse; that is some good: But not for that dream I on this strange course, But on this travail look for greater birth. She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, Upon the instant that she was accus'd, Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd, Of every hearer: for it so falls out, That what we have we prize not to the worth, Whiles' we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack2 the value; then we find The virtue, that possession would not show us Whiles it was ours:-So will it fare with dio: When he shall hear she died upon³ his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, More moving-delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul, Beat. As strange as the thing I know not: it were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing:-I am sorry for my cousin. Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me; and I will make him eat it, that says, I love not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it; I protest I love thee. Beat. Why then, God forgive me. Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice? Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour; I was about to protest I loved you. Bene. And do it with all thy heart. Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that Clau-none is left to protest. Than when she liv'd indeed :-then shall he mourn (If ever love had interest in his liver,) And wish he had not so accused her, No, though he thought his accusation true. Let this be so, and doubt not but success Will fashion the event in better shape Than I can lay it down in likelihood. But if all aim but this be levell'd false, The supposition of the lady's death Will quench the wonder of her infamy: And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her, (As best befits her wounded reputation,) In some reclusive and religious life, Out of all eyes, tongues, minds and injuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you: And though you know my inwardness and love Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this as secretly, and as justly, as your soul Should with your body. Leon. The smallest twine may lead me. Being that I flow in grief, Friar. 'Tis well consented; presently away; For to strange sores strangely they strain the cure.- Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to deny it: farewell. Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, though I am here;-there is no love in you:-nay, I pray you, let me go. Bene. Beatrice, Beat. In faith I will go. Bene. We'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than fight with mine enemy. Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? Beat. Is he not approv'd in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins- woman?-0, that I were a man!-What! bear her in hands until they come to take hands; and then with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour,-O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Hear me, Beatrice;- Beat. Talk with a man out at a window? proper saying! Bene. Nay but, Beatrice;- a Beat. Sweet Hero!-she is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Bene. Beat- Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely a princely testimony, a goodly count-confect; a sweet gal- lant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercu- Come, lady, die to live: this wedding day, Perhaps, is but prolong'd; have patience, and les, that only tells a lie, and swears it :-I cannot endure. [Exe. Friar, Hero, and Leon. be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a wo- Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this man with grieving. while? Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me, that would right her! Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man do it? Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: by this hand I love thee. Beat. Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it. Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio hath wronged Hero? Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul. Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you: by this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account; as you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as your cousin: 1 must say, she is dead; and sc you; is not that strange? 1 While. 2 Over-rate. 3 By. 4 Intimacy. 5 Delude her with hopes. farewell. Exeunt. 6 Noblemen. 7 A nobleman made out of sugar. 18 Ceremony. 134 ACT V MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. SCENE II-A prison. Enter Dogberry, Ver- ges, and Sexton, in gowns; and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared? Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton! Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Dogb. Marry, that am I and my partner. Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibi- tion to examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be examined? let them come before master constable. Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.- What is your name, friend? Bora. Borachio. Verg. Let them be in band. Con. Off, coxcomb! Dogb. God's my life! where's the sexton? let him write down-the prince's officer, coxcomb.- Come, bind them:-Thou naughty varlet! Con. Away you are an ass, you are an ass. Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years ?-0 that he were here to write me down-an ass!-but, masters remem- ber, that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass :-No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that a householder: and, which is more, as pretty a knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one Con-that hath two gowns, and every thing handsome about him:-Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down-an ass. Dogb. Pray write down-Borachio.-Yours, sirrah? Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name Conrade. Dogb. Write down-master gentleman rade.-Masters, do you serve God? Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. is Dogb. Write down-that they hope they serve God:-and write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!-Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false ACT V. knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. SCENE I.-Before Leonato's house. How answer you for yourselves? Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.-Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, sir; I say to you, it thought you are false knaves. none? to Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way examine; you must call forth the watch that are their accusers. Leonato and Antonio. [Exeunt. Enter Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief Against yourself. Leon. is I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Which falls into inine ears as profitless Dogb. Well, stand aside.-Fore God, they are As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; both in a tale: have you writ down-that they are Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, And bid him speak of patience; Measure his wo the length and breadth of mine, And let it answer every strain for strain; As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; villain.-Cry-sorrow, wag! and hem, when he should groan Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortunes drunk With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, And I of him will gather patience. Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way:-Let the watch come forth:-Masters, I charge you, in the prince's name, accuse these men. 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the prince's brother, was a villain. Dogb. Write down-prince John a Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. Bora, Master constable,- Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like But there is no such ran: For, brother, men thy look, I promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else? 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a sand ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero wrongfully. Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it, thou-Their counsel turns to passion, which before Would give preceptial medicine to rage, Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, Charm ache with air, and agony with words: No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience To those that wring under the load of sorrow; But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency, Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. Sexton. What else, fellow? 1 Watch. And that Count Claudio did mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole To be so moral, when he shall endure assembly, and not marry her. The like himself: therefore give me no counsel: Dogb. O villain! thou wilt be condemned into My griefs cry louder than advertisement.? everlasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else? 2 Watch. This is all. Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. Leon. I pray thee, peace: I will be flesh and blood; Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can For there was never yet philosopher, deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen That could endure the tooth-ach patiently; away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this However they have writ the style of gods, very manner refused, and upon the grief of this, And made a pish at chance and sufferance. suddenly died.-Master constable, let these men Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself: be bound, and brought to Leonato's; I will go Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. before, and show him their examination Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 1 Bond. 2 Admonition. [Exit. do so. My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied; And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince. OF MICH 111 My BEARWARS DOGBERRY AND THE WATCH. DOGBERRY.-"Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years?" "Much Ado About Nothing," Act IV., Scene II. SWAINSC SCENE I. 135 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. And all of them, that thus dishonour her. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. D. Pedro. Good den, good' den. Claud. Good day to both of you. Good day to both of you. Leon. Hear you my lords,- D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. Leon. Some haste, my lord!-well, fare you well, my lord:- Are you so hasty now?-well, all is one. D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low. Claud. Leon. Who wrongs him? Marry, Thou, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou: Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, I fear thee not. Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear: In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me: I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool; As, under privilege of age, to brag What I have done being young, or what would do, Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thy head, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by ; And, with gray hairs, and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man. I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child; Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, And she lies buried with her ancestors: O! in a tomb where never scandal slept, Save this of her's framed by thy villany. Claud. My villany? Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine I say. D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. Leon. My lord, my lord, I'll prove it on his body, if he dare; Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,' His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. Leon. Canst thou so daff me? Thou hast kill'd my child; If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: But that's no matter; let him kill one first:- Win me and wear me,-let him answer me,- Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me:- Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence; Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. Leon. Brother,- Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my niece; And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; That dare as well answer a man, indeed, As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops!- Leon. Brother Antony,- Leon. But, brother Antony,- Ant. Come, tis no matter; Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patience. My heart is sorry for your daughter's death; But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing. But what was true, and very full of proof. Leon. My lord, my lord,- D. Pedro. Leon. I will not hear you. Brother, away:-I will be heard ;- Ant. Or some of us will smart for it. No?- And shall, [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. Enter Benedick. D. Pedro. See, see, here comes the man we went to seek. Claud. Now, signior! what news? Bene. Good day, my lord. D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost come to part almost a fray. Claud. We had like to have had our two noses snapped off with two old men without teeth. D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt, we should have been too young for them. Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour. I came to seek you both. Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit? Bene. It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it? D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? Claud. Never any did so, though very many have been beside their wit.-I will bid thee draw as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale: Art thou sick or angry? Claud. What! courage, man! What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an you charge it against me :-I pray you, choose another subject. Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this last was broke cross. D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more: I think, he be angry indeed. Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.' Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? Claud. God bless me from a challenge! Bene. You are a villain; I jest not:-I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:-Do me right, or I will protest your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death shall fall heavy on you: Let me hear from you. Chid. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good cheer. D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? Claud. I'faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to Ant. Hold you content; What, man! I know a calf's-head and a capon; the which if I do not carve most curiously, say, my knife's naugnt.- Shall I not find a woodcock too? them, yea, And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: Scrambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys," That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander, Go anticly, and shew outward hideousness, And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, And this is all. 1 Skill in fencing. 2 Thrusting. Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy wit the other day: I said, thou hadst a fine wit; True, says she, a fine little one: No, said I, a great wit Right, says she, a great gross one: Nay, said I, a good wit: Just, said she, it hurts nobody: 3 To give a challenge. 4 Invited. 136 ACT V MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Nay, said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said kill me. I have deceived even your very eyes: she, a wise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the what your wisdoms could not discover, these shal- tongues; That I believe, said she, for he swore a low fools have brought to light; who, in the night. thing to me on Monday night, which he forswore overheard me confessing to this man, how Don on Tuesday morning; there's a double tongue; John your brother incensed me to slander the lady there's two tongues. Thus did she, an hour toge- Hero; how you were brought into the orchard, ther, trans-shape thy particular virtues; yet, at and saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments; last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the pro- how you disgraced her, when you should marry perest man in Italy. her: my villany they have upon record; which I Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and had rather seal with my death, than repeat over to said, she cared not. my shame: the lady is dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet, for all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all. Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him when he was hid in the garden. D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells Benedick the married man. D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through your blood? Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it. D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of tres- chery:- And fled he is upon this villany. Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind; I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear God be thanked, hurt not.-My lord, for your many In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first. courtesies I thank you: I must discontinue your Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this company; your brother, the bastard, is fled from time our Sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of Messina: you have, among you, killed a sweet and the matter: and masters, do not forget to specify, innocent lady: for my lord Lack-beard, there, he when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, [Exit Benedick, and the Sexton too. D. Pedro. He is in earnest. Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll war- rant you, for the love of Beatrice. D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? Claud. Most sincerely. D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit! Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio. Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an ape a doctor to such a man. Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the Sexton. Leon. Which is the villain? Let me see his eyes; That when I note another man like him, may avoid him: Which of these is he? I Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on me. Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast kill'd Mine innocent child? Bora. Yea, even I alone. Leon. No, not so, villain, thou bely'st thyself; Here stand a pair of honourable men, D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be; pluck up, my heart, and be sad! Did he not say my brother was A third is fled, that had a hand in it :- fled? I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death; Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame Record it with your high and worthy deeds; you, she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her ba- 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. lance; nev an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be looked to. D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men bound! Borachio, one! Claud. Hearken to their offence, my lord! D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men done? Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, Yet I must speak: Choose your revenge yourself Impose³ me to what penance your invention Can lay upon my sin: yet sinn'd I not, But in mistaking. D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I; And yet, to satisfy this good old man, Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- I would bend under any heavy weight port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; se- That he'll enjoin me to. condarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live, have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified un- That were impossible; but, I pray you both, just things: and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. Possess the people in Messina here D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done; How innocent she died: and, if your love thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence; sixth and Can labour ought in sad invention, lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, what you lay to their charge? And sing it to her bones; sing it to-night :- Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own divi-To-morrow morning come you to my house: sion; and, by my troth, there's one meaning well And since you could not be my son-in-law, Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a dangter, D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, Almost the copy of my child that's dead, that you are thus bound to your answer? this And she alone is heir to both of us; learned constable is too cunning to be understood: Give her the right you should have given her cousin What's your offence? And so dies my revenge. Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to Claud. O, noble sir, mine answer; dc you hear me, and let this count Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me! suited. 1 Serious. 2 Incited. 3 Command. 4 Acquaint. SCENE II. 137 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. I do embrace your offer; and dispose For henceforth of poor Claudio. Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; To-night I take my leave.-This naughty man Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, Hir'd to it by your brother. Bora. Bene. And therefore will come The god of love, That sits above, And knows me, and knows me, How pitiful I deserve,- [Singing.] I mean, in singing; but in loving,-Leander the No, by my soul, she was not; good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan- Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car- But always hath been just and virtuous, pet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the In any thing that I do know by her. even road of a blank verse, why, they were never Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not un- so truly turned over and over as my poor self, in der white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offen-love: Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme; I have der, did call me ass: I beseech you, let it be re- tried; I can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an membered in his punishment: and also, the watch innocent rhyme; for scorn, horn, a hard, rhyme, heard them talk of one Deformed: they say, he for school, fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it; endings: No, I was not born under a rhyming and borrows money in God's name; the which he planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.2- nath used so long, and never paid, that now men Enter Beatrice, grow hard-hearted, and will lend nothing for God's Sweet Beatrice, would'st thou come when I called sake: pray you, examine him upon that point. Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful and reverend youth; and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy pains. Dogb. God save the foundation! Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee. thee? Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. Bene. O, stay but till then! Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now:- and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, you and Claudio. which is, with knowing what hath passed between Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon, I wll Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your wor-kiss thee. ship; which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, for the example of others. God keep your is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind worship; I wish your worship well; God restore therefore I will depart unkissed. you to health: I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohi- right sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his bit it.-Come, neighbour. and either I'must shortly hear from him, or I will thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? [Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to- morrow. D. Pedro. We will not fail. Claud To-night I'll mourn with Hero. [Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudio. Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewd' fellow. SCENE 11-Leonato's Garden. Enter Bene- dick and Margaret, meeting. so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit Beat. For them all together; which maintained which of my good parts did you first suffer love any good part to intermingle with them. But for for me? Bene. Suffer love; a good epithet! I do suffer [Exeunt. love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de- for yours; for I will never love that which my heart! If you spite it for my sake; I will spite it serve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech of Beatrice. Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of my beauty? Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man living shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, thou deservest it. Marg. To have no man come over me? why, shall I always keep below stairs? Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's mouth, it catches. Marg. And your's as blunt as the fencer's foils, which hit, but hurt not. friend hates. Beat. It appears not in this confession: there's Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. himself. not one wise man among twenty that will praise Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall in the time of good neighbours: if a man do not and the widow weeps. live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, Beat. And how long is that, think you? Bene. Question?-Why an hour in clamour, Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not pedient for the wise (if Don Warm, his conscience, and a quarter in rheum: Therefore, it is most ex- hurt a woman; and so I pray thee, call Beatrice: find no impediment in the contrary,) to be the I give thee the bucklers. Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of much for praising myself (who, I myself will bear trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So our own. Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put in the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous weapons for maids. Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who, I think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret. 1 Ignorant. 2 Holiday phrases. doth your cousin? witness, is praiseworthy,) and now tell me, How Beat. Very ill. Bene. And how do you? Beat. Very ill too. Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there 3 Is subject to. 138 ACT V MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Enter Ursula. Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well Bene. And so am 1, being else by faith enforc'd To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; Leon, Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, yonder's old coil at home: it is proved my lady Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves; Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and And when I send for you, come hither mask'd: Claudio mightily abused; and Don John is the The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come To visit me :-You know your office, brother; presently? Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will gc with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. You must be father to your brother's daughter, And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladis. Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. Friar. To do what, signior? SCENE III.-The inside of a church. Enter Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.- Don Pedro, Claudio, and attendants with music Your niece regards me with an eye of favour. and tapers. Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? Atten. It is, my lord. Claud. [Reads from a scroll.] Done to death by slanderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death, in guerdon2 of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never dies: So the life, that died with shame, Lives in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it. Praising her when I am dumb.- Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. SONG Pardon, Goddess of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight; For the which, with songs of wo, Round about her tomb they go. Midnight, assist our moan; Help us to sigh and groan, Heavily, heavily: Graves, yawn, and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavily, heavily. Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night! Yearly will I do this rite. D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches out: The wolves have prey'd; and look, the gen- tle day, Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray: Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well. Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several way. D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other weeds: And then to Leonato's we will go. Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds, Than this, for whom we render'd up this wo! [Exeunt. En- SCENE IV.A room in Leonato's house. ter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice,-Ur- sula, Friar and Hero. Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who accus' her, Upon the error that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this; Although against her will, as it appears In the true course of all the question. 1 Stir 2 Reward. Leon. That eye my daughter lent her; 'Tis most true. Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from me, From Claudio, and the prince; But what's your will? Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: But, for my will, my will is, your good will May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd In the estate of honourable marriage ;- In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. Leon. My heart is with your liking. Friar. And my help. Here comes the prince, and Claudio. Enter Don Pedro and Claudio with attendants. D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. Leon. Good inorrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio; We here attend you; are you yet determin'd To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar ready. [Exit Antonio. D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's the matter, That you have such a February face, So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip tny horns with gold, Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull:- As once Europa did at lusty Jove, And all Europa shall rejoice at thee; When he would play the noble beast in love. Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; And some such strange bull leap'd your father's And got a calf in that same noble feat, Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. COW, Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies mask'd. Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckonings. Which is the lady I must seize upon? Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see your face. Before this friar, and swear to marry her. Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her hand Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; I am your husband if you like of me. Hero. And when I liv'd I was your other wife. [Unmasking And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. Claud. Another Hero? Hero. Nothing certainer. One Hero died defil'd: but I do live, And, surely as I live, I am a maid. SCENE IV. 139 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu- Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander sión.-For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have liv'd. Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; When after that the holy rites are ended, I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: Mean time, let wonder seem familiar, And to the chapel let us presently. Bene. Soft and fair, friar.-Which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking. What is your will? Bene. Do not you love me? Beat. No, no more than reason. Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and Claudio, Have been deceived, for they swore you did. Beat. Do not you love me? Bene. No, no more than reason. Beat. Why then, my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no such matter:-Then, you do not love me? Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentleman. Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her; For here's a paper, written in his hand, A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, Fashion'd to Beatrice. Hero. And here's another, Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket, Containing her affection unto Benedick. Bene. A miracle! here's our own hands against our hearts!-Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I take thee for pity. beaten thee; but in that' thou art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. Claud. I had well hoped, thou would'st have de- nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends :-let's have a dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our hearts, and our wives' heels. Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. Bene. First, o' my word; therefore, play, mu- sic.-Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than one tipped with horn. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight, And brought with armed men back to Messina. Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll de vise thee brave punishments for him.-Strike up, pipers. [Dance. [Exeunt. This play may be justly said to contain two ot the most sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. The wit, the humourist, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined in Benedick. It is to be lamented, indeed, that the first and most splen- did of these distinctions, is disgraced by unneces sary profaneness; for the goodness of his heart is hardly sufficient to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic levity, which flashes out in the conversation of Beatrice, may be excused on account of the steadiness and friendship so ap- parent in her behaviour, when she urges her lover Beat. I would not deny you;-but, by this good to risk his life by a challenge to Claudio. In the day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to conduct of the fable, however, there is an imper- save your life, for I was told you were in a consump-fection similar to that which Dr. Johnson has point- ed out in The Merry Wives of Windsor-the Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth,- second contrivance is less ingenious than the first:-- [Kissing her. or, to speak more plainly, the same incident is be- D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the mar-come stare by repetition. I wish some other method had been found to entrap Beatrice, than that very Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit-one which before had been successfully practised crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: dost on Benedick. ion. ried man? thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No: Much ado About Nothing, (as I understand from if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear one of Mr. Vertue's MSS.) formerly passed under nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do the title of Benedick and Beatrix. Heming, the propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur-player, received, on the 20th of May, 1613, the sum pose that the world can say against it; and there- of forty pounds, and twenty pounds more as his fore never flout at me for what I have said against majesty's gratuity, for exhibiting six plays at Hamp. ton Court, among which was this comedy. STEEVENS. 1 Because. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Theseus, duke of Athens. Egeus, father to Hermia. Demetrius, in love with Hermia. Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. Quince, the carpenter. Snug, the joiner. Bottom, the weaver. Flute, the bellows-mender. Snout, the tinker. Starveling, the tailor. Oberon, king of the fairies. Titania, queen of the fairies. Puck, or Robin Good-fellow, a fairy. Peas-Blossom, Cobweb, fairies. Moth, Mustard-seed, Pyramus, Thisbe. Wall, Moonshine, Characters in the interlude, per formed by the Clowns. Lion, Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed to Theseus. Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. Helena, in love with Demetrius. ACT I. Other faries attending their king and queen. Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. Scene, Athens, and a wood not far from it. And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, SCENE I-Athens. A room in the palace of With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, trate, and attendants. Philos-And stol'n the impression of her fantasy Theseus. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour Draws on apace; four happy days bring in Another moon: but, oh, methinks, how slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, Like to a step-dame, or a dowager Long withering out a young man's revenue. Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves nights; Four nights will quickly dream away the time; And then the moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities. in The. Go, Philostrate, Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; Turn melancholy forth to funerals, The pale companion is not for our pomp. [Exit Philostrate. Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, And won thy love, doing thee injuries; But I will wed thee in another key, With pomp, with triumph,' and with revelling. With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds,2 conceits, Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers, Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth: With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart; Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, To stubborn harshness :-and, my gracious duke, Be it so she will not here before your grace Consent to marry with Demetrius, I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; As she is mine, I may dispose of her. Which shall be either to this gentleman, Or to her death; according to our law, Immediately provided in that case. The. What say you, Hernia? be advis'd, fair maid: To you your father should be as a god; One that compos'd your beauties: yea, and one To whom you are but as a form in wax By him imprinted, and within his power To leave the figure, or disfigure it. Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. Her. So is Lysander. The. In himself he is: But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice, The other must be held the worthier. Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. I know not by what power I am made bold; Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! Nor how it may concern my modesty, The. Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint Against my child, my daughter Hermia.- Stand forth, Demetrius; My noble lord, This man hath my consent to marry her:- Stand forth, Lysander;-and, my gracious duke, This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 1 Shows, In such a presence here to plead my thoughts: But I beseech your grace that I may know The worst that may befal me in this case, If I refuse to wed Demetrius. The. Either to die the death, or to abjure Therefore, fair Hernia, question your desires, For ever the society of men. Whether if you yield not to your father's choice, Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 2 Baubles. SCENE I. 141 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. You can end ire the livery of a nun; For aye' to be in shady cloister mew'd, To live a barren sister all your life, Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, To undergo such maiden pilgrimage: But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, Ere I will yield my virgin patent up Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke My soul consents not to give sovereignty. The. Take time to pause: and, by the next new moon (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, For everlasting bond of fellowship,) Upon that day either prepare to die, For disobedience to your father's will; Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would: Or on Diana's altar to protest, For aye austerity and single life. Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years; Her. O spite! too old to be engag'd to young! Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends: Her. O hell! to choose love by another's eye! Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to say,-Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd, It stands as an edict in destiny: Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross; As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. Lys. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Hermia. Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ;-And, Lysander, I have a widow aunt, a dowager yield Thy crazed title to my certain right. Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. Ege. Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love; And what is mine my love shall render him; And she is mine; and all iny right of her I do estate unto Demetrius. Lys. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he, As well possess'd; my love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; And, which is more than all these boasts can be, I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia: Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes, Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, Upon this spotted2 and inconstant man. The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; But, being over-full of self-affairs, My mind did lose it.-But, Demetrius, come; And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, I have some private schooling for you both.- For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself To fit your fancies to your father's will; Or else the law of Athens yield you up (Which by no means we may extenuate,) To death, or to a vow of single life.- Come, my Hippolyta; what cheer, my love? Demetrius, and Egeus, go along: I must employ you in some business Against our nuptial; and confer with you Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. Ege. With duty and desire we follow you. [Exeunt Thes. Hip. Ege. Dem. and train. Lys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale? How chance the roses there do fade so fast? Her. Belike for want of rain; which I could well Beteem them³ from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But, either it was different in blood; Her. O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low! 3 Give, bestow. 6 Pole-stars. 1 Ever. 2 Wicked. 4 Black. 5 Lovers. Of great revenue, and she hath no child: From Athens is her house remote seven leagues; And she respects me as her only son. There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; And to that place the sharp Athenian law Cannot pursue us: if thou lov'st me then, Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; And in the wood, a league without the town, Where I did meet thee once with Helena, To do observance to a morn of May, There will I stay for thee. Her. My good Lysander: I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow; By his best arrow with the golden head; By the simplicity of Venus' doves; By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, When the false Trojan under sail was seen; By all the vows that ever men have broke, In number more than ever women spoke ;- In that same place thou hast appointed me, To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. Lys. Keep promise, love: look, here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. Sickness is catching; O were favour" so! Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye, My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, The rest I'll give to be to you translated. O, teach me how you look; and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill! Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move! Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me, Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 7 Countenance. 10 142 ACT L MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. ble comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and Hel. None, but your beauty; 'would that fault Thisby. were mine! Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my and a merry.-Now, good Peter Quince, call forth face; Lysander and myself will fly this place.- Before the time I did Lysander see, Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me: O then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell! Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. Her. And in the wood, where often you and I Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet: There my Lysander and myself shall meet: And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, To seek new friends and stranger companies. Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us, And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius! Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. [Exit Hermia. Lys. I will, my Hermia.-Helena, adieu: As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! your actors by the scroll: Masters, spread your selves. Quin. Answer, as I call you.--Nick Bottom, the weaver. Bot. Ready: name what part I am for, and pro- Iceed. [Exit Lysander. Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, So I, admiring of his qualities, Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind: Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. As waggish boys in game' themselves forswear, So the boy love is perjur'd every where: For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne," He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine; And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight: Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither, and back again. SCENE II.-The same. A room in a Cottage. Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and Starveling. [Exit. Quin. Is all our company here? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to the scrip. Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- ramus. Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for love. Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- forming of it: If I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest:-Yet my chief hu- mour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. "The raging rocks, "With shivering shocks, "Shall break the locks "Of prison-gates: "And Phibbus' car "Shall shine from far, "And make and mar "The foolish fates." This was lofty!-Now name the rest of the play- ers.-This is Ercles' vein; a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling. Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. Flu. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You must take Thisby on you. Flu. What is Thisby? a wandering knight? Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; 1 have a beard coming. Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask, and you may speak as small as you will. Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too: I'll speak in a monstrous little voice;-This- ne, Thisne,-Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear! and lady dear! Quin. No, no; you must play Pyramus, and, Flute, you Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed. Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. Star. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.-Tom Snout, the tinker. Snout. Here, Peter Quince. Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's father;-Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part:- and, I hope, here is a play fitted. Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring. I Bot. Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him roar again, Let him roar again. Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in would fright the duchess and the ladies, that they our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his would shriek: and that were enough to hang us all. All. That would hang us every mother's son. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should treats on; then read the names of the actors; and fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have wedding-day at night. 80 grow to a point. Quin. Marry, our play is-The most 1 Sport. 2 Eyes. no more discretion but to hang us: but I will ag- lamenta-gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you ans 'twere any nightingale. 3 As if. SCENE II. 143 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for Call'd Robin Good-fellow: are you not he, Pyramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man, as That fright the maidens of the villagery; one shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern," gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs And bootless make the breathless housewife churn play Pyramus. And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;3 Quin. Why, what you will! Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm were I best to play it in? Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, You do their work, and they shall have good luck Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-Are not you he? coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your Puck. Thou speak'st aright; purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-col- I am that merry wanderer of the night. our beard, your perfect yellow. I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, at all, and then you will play bare-faced. But, Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: masters, here are your parts: and I am to entreat And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, you, request you, and desire you, to con them by In very likeness of a roasted crab ;9 to-morrow night: and meet me in the palace wood, And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, a mile without the town, by moon-light; there will And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. we rehearse: for if we meet in the city, we shall The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, be dogg'd with company, and our devices known. Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me: In the mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not. Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; be perfect; adieu. Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. Bot. Enough; Hold, or cut bow-strings.2 [Exe. ACT II. SCENE I-A wood near Athens. Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. Puck. How now, spirit! whither wander you? Fai. Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander every where, Swifter than the moones sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs³ upon the green: The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll be gone; Our queen and all her elves come here anon. Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night; Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, Because that she, as her attendant, hath A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king; She never had so sweet a changeling: And jealous Oberon would have the child Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: And now they never meet in grove, or green, By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen, But they do square; that all their elves, for fear, Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quile, Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 4 1 Articles required in performing a play. 2 At all events. 4 A term of contempt. 3 Circles. 5 Shining. Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear A merrier hour was never wasted there.- But room, Faery, here comes Oberon. I Fai. And here my mistress:-'Would that he were gone! SCENE II.-Enter Oberon, at one door, with his train, and Titania, at another, with hers. Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. Tita. What, jealous Oberon? Fairy, skip hence; have forsworn his bed and company. Obe. Tarry, rash wanton; Am not I thy lord? Tita. Then I must be thy lady: But I know When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, And in the shape of Corin sat all day, Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, Come from the farthest steep of India? But that forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, To Theseus must be wedded; and you come To give their bed joy and prosperity. Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night From Perigenia, whom he ravished? And make him with fair Æglé break his faith, With Ariadne, and Antiopa? Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, Or on the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport: Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea Contagious fogs; which falling in the land, Have every pelting10 river made so proud, That they have overborne their continents:¹ The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard: The fold stands empty in the drowned field, And crows are fatted with the murrain flock; 8 Yeast. 6 Quarrel. 7 Mill. 9 Wild apple. 10 Petty. 11 Banks which contain them. 144 ACT II MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. The nine men's morris' is fill'd up with mud; And the quaint mazes in the wanton green For lack of tread, are undistinguishable: The human mortals want their winter here; No night is now with hymn or carol blest :- Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air, That rheumatic diseases do abound: And thorough this distemperature, we see The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; And on old Hyems' chin, an icy crown, An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds Is, as in mockery, set: The spring, the summer, The childing2 autumn, angry winter, change Their wonted liveries; and the 'mazed world, By their increase,3 now knows not which is which: And this same progeny of evils comes From our debate, from our dissension; We are their parents and original. Obe. Do you amend it then; it lies in you: Why should Titania cross her Oberon? I do but beg a little changeling boy, To be my henchman.4 Tita. Set your heart at rest, The fairy land buys not the child of me. His mother was a vot'ress of my order: And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, Full often hath she gossip'd by my side; And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, Marking the embarked traders on the flood; When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind: Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait (Following her womb, then rich with my young 'squire,) Would imitate; and sail upon the land, To fetch me trifles, and return again, As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; And, for her sake, 1 do rear up her boy: And, for her sake, I will not part with him. Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay? Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. If you will patiently dance in our round, And see our moon-light revels, go with us; If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. Tita. Not for thy kingdom.-Fairies, away: We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. [Exeunt Titania and her train. Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove, Till I torment thee for this injury.- My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck. I remember. Obe. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not,) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took At a fair vestal, throned by the west; And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon; And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 1 A game played by boys. 2 Autumn producing flowers unseasonably. In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: It fell upon a little western flower,- Before, milk-white; now purple w th love's wound,- And maidens call it, love-in-idleness. Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once; The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again, Ere the leviathan can swim a league. Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth [Exit Puck. In forty minutes. Having once this juice. Obe. I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: The next thing then she waking looks upon (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) She shall pursue it with the soul of love. And ere I take this charm off from her sight (As I can take it, with another herb,) I'll make her render up her page to me. But who comes here ? I am invisible; And I will over-hear their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me, they were stol'n into this wood And here am I, and woods within this wood, Because I cannot meet with Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant But yet you draw not iron, for my heart- Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you. Dem. Do I entice you? Do I speak you fair? Or rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you-I do not, nor I cannot love you? Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, I The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. What worser place can I beg in your love (And yet a place of high respect with me,) Than to be used as you use your dog? Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit For I am sick, when I do look on thee. Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. Dem. You do impeach" your modesty too much, To leave the city, and commit yourself Into the hands of one that loves you not; To trust the opportunity of night, And the ill counsel of a desert place, With the rich worth of your virginity. Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. It is not night, when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night: Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company; For you, in my respect, are all the world: Then how can it be said, I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me? Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes. And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd; 3 Produce. 6 Mad, raving. 4 Page. 5 Exempt from love 7 Bring in question. SCENE LI 145 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger: bootless speed! When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. Dem I will not stay thy questions; let me go: Or, if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius' Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. [Exeunt Dem. and Hel. Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove, Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love.- Re-enter Puck. Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer. Puck. Ay, there it is. Obe. I pray thee, give it me, I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips2 and the nodding violet grows; Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight; And there the snake throws her enamell❜d skin Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: A sweet Athenian lady is in love With a disdainiui youth: anoint his eyes; But do it when the next thing he espies May be the lady: thou shalt know the man By the Athenian garments he hath on. Effect it with some care; that he may prove More fond on her than she upon her love: And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. II. 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here, Hence, you long-legg d spinners, hancc: Beetles black, approach not near; Worm, nor snai, do no offence. Philomel, with melody, &c. Chorus. 1 Fai. Hence, away; now all is well: One, aloof, stand sentinel. [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. Enter Oberon. Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, [Squeezes the flower on Titania's eye-lids. Do it for thy true love take: Love, and languish for his sake: Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, Pard, or boar with bristled hair, In thy eye that shall appear When thou wak'st, it is thy dear; Wake, when some vile thing is near. Enter Lysander and Hermia. [Exit. Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood; And to speak truth, I have forgot our way; We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, And tarry for the comfort of the day. Her. Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed, For I upon this bank will rest my head. Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear, Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit, So that but one heart we can make of it: Two bosoms interchained with an oath; So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. Then, by your side no bed-room me deny; For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. Her. Lysander riddles very prettily:- Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, SO. SCENE III-Another part of the wood. Titania, with her train. [Exeunt. If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. Enter But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy Lie further off; in human modesty Such separation, as, may well be said, Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid: So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend. Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end! Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I; And then end' life, when I end loyalty! Here is my bed: sleep give thee all his rest! Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes bo press'd! [They sleep. Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song; Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds; Some, war with rear-mices for their leathern wings, To make my small elves coats; and some, keep back The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and won- ders At our quaint spirits: sing me now asleep; Then to your offices, and let me rest. 1 Fai. Chorus, SONG. You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen; Newts, and blind-worms do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen: Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. 1 By. 2 The greater cowslip. 3 Vigorous. Enter Puck. Puck. Through the forest have I gone, But Athenian found I none, On whose eyes I might approve This flower's force in stirring love. Night and silence! who is here? Weeds of Athens he doth wear: This is he, my master said, Despised the Athenian maid; And here the maiden, sleeping sound, On the dank and dirty ground. Pretty soul! she durst nct lie Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. Churl, upon thy eyes I throw All the power this charm doth owe:10 7 Efts. ¡ 8 Slow-worms. 4 A kind of dance. 5 Bats. 6 Sports. 10 Possess. 9 The small tiger 146 Аст II MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. When thou wak'st, let love forbid Sleep his seat on thy eyelid. So awake, when I am gone; For I must now to Oberon. Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus. Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me do thy best, To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast! [Exit. Ah me, for pity!-what a dream was here! Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear: Methought a serpent eat my heart away, And you sat smiling at his cruel prey:- Lysander! what, remov'd? Lysander! lord! What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear; Speak, of all loves; I swoon almost with fear. No?-then I well perceive you are not nigh: Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Erit. Hel. O, wilt thou darkling¹ leave me? do not so. Dem. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go. [Exit Demetrius. Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase! The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies; For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears: If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. No, no, I am as ugly as a bear; For beasts that meet me, run away for fear: Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. What wicked and dissembling glass of mine Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? But who is here?-Lysander! on the ground! Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound :- Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake, Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet [Waking. Transparent Helena! Nature here shows art, That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word Is that vile name, to perish on my sword! sake. Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; say not so: What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though? Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content. Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent The tedious minutes I with her have spent. Not Hermia, but Helena I love: Who will not change a raven for a dove? The will of man is by his reason sway'd; And reason says you are the worthier maid. Things growing are not ripe until their season: So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; And touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my will, And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook Love's stories written in love's richest book. ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. The queen of fairies luing asleep. Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous con- venient place for our rehearsal: this green plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house and we will do it in action, as we will do it before the duke. Bot. Peter Quince,- Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? Bot. There are things in this coinedy of Pyramus and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. 3 Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, when all is done. Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. Write me a prologue: and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords; and that Pyramus is not killed indeed: and, for the more better assurance, tell them, that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them out of fear. Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue; and it shall be written in eight and six. Bot. No, make it two more; let it be written in eight and eight. Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion? Star. I fear it, I promise you. Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your selves: to bring in, God shield us! a lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing; for there is not more fearful' wild-fowl than your lion, living; anc we ought to look to it. Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell he Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, That I did never, no, nor never can, Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, But you must flout my insufficiency? Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, is not a lion. In such disdainful manner me to woo. But fare you well: perforce I must confess, I thought you lord of more true gentleness. O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, Should, of another, therefore be abus'd! Lys. She sees not Hermia:-Hermia, sleep thou there; Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the same defect,-Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish Exit. you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours, If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of my life: no, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men are:-and there, indeed, let him name his name; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. And never may'st thou come Lysander near! For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; Or, as the heresies, that men do leave, Are hated most of those they did deceive; So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, Of all be hated; but the most of me! And all my powers, address your love and might, To honour Helen, and to be her knight! 1 In the dark Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is, to bring the moon-light into a chamber: for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by moon-light. Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play [Exit. our play? 2 By all that is dear. 3 By our ladykin. 4 Dangerous. 5 Terrible SCENE L 147 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the alma- nac; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the great chamber window, where we play, open; and the moon may shine in at the casement. Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of them, to make me afeard.4 Re-enter Snout. Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see on thee? Bot. What do you see? you see an ass's head Re-enter Quince. Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis- of your own; Do you? figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. Then there is another thing: we must have a wall in the great chamber; for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did talk through the chinks of a wall. Snug. You never can bring in a wall.-What say you, Bottom? Quin. Bless thee, Bottom! bless thee! thou art translated. [Exit. Bot. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of me; to fright me, if they could. But I will not Bot. Some man or other must present wall: and stir from this place, do what they can: I will walk let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall rough-cast about him, to signify wall; or let him hear I am not afraid. hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby whisper. Quin. If that may be, then all is well: Come, sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you have spoken your speech, enter into that brake, and so every one according to his cue. Enter Puck behind. Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- gering here, So near the cradle of the fairy queen? What, a play toward? I'll be an auditor; An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. Quin. Speak, Pyramus:-Thisby, stand forth. Pyr. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet,- Quin. Odours, odours. Pyr. -Odours savours sweet: So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear.- But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here a while, And by and by I will to thee appear. Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here! [Aside.-Exit. The ousel-cock, so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill, The throstle with his note so true, The wren with little quill; [Sings. Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed? Bot. [Waking. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, The plain-song cuckoo' gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer, nay;- for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry, cuckoo, never so? Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note, So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little [Exit. reason for that: and yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now-a-days: the more the pity, that some honest neighbours will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek," upon. occasion. This. Must I speak now? Quin. Ay, marry, must you: for you must un- derstand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and is to come again. This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue, Of colour like the red-rose on triumphant brier, Most briskly juvenal,2 and eke most lovely Jew, As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. Bot. Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough to get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own turn. Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go; I am a spirit, of no common rate; The summer still doth tend upon my state, Quin. Ninus tomb, man: why you must not And I do love thee: therefore, go with me; speak that yet; that you answer to Pyramus: you I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee; speak all your part at once, cues and all.-Pyra-And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep: mus enter; your cue is past; it is, never tire. Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's head. This. O,-As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire. Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine:- Quin. O monstrous! O strange! we are haunted. Pray, masters! fly, masters! help! [Exe. Clowns. Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round, Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier; Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, A hog, a beardless bear, sometime a fire; And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 1 Thicket. 2 Young man. And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep.:: And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustard-seed.. Enter four Fairies. 1 Fai. Ready. 2 Fai. 3 Fai. 4 Fai. And I. And I. Where shall we go? Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman: Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes; Feed him with apricots and dewberries,7 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, [Exit. And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs, And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, which serve as a hint to him who is to speak next. 3 Joke. The last words of the preceding speech, 4 Afraid. 5 The cuckoo, with his uniform note 7 Gooseberries. 148 ACT I MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. To have my love to bed, and to arise, And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes: Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 1 Fai. Hail, mortal! 2 Fai. Hail! 3 Fai. Hail! 4 Fai. Hail! I led them on in this distracted fear And left sweet Pyramus translated there. When in that moment (so it came to pass) Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? Puck. I took him sleeping,-that is finish'd too,- That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily.-I And the Athenian woman by his side; beseech, your worship's name. Cob. Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good master Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold with you. Your name, honest gentleman? Peas. Peas-blossom. Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire of you more acquaintance too.-Your name, I beseech you, sir? Mus. Mustard-seed. Enter Demetrius and Hermia. Obe. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse; For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, patience well: that same cowardly, giant-like ox- And kill me too. beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your The sun was not so true unto the day, house: I promise you, your kindred hath made my As he to me: Would he have stol'n away eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaint-From sleeping Hermia? I'll believe as soon, ance, good master Mustard-seed. Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye; And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, Lamenting some enforced chastity. Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. This whole earth may be bor'd; and that the moon May through the centre creep, and so displease Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him; So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim. Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I, [Exeunt. Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty: Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, SCENE II.-Another part of the wood. Enter As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. Oberon. Obe. I wonder if Titania be awak'd; Then, what it was that next came in her eye, Which she must dote on in extremity. Enter Puck. Here comes my messenger.-How now, mad spirit? What night-rule now about this haunted grove? Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. Near to her close and consecrated bower, While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, A crew of patches,2 rude mechanicals, That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, Were met together to rehearse a play, Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,3 Who Pyramus presented, in their sport Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake: When I did him at this advantage take, An ass's nowl4 I fixed on his head; Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he; Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. Her. Out, dog! out, cur! thou driv'st me past the bounds Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? Henceforth be never number'd among men! O! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake; Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O brave touch;" Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? An adder did it: for with a doubler tongue Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd' mood: I am not guilty of Lysander's blood; Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. Dem. And if I could, what should I get there- fore? Her. A privilege, never to see me more.- And forth my mimics comes: when they him spy, And from thy hated presence part I so: As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, Rising and cawing at the gun's report Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky; So, at his sight, away his fellows fly: And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus strong, Made senseless things begin to do them wrong: For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; Some, sleeves; some, hats: from yielders all things catch. 1 Revelry. 2 Simple fellows. $ Stupid company. 4 Head. 5 Actor. See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein : Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe; Which now, in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay; [Lies down Obe. What hast thou done? thou nast inistaken quite, And laid the love-juice on some true-love's sight: Of thy misprision must perforce ensue Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 6 Infected. 7 Exploit. 8 Mistaken. SCENE II. 149 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Puck. Then fate o'er-rules; that one man ing troth, A million fail, confounding oath on oath. hold-When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts, You both are rivals, and love Hermiu; And now both rivals, to mock Helena: Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, And Helena of Athens look thou find : All fancy-sick' she is, and pale of cheer2 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood By some illusion see thou bring her here; I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear. Puck. I go, I go; look, how I go; Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. Obe. Flower of this purple dye, Hit with Cupid's archery, Sink in apple of his eye! Wher his love he doth espy, Let her shine as gloriously As the Venus of the sky.- When thou wak'st, if she be by, Beg of her for remedy. Re-enter Puck. Puck. Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand; And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee; Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be! To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, With your derision! none, of noble sort,4 dear: Would so offend a virgin; and extort A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; For you love Hermia; this, you know, I know: [Exit. And here, with all good will, with all my heart, In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; And yours of Helena to me bequeath, Whom I do love, and will do to my death. Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make, Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two, at once, woo one; That must needs be sport alone; And those things do best please me, That befal preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena. Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born, in their nativity all truth appears. Eow can these things in me seem scorn to you, Pearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray! These vows are Hermia's; Will you give her o'er? Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh: Hour vows, to her and me, put in two scales, Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. Dem. [Awaking.] 0 Helen, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow! That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, When thou hold'st up thy hand: O let me kiss This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! Hel. O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent To set against me for your merriment. If you were civil, and knew courtesy, You would not do me thus much injury. Can you not hate me, as I know you do, But you must join, in souls, to mock me too? If you were men, as men you are in show, You would not use a gentle lady so; To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 2 Countenance. 1 Love-sick. 3 Heartily. 4 Degree. 5 Pay dearly for it. Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath, Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none : If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. My heart with her, but as guestwise, sojourn'd: And now to Helena is it home return'd, There to remain. Lys. Helen, it is not so. Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear. Enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes, The ear more quick of apprehension makes; Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, It pays the hearing double recompense:- Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth prest to go? Her. What love could press Lysander from my side? Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him 'bide, Fair Helena; who more engilds the night Than all yon fiery oess and eyes of light. Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee know, The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so? Her. You speak not as you think; it cannot be Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, To fashion this false sport in spite of ine. Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd To bait me with this foul derision? Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, When we have chid the hasty-footed time For parting us,-0, and is all forgot? All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? We, Hermia, like two artificial' gods, Have with our neelds created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted; But yet a union in partition, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem: So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one, and crown'd with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend? It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly. 6 Circles. 7 Ingenious. 8 Needles. 150 ACT II. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it: Though I alone do feel the injury. Her. I am amaz'd at your passionate words: I scorn you not; it seems that you scorn me. Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn, To follow me, and praise my eyes and face? And made your other love, Demetrius, (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love, so rich within his soul, And tender me, forsooth, affection; But by your setting on, by your consent? What though I be not so in grace as you, So hung upon with love, so fortunate; But miserable most, to love unlov'd? This you should pity, rather than despise. Her. I understand not what you mean by this. Hel. Ay, do perséver, counterfeit sad looks, Make mows' upon me when I turn my back; Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up; This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. If you have any pity, grace, or manners, You would not make me such an argument. But, fare ye well: 'tis partly mine own fault; Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena! Hel. O excellent! Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en- treat; Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak prayers.- Helen, I love thee; by my life, I do; I swear by that which I will lose for thee, To prove him false, that says I love thee not. Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. Dem. Quick, come,- Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? Lys. Away, you Ethiop! Dem. No, no, sir :-he will Seem to break loose; take on, as you would follow; But yet come not: You are a tame man, go! Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing, let loose; Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change is this, Sweet love? Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out! Out, loathed medicine! hated potion, hence! Her. Do you not jest? Hel. Yes, 'sooth; and so do you. Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive, A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word. Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead? Why, then you left me,-0, the gods forbid!- In earnest, shall I say? Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate? Hate me! wherefore? O me! what news, my love? Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander? I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. Lys. Ay, by my life; And never did desire to see thee more. Therefore be out of hope, of question, doubt, Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest, That I do hate thee, and love Helena. Her. O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom!? You thief of love! what, have you come by night, And stol'n my love's heart from him? Hel. Be Fine, i' faith! Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet you! Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. Now I perceive that she hath made compare Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height; And with her personage, her tall personage, Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him-- And are you grown so high in his esteem, Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak; How low am I? I am not yet so low, But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentleme, Let her not hurt me: I was never curst;3 I have no gift at all in shrewishness; I am a right maid for my cowardice; Let her not strike me: You, perhaps may think, Because she's something lower than myself, That I can match her. I Her. Lower! hark again. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. evermore did love you, Hermia, Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you; Save that in love unto Demetrius, I told him of your stealth into this wood: He follow'd you; for love, I follow'd him. But he hath chid me hence; and threaten'd me To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: And now, so you will let me quiet go, To Athens will I bear my folly back, You see how simple and how fond I am. And follow you no further: Let me go: Her. Why, get you gone: Who is't that hinders you? Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind. Her. What, with Lysander? Hel. With Demetrius. Lys. Be not afraid: she shall not harm thee, Helena. Dem. No, sir; she shall not, though you take her part. Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd: She was a vixen when she went to school; And, though she be but little, she is fierce. Her. Little again? nothing but low and little?- Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? Let me come to her. dwarf. Lys. Get you gone, you You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made; You bead, you acorn. Dem. You are too officious, In her behalf that scorns your services. Let her alone; speak not of Helena; Since night, you lov'd me; yet, since might you Take not her part: for if thou dost intend left me: 1 Wry faces. 2 A worm that preys on buds of flowers. 3 Shrewish or mischievous. 4 Foolish. Never so little show of love to her, 5 Anciently knot-grass was believed to pre vent the growth of children. 6 Pretenc SCENE II. 151 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Thou shalt aby it. Lys. Now she holds me not; Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. Ilem. Follow? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. [Exeunt Lys. and Dem. Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you: Nay, go not back. Hel. I will not trust you, I; Exit. Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray; My legs are longer though, to run away. Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. [Exit, pursuing Helena. Obe. This is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st, Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully. Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. Did not you tell me, I should know the man By the Athenian garments he had on? And so far blameless proves my enterprise, That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes: And so far am I glad it so did sort,' Here comes one. Enter Lysander. Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou now. Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art thou? Lys. I will be with thee straight. Puck. To plainer ground. Dem. Follow me then [Exit Lys. as following the voice. Enter Demetrius. Lysander! speak again. Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy head? Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars, Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou child; I'll whip thee with a rod: He is defil'd Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight: That draws a sword on thee. As this their jangling I esteem a sport. Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; With drooping fog, as black as Acheron : And lead these testy rivals so astray, The starry welkin cover thou anon As one come not within another's way. Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; And from each other look thou lead them thus, Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,2 To take from thence all error, with his might, And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. When they next wake, all this derision Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision; And back to Athens shall the lovers wend,3 Dem. Yea; art thou there? Puck. Follow my voice; we'll try no manhood here. [Exeunt. Re-enter Lysander. Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on; When I come where he calls, then he is gone. The villain is much lighter heel'd than I: I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly; That fallen ain I in dark uneven way, And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day! [Lies down. For if but once thou show me thy gray light, I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps. Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou not? Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, With league, whose date till death shall never end. Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place; Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; And then I will her charmed eye release From monster's view, and all things shall be peace. Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste; For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there, Troop home to church-vards: damned spirits all, That in cross-ways and floods have burial, Already to their wormy beds are gone; For fear lest day should look their shames upon, They wilfully themselves exile from light, And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. Obe. But we are spirits of another sort; I with the Morning's Love have oft made sport; And, like a forester, the groves may tread, Even to the eastern gate, all fiery red, Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: We may effect this business yet ere day.. [Exit Oberon. Puck. Up and down, up and down; I will lead them up and down. I am fear'd in field and town; Goblin, lead them up and down. 1 Happen. 2 Medicinal efficacy. 3 Go. And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou? Puck. Come hither; I am here. Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy this dear, Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me If ever I thy face by day-light see: By day's approach look to be visited. To measure out my length on this cold bed.- [Lies down and sleeps Enter Helena. Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the east; That I may back to Athens, by day-light, From these that my poor company detest:- Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye. Puck. Yet but three? Come one more; Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad:- Cupid is a knavish lad, Thus to make poor females mad. Enter Hermia. Her. Never so weary, never so in wo, Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers I can no further crawl, no further go; My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 4 Cephalus, the paramour of Aurora, 52 ACT IV MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. Here will I rest me, till the break of day. Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! Puck. On the ground I'll apply [Lies down. Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. So doth the woodbine, the honeysuckle, Gently entwist,-the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 0, how I love thee! how I dote on thee! Sleep sound: To your eye, Gentle lover, remedy. [Squeezing the juice on Lysander's eye. When thou wak'st, Thou tak'st True delight In the sight Of thy former lady's eye: And the country proverb known, That every man should take his own, In your waking shall be shown: Jack shall have Jill; Nought shall go ill; Oberon advances. [They sleeps. Enter Puck. Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight? Her dotage now I do begin to pity. For meeting her of late, behind the wood, Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, I did upbraid her, and fall out with her: For she his hairy temples then had rounded With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; And that same dew which sometime on the buds Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, Stood now within the pretty flowrets' eyes, The man shall have his mare again, and all shall Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. be well. [Ex. Puck.-Dem. Hel. &c. sleep. ACT IV. When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, I then did ask of her her changeling child; Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent To bear him to my bower in fairy land. And now I have the boy, I will undo Bot-This hateful imperfection of her eyes. And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp From off the head of this Athenian swain; That he awaking when the other do, May all to Athens back again repair; And think no more of this night's accidents, But as the fierce vexation of a dream. But first I will release the fairy queen. Be, as thou wast wont to be; SCENE I.-The same. Enter Titania and tom, Fairies attending; Oberon behind unseen. Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,' And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. Bot. Where's Peas-blossom? Peas. Ready. Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom.-Where's monsieur Cobweb? Coo, Ready. Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hip- ped humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur; and good monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey bag, signior.-Where's monsieur Mustard- seed? Must. Ready. Bot. Give me your neif,2 monsieur Mustard-seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur Must. What's your will? [Touching her eyes with an herb See, as thou wast wont to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower Hath such force and blessed power. Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen. Tita. My Oberon! What visions have I seer Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass. Obe. There lies your love. Tita. How came these things to pass? O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now? Obe. Silence, awhile-Robin, take off this head-- Titania, music call; and strike more dead Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. Tita. Music, ho! music; such as charmeth sleep. Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own fool's eyes peep. Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cava- Obe. Sound, music. [Still music.] Come, my lero Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, queen, take hands with me, monsieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. about the face: and I am such a tender ass, if my Now thou and I are new in amity; hair do but tickle me, I inust scratch. Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet love? Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music: let uns have the tongs and the bones. Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. Bot. Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great de- sire to a bottle of hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath I fellow. Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your peo- ple stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come up- on me. Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 2 Fist. 1 Stroke. And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, And bless it to all fair posterity: There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark; I do hear the morning lark. Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, Trip we after the night's shade: We the globe can compass soon, Swifter than the wand'ring moon. Tita. Come, my lord. and in our flight, Tell me how it came this night, That I sleeping here was found, With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt [Horns sound within Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. The. Go, one of you, find out the forester: SCENE II. 153 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. For now our observation is perform'd: And since we have the vayward' of the day, My love shall hear the music of my hounds.- Uncouple in the western valley; go: Despatch, I say, and find the forester.- We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, And mark the musical confusion Of hounds and echo in conjunction. Hip. I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, When in a wool of Crete they bay'd the bear With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear Such gallant chiding;2 for, besides the groves, The skies, the fountains, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 'Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now As the remembrance of an idle gawd," Which in my childhood I did dote upon: And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, The object, and the pleasure of mine eye Is only Helena. To her, my lord, Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia: But, like in sickness, did I loath this food: But, as in health, come to my natural taste, Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it. The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met: Of this discourse we more will hear anon.- Egeus, I will overbear your will; For in the temple, by and by with us, These couples shall eternally be knit. And, for the morning now is something worn, Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.- Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three, We'll hold a feast in great solemnity.- So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew; Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,Come, Hippolyta. Each under each. A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: Judge, when you hear.-But, soft; what nymphs are these? Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep: And this, Lysander: this Demetrius is; This Helena, old Nedar's Helena: I wonder of their being here together. The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe The rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.- But, speak, Egeus; is not this the day That Hermia should give answer of her choice? Ege. It is, my lord. The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their horns. Horns, and shout within. Demetrius, Lysander, Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up. The. Good-morrow, friends. St. Valentine is past; Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? Lys. Pardon, my lord. The. [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. I pray you all, stand up. I know, you are two rival enemies: How comes this gentle concord in the world, That hatred is so far from jealousy, To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here: But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,- And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) I came with Hernia hither; our intent Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be Without the peril of the Athenian law. Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough; I beg the law, the law, upon his head. They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme- trius, Thereby to have defeated you and me: You, of your wife; and me of my consent; Of my consent that she should be your wife. Dem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth Of this their purpose hither, to this wood; And I in fury hither follow'd them; Fair Helena in fancy following me. But, my good lord, I wot not by what power Bu by some power it is,) my love to Hernia, 1 Forepart. 2 Sound. 3 The flews are the large chaps of a hound. [Exeunt The. Hyp. Ege. and train. Dem. These things seem small, and undistin- guishable, Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted eye, When every thing seems double. Hel. So methinks: And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, Mine own, and not mine own. Dem. It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream.-Do not you think, The duke was here, and bid us follow him? Hel. And Hippolyta. Her. Yea: and my father. Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. Dem. Why then, we are awake: let's follow him; And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [Exe. As they go out, Bottom awakes. answer;-my next is, Most fair Pyramus.-Hey, Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will ho!-Peter Quince! Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! stolen hence, and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream,-past the wit of man to say what dream it was: Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. Methought I was there is no man call tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had,--But man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath not heard, the car of man hath not seen; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom: and I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before the duke: Peradventure, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit. SCENE II-Athens. A room in Quince's House. Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house? is he come home yet? Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is transported. Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred; It goes not forward, doth it? Quin. It is not possible: you have not a man in 5 Toy. 4 Love. 54 ACT V. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft man in Athens. Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God bless us, a thing of nought. Enter Snug. Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more married: if our sport had gone forward, we had all been made men. Flu. O sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost Sixpence a-day during his life; he could not have 'scaped sixpence a-day; an the duke had not given him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing. Enter Bottom. Bot. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? Quin. Bottom!-0 most courageous day! most happy hour! O Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask me not what; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, That, if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or, in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear! Hip. But all tne story of the night told over, And all their minds transfigur'd so together, More witnesseth than fancy's images, And grows to something of great constancy;2 But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.-- Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love, Accompany your hearts! Lys. More than to us Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed. The. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we have, To wear away this long age of three hours, Between our after-supper, and bed-time? Where is our usual manager of mirth? What revels are in hand? is there no play To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? Call Philostrate. Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. The. Say, what abridgments have you for this evening? What mask? what music? How shall we beguile The lazy time, if not with some delight? Philost. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe; [Giving a paper. The. [Reads.] The battle with the Centaurs, to be sung By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. We'll none of that: that have I told my love, In glory of my kinsman Hercules. is, that the duke hath dined: Get your apparel to- Make choice of which your highness will see first. gether; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every man look o'er his part, for, the short and the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean linen; and let not him, that plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang out for the lions claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, it is a That is an old device; and it was play'd sweet comedy. No more words; away; go, When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. [Exeunt. The thrice three Muses mourning for the death Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. That is some satire, keen, and critical, Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. away. ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. An apartment in the Palace of Theseus. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords, and Attendants. Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. The. More strange than true. I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact:' One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation, and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination; to 1 Are made of mere imagination. 2 Stability. 8 Pastime. 4 Short account. The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe: very tragical mirth. Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord? Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long; Which is as brief as I have known a play: By ten words, my lord, it is too lorg; Which makes it tedious: for in all the play There is not one word apt, one player fitted. And tragical, my noble lord, it is; For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess, Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears The passion of loud laughter never shed. The. What are they, that do play it? Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens here, Which never labour'd in their minds till now; And now have toil'd their unbreath'd' memories With this same play, against your nuptial. The. And we will hear it. Philost. No, my noble lord It is not for you: I have heard it over, And it is nothing, nothing in the world, 5 Unexercised. SCENE I. 155 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Unless you can find sport in their intents, Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain, To do you service. The. I will hear that play; For never any thing can be amiss, When simpleness and duty tender it. Go, bring them in ;-and take your places, ladies. [Exit Philostrate. Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, And duty in his service perishing. The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing. Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: And what poor duty cannot do, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. Where I have come, great clerks have purpos'd To greet me with premeditated welcomes; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet, Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; And in the modesty of fearful duty I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence. Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, In least, speak most, to my capacity. Enter Philostrate. Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is addrest. The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. Enter Prologue. Prol. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent you, The actors are at hand; and, by their show, You shall know all, that you are like to know. The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt, he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: It is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like a child on a recorder; a sound, but not in government. The. His speech was like a tangled chain; no- thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine, and Lion, as in dumb show. This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, Presenteth moonshine: for, if you will know, "By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, The trusty, Thisby coming first by night, Did scare away, or rather did affright; And as she fled, her mantle she did fall; 'Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: 'Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain: Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain, 'At large discourse, while here they do remain.' [Exeunt Prol. Thisbe, Lion and Moonshine. The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. Dem. No wonder, my lord: one lion may, when many asses do. Wall. In this same interlude, it doth befall, "That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby. 'Did whisper often very secretly. "This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth 6 6 show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.' The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak better? Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard discourse, my lord. The. Pyramus draws near the wall; silence! Enter Pyramus. Pyr. O grim-look'd night! O night with hue so black! 'O night, which ever art, when day is not! O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 'I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot!- And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall, "That stand'st between her father's ground and mine; "Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, "Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for [Wall holds up his fingers. eyne. this! O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss 'But what see I? No Thisby do I see. 'Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me!' The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should curse again. Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Decewing me, is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now, and I am to spy her through the wall.. You shall see, it will this⚫ fall pat as I told you:-Yonder she comes. Prol, 'Gentles, perchance, you wonder at show; but wonder on, till truth make all things plain. "This man is Pyramus, if you would know; This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present Wall, that vile vall which did these lovers And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are. sunder: content 'To whisper; at the which let no man wonder. 1 Ready. 2 A musical instrument. 6 Enter Thisbe. This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones; For parting my fair Pyramus and me: Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. Pyr. I see a voice; now will I to the chink, Thisby!' This. My love! thou art my love, I think. 3 Called. 156 ACT V MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's Lys. Proceed, moon. grace; And like Limander am I trusty still.' 6 This. And I like Helen, till the fates me kill.' Pyr. 'Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true.' This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you.' Pyr. O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.' This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all.' Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightway?' This.Tide life, tide death, I come without de- lay.' Wall. Thus have I,Wall, my part discharged so; And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.' [Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. The. Now is the mural down between the two neighbours. Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful to hear without warning. Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. The. The best in this kind are but shadows: and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not theirs. The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. Enter Lion and Moonshine. Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear 'The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor, May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, "When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am 'A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam: For if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.' The. A very gentle beast, and of a good con- science. Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I saw. Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. The. True; and a goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot carry his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon pre- sent:' Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. The. He is no crescent, and nis horns are invisi- ble within the circumference. Moon. This lantern doth the horned moon present; Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that the lantern is the moon; I. the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe. Enter Thisbe. This. This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my love?' 6 Lion. Oh-.' [The Lion roars.-Thisbe runs off, Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. Hip. Well shone, moon.-Truly, the moon shines with a good grace. The. Well moused, lion. [The lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit. Dem. And so comes Pyramus. Lys. And then the moon vanishes. Enter Pyramus. Pyr. Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams; "I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright: For, by thy gracious, golden glittering streams, I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. But stay;-0 spite! 'But mark:-Poor knight, "What dreadful dole is here! Eyes, do you see? "O dainty duck! O dear! Thy mantle good, "What, stain'd with blood? 'Approach, ye furies fell! O fates! come, come; 'Cut thread and thrum;2 Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' 3 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad. Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. Pyr. O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame? Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: Which is-no, no-which was the fairest dame, 'That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd with cheer4 Come, tears, confound; Out, sword, and wound The pap of Pyramus: Ay, that left pap, "Where heart doth hop: "Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, "Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light! 'Moon, take thy flight: "Now, die, die, die, die, die. [Dies.-Exit Moonshine. Dem. No die, but an ace, for him; for he is but Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be.' The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the man should be put into the lantern: How is it one. else the man i' the moon? Lys. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: he is nothing. for, you see, it is already in snuff.¹ The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet Hip. I am aweary of this moon: Would, he recover, and prove an ass. would change! Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone, before The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, Thisbe comes back and finds her lover? that he is in the wane: but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. 1 In anger; a quibble. 2 Coarse yarn. The. She will find him by star-light.--Here she comes; and her passion ends the play. 3 Destroy. 4 Countenance. Bambri BOTTOM, AS PYRAMUS. PYRAMUS. "Come tears, confound; Out sword, and wound UNIY The pap of Pyramus.' "Midsummer Night's Dream," Act V., Scene I. SWAIN3e SCENE II. 157 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. Enter Thisbe. Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief. Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Py- ramus, which Thisbe, is the better. Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet eyes. Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet.- This. Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove? 'O Pyramus, arise, Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 'Dead, dead? A tomb Must cover thy sweet eyes. These lily brows, This cherry nose, These yellow cowslip cheeks, 'Are gone, are gone: 'Lovers, make moan! 'His eyes were green as leeks. O sisters three, Come, come, to me, With hands as pale as milk; 'Lay them in gore, Since you have shore 'With shears his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word:- 'Come, trusty sword; Come, blade, my breast imbrue; And farewell, friends;- 'Thus, Thisby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu.' [Dies. The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. Dem. Ay, and Wall too. Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our company? The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs no excuse. Never excuse; for when the play- ers are all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it had play'd Pyramus, and hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tragedy: and so it is, truly; and very notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epilogue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:- Lovers, to bed; 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, As much as we this night have overwatch'd. This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd The heavy gait of night.-Sweet friends, to bed.- A fortnight hold we this solemnity, In nightly revels, and new jollity. SCENE II-Enter Puck. Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone.2 Now the wasted brands do glow, [Exeunt. Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in wo, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night, That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide: And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team, 1 Progress. 2 Overcome. From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream; Now are frolic; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house: I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Enter Oberon and Titania, with their Train. Obe. Through this house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire: Every elf and fairy sprite, Hop as light as bird from brier; And this ditty, after me, Sing and dance it trippingly. Tita. First rehearse this song by rote: To each word a warbling note, Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place. SONG, AND DANCE. Obe. Now, until the break of day, Through this house each fairy stray. To the best bride-bed will we, Which by us shall blussed be; And the issue, there create, Ever shall be fortunate. So shall all the couples three Ever true in loving be: And the blots of nature's hand Shall not in their issue stand; Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity, Shall upon their children be.- With this field-dew consecrate, Every fairy take his gait;4 And each several chamber bless, Through this palace with sweet peace: E'er shall it in safety rest, And the owner of it blest. Trip away; Make no stay; Meet me all by break of day. Puck. [Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train. If we shadows have offended, Think but this (and all is mended,) That you have but slumber'd here, While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend; If you pardon, we will mend. And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends, ere long: Else the Puck a liar call. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. Wild and fantastical as this play is, all the parts in their various modes are well written, and give the kind of pleasure which the author designed. Fairies in his time were much in fashion; common tradition had made them familiar, and Spencer's poem had made them great. 3 Portentous. JOHNSON. 4 Way. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Ferdinand, king of Navarre. Biron, Longaville, lords, attending on the king. PERSONS REPRESENTED. A Forester. Princess of France. Dumain, Rosaline, Boyet, lords attending on the princess of Maria, Mercade, France. Katharine, ladies, attending on the princess. Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard. Sir Nathaniel, a curate. Holofernes, a schoolmaster. Dull, a constable. Costard, a clown. Moth, page to Armado. Jaquenetta, a country wench. Officers and others, attendants on the king and princess. Scene, Navarre. ACT I. And, one day in a week to touch no food; And but one meal on every day beside; The which, I hope, is not enrolled there: and And not to be seen to wink of all the day; SCENE I.-Navarre. A park, with a palace And then to sleep but three hours in the night, in it. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, Dumain. King. LET fame, that all hunt after in their lives, Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, And then grace us in the disgrace of death; When, spite of cormorant devouring time, The endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors!-for so you are, That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires,- Our late edict shall strongly stand in force: Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; Our court shall be a little académe, Still and contemplative in living art. You three, Birón, Dumain, and Longaville, Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, That are recorded in this schedule here: Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names; That his own hand may strike his honour down, That violates the smallest branch herein: If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. Long. I am resolv'd. 'tis but a three years' fast; The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified; The grosser manner of these world's delights He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; With all these living in philosophy. Biron. I can but say their protestation over, So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, That is, To live and study here three years. But there are other strict observances: As, not to see a woman in that term; Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there. (When I was wont to think no harm all night, And make a dark night too of half the day;) Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep; Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. I King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. Biron. Let me say no, my licge, an if you please; only swore, to study with your grace, And stay here in your court for three years' space Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.- What is the end of study? let me know. King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense; King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. Biron. Come on, then, I will swear to study so To know the thing I am forbid to know: As thus-To study where I well may dine, When I to feast expressly am forbid; Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, When mistresses from common sense are hid: Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, Study to break it, and not break my troth. If study's gain be thus, and this be so, Study knows that, which yet-it doth not know: Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. King. These be the stops that hinder study quite, And train our intellects to vain delight. Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: As, painfully to pore upon a book. To seek the like of truth; while truth the while, Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look; Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile, So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 1 Dishonestly, treacherously. SCENE I. 159 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Therefore this article is made in vain, Study me how to please the eye indeed, By fixing it upon a fairer eye; Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, And give him light that was it blinded by. Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books. These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, That gave a name to every fixed star, Have no more profit of their shining nights, Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame; And every godfather can give a name. King. How well he's read, to reason against reading! Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- ceeding! Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the weeding. Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are a breeding. Dum. How follows that? Biron. Dum. In reason nothing. Biron. Something then in rhyme. Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, That bites the first-born infants of the spring. Biron. Well, say I am; why should proud sum- mer boast, Fit in his place and time. Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in an abortive birth? At Christmas, I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows;2 But like of each thing, that in season grows. So you, to study now it is too late, Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. King. Well, sit you out: go home, Birón; adieu! Biron. No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you: And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, Than for that angel knowledge you can say, Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, And 'bide the penance of each three years' day. Give me the paper, let me read the same; And to the strict'st decrees, I'll write my name. King. How well this yielding rescues thee from shame! Biron. [Reads.] Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of my court.- And hath this been proclaim'd? Long. Four days ago. Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. King. What say you, lords? why, this was quite forgot. Biron. So study evermore is overshot; While it doth study to have what it would, It doth forget to do the thing it should: And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. King. We must, of force, dispense with this decree; She must lie³ here on mere necessity. Biron. Necessity will make us all forswor Three thousand times within this three years space: For every man with his affects is born; Not by might master'd, but by special grace. If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, am forsworn on mere necessity.- So to the laws at large I write my name: I [Subscribes. And he that breaks them in the least degree, Stands in attainder of eternal shame : I Suggestions are to others, as to me; But, I believe, although I seem so loth, am the last that will last keep his oath. But is there no quick recreation granted: King. Ay, that there is: our court, you know, is haunted With a refined traveller of Spain; A man in all the world's new fashion planted, That hath a mint of phrases in his brain: One, whom the music of his own vain tongue Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony; A man of complements, whom right and wrong Have chose as umpire of their mutiny: This child of fancy, that Armado hight, For interim to our studies, shall relate, In high-born words, the worth of many a knight From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; But I protest, I love to hear him lie, And I will use him for my minstrelsy. Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport; And, so to study, three years is but short. Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. Dull. Which is the duke's own person? Biron. This, fellow; What would'st? Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his grace's tharborough:7 but I would see his Who devis'd this? own person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads.]-On pain of losing her tongue.- Long. Marry, that did I. Biron. Sweet lord, and why? Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. [Reads.] Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise- This article, my liege, yourself must break; For, well you know, here comes in embassy The French king's daughter, with yourself to speak,- A maid of grace, and cómplete majesty,- About surrender-up of Aquitain To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: 1 Nipping. 3 Reside. 2 Games, sports. 4 Temptations. There's villany abroad; this letter will tell you Dull. Signior Arme-Arme-commends you.- more. Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. King. A letter from the magnificent Armado, Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope m God for high words. Long. A high hope for a low having: God grant us patience! Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing? Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mode- rately; or to forbear both. Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to climb in the merriness. 5 Lively, sprightly. 6 Called. 7 i. e. third-borough, a peace-officer. 160 Аст I LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning swain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury; Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her with the manner.¹ to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of duty, Biron. In what manner? Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all those three: I was seen with her in the manor house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken following her into the park; which, put together, is, in manner and form following. Now, sir, for the manner,-it is the manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the form,-in some form. Biron. For the following, sir? Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; and God defend the right! King. Will you hear this letter with attention? Biron. As we would hear an oracle. Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh. King. [Reads.] Great deputy, the welkin's vice- gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God, and body's fostering patron,- Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. King. So it is,- DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO. Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but the best that ever I heard. King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what say you to this? Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. King. Did you hear the proclamation? Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but little of the marking of it. to be taken with a wench. King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, Cost. I was taken with none, sir, I was taken with a damosel. a King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir; she was virgin. King. It is so varied too; for it was proclaimed, virgin. Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity; I was Cost. It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, taken with a maid. in telling true, but so, so. King. Peace. - Cost. not fight!- be to me, and every man that dares King. No words. - King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence; You shall fast a week with bran and water. Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.- My lord Biron see him deliver'd o'er.- And go we, lords, to put in practice that Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. [Exeunt King, Longaville, and Dumain. Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. -Sirrah, come on. Cost. of other men's secrets, I beseech you. King, So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour to the most wholesome physic of thy health- giving air; and, as I am a gentleman, belook my- self to walk. The time when? About the sixth hour; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nourishment which is called supper. So much for the time when. Now for the ground which; which, I mean, I walked upon: it is ycleped thy park. Then for the place where; was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene and true girl; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of most preposterous event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which here prosperity! Affliction may one day sinile again, thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest: but to and till then, Sit thee down, sorrow! [Exeunt. do's house. Enter Armado and Moth. the place, where,-It standeth north-north-east and SCENE II.-Another part of the same. Arma- by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted garden: there did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth, Cost. Me. King.that unletter'd small-knowing soul, Cost. Me. King. that shallow vassal, --- Cost. Still me. - Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great spirit grows melancholy? Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, dear imp. Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no. King. which, as I remember, hight Cos- Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- tard, Cost. O me! King, sorted and consorted, contrary to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, with-with,-0 with-but with this 1 passion to say wherewith- Cost. With a wench. King.with a child of our grandmother Eve, woman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punishment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation. Dull. Me, an't shall please you; I am Antony Dull. King. For Jaquenetta (so is the weaker vessel called, which I apprehended with the aforesaid J In the fact. 2 A young man choly, my tender juvenal ?2 Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- ing, my tough senior. Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender juvenal? Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we may nominate tender. Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title to your old time, which we may name tough. Arm. Pretty, and apt. Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my saying apt? or I apt, and my saving pretty? Arm. Thou pretty, because little. Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore apt? Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? Arm. In thy condign praise. Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise Arm. What? that an eel is ingenious? SCENE II. 161 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Moth. That an eel is quick. Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers: Thou heatest my blood. Moth. I am answered, sir. Arm. I love not to be crossed. Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses¹ love not him. [Aside. Arm. I have promised to study three years with the duke. Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. Arm. Impossible. Moth. How many is one thrice told? Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of a tapster. Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. Arm. I confess both; they are both the varnish of a complete man. Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. Arm. True. A Moth. If she be made of white and rod, Her faults will ne'er be known; For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, And fears by pale-white shown: Then, if she fear, or be to blame, By this you shall not know; For still her cheeks possess the same, Which native she doth owe.2 dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of white and red. Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and the Beggar? Moth. The world was very guilty of such a bal- lad some three ages since: but, I think, now 'tis not to be found; or, if it were, it would neither serve for the writing, nor the tune. Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that I may example my digression³ by some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that I took in the park with the rational hind Costard; she deserves well. Moth. To be whipped; and yet a better love than my master. [Aside. Arm. Sing, boy; my spirits grow heavy in love. Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light Arm. I say, sing. Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and study three years in two words, the dancing-wench. horse will tell you. Arm. A most fine figure! Moth. To prove you a cypher. [Aside. Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love Moth. Forbear till this company be past. Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep with a base wench. If drawing my sword against Costard safe; and you must let him take no delight, the humour of affection would deliver me from the nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a-week: reprobate thought of it, I would take desire pri- For this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she soner, and ransom him to any French courtier for is allowed for the day-woman.4 Fare you well. a new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh; Arm. I do betray myself with blushing.-Maid. methinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, Jaq. Man. boy: What great men have been in love? Moth. Hercules, master. Arm. Most sweet Hercules!-More authority, dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let them be men of good repute and carriage. Moth. Samson, master: he was a man of good carriage, great carriage; for he carried the town- gates on his back. like a porter: and he was in love. Arm. O well-knit Samson! strong-jointed Sam- son! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in love, too,-Who was Samson's love, my dear moth? Moth. A woman, master. Arm. Of what complexion? Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two; cr one of the four. Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers: but, to have a love of that colcur, methinks Samson had small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her wit. Moth. It was so, sir, for she had a green wit. Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked under such colours. Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me! Arm. Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, and pathetical! 1 The name of a coin once current. 2 Of which she is naturally possessed. Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. Jaq. That's hereby. Arm. I know where it is situate. Jaq. Lord, how wise you are! Arm. I will tell thee wonders. Jaq. With that face? Arm. I love thee. Jaq. So I heard you say. Arm. And so farewell. Jaq. Fair weather after you! Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. [Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere thou be pardoned. Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do it on a full stomach. Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. Moth. Come, you transgressing slave; away. Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being loose. Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou shalt to prison. Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of desolation that I have seen, some shall see- Moth. What shall some see? Cost. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent I thank God, I have as little patience as another in their words; and, therefore, I will say nothing: man; and, therefore, I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard. Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base 5 Love 3 Transgression. 4 Dairy-woman. 162 ACT II LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn Of Jacques Falconbridge solemnized. (which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love: In Normandy saw I this Longaville: and how can that be true love, which is falsely at-1A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; tempted? Love is a familiar; love is a devil: there Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms: is no evil angel but love. Yet Samson was so Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. tempted: and he had an excellent strength: yet The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, was Solomon so seduced; and he had a very good (If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still rapier. The first and second cause will not serve wills my turn; the passado he respects not, the duello It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike; is't so? Mar. They say so most, that most his humours know. he regards not: his disgrace is to be called boy; but his glory is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust, rapier! be still, drum! for your manager is in love; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extem- poral god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn son- netteer. Devise wit; write pen; for I am for whole Who are the rest? volumes in folic. ACT II. [Exit. Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as ther grow. Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd youth, Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace though he had no wit. SCENE I-Another part of the same. A pavi-I saw him at the duke Alençon's once; lion and tents at a distance. Enter the Princess And much too little of that good I saw, of France, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, Is my report, to his great worthiness. Lords, and other attendants. Boyet. Now, madain, summon up your dearest spirits: Consider who the king your father sends; To whom he sends; and what's his embassy: Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, To parley with the sole inheritor Of all perfections that a man may owe, Matchless Navarre; the plea of no less weight Than Aquitain; a dowry for a queen. Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, As nature was in making graces dear, When she did starve the general world beside, And prodigally gave them all to you. Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise; Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, Than you much willing to be counted wise In spending your wit in the praise of mine. But now to task the tasker,-Good Boyet, You are not ignorant, all-telling fame Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, Till painful study shall out-wear three years, No woman may approach his silent court: Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, Before we enter his forbidden gates, To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor: Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, On serious business, craving quick despatch, Impórtunes personal conference with his grace. Haste, signify so much; while we attend, Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so.- Who are the votaries, my loving lords, That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 1 Lord. Longaville is one. Prin. Know you the man? Ros. Another of these students at that time Was there with him: if I have heard a truth, Biron they call him: but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal: His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor,) Deliver's in such apt and gracious words, That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished, So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love: That every one her own hath garnished With such bedecking ornaments of praise? Mar. Here comes Boyet. Re-enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach; And he, and his competitors³ in oath, Were all address'd4 to meet you, gentle lady, Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, He rather means to lodge you in the field (Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) Than seek a dispensation for his oath, To let you enter his unpeopled house. Here comes Navarre. [The ladies mask. Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and at tendants. King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and, wel- come I have not yet: the roof of this court is too high to be yours; and welcome to the wild fields too base to be mine. King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. Prin. I will be welcome then; conduct me thither. King. Hear me, dear lady; I have sworn an oath. Mar. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast, King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will Prin. Our lady help my lord! he'll be forsworn. 1 Arrow to shout at butts with. 2 Best. 3 Confederates. 4 Prepared. SCENE I. 163 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing else. King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. Where' now his knowledge must prove ignorance. I hear, your grace hath sworn out house-keeping: Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, And sin to break it: But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold; To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper. King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Biron. I know, you did. Ros. To ask the question! Biron. How needless was it then You must not be so quick. Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such questions. Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. Ros. Not till it leaves the rider in the mire. Biron. What time o' day? Ros. The hour that fools should ask. Biron. Now fair befall your mask! Ros. Fair fall the face it covers! Biron. And send you many lovers! Ros. Amen, so you be none. Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. King. Madam, your father here doth intimate, The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; Being but the one half of an entire sum, Disbursed by my father in his wars. But say, that he, or we (as neither have,) Receiv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, One part of Aquitain is bound to us, Although not valued to the money's worth. If then the king your father will restore But that one half which is unsatisfied, We will give up our right in Aquitain, And hold fair friendship with his majesty. But that, it seems, he little purposeth, For here he doth demand to have repaid A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands, On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, To have his title live in Aquitain; Which we much rather had depart withal, And have the money by our father lent, Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. Dear princess, were not his requests so far From reason's yielding, your fair self should make A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, And go well satisfied to France again. Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, And wrong the reputation of your name, In so unseeming to confess receipt Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. King. I do protest, I never heard of it; And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back, Or yield up Aquitain. Prin. We arrest your word: Boyet, you can produce acquittances, For such a sum, from special officers Of Charles his father. King. Satisfy me so. 1 Whereas. 2 Part. 3 Aye, yes. Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, Where that and other specialities are bound, To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. King. It shall suffice me: at which interview All liberal reason I will yield unto. Meantime, receive such welcome at my hand, As honour, without breach of honour, may Make tender of to thy true worthiness: You may not come, fair princess, in my gates; But here without you shall be so receiv'd, As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, Though so denied fair harbour in my house. Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell: To-morrow shall we visit you again. Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your grace! King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! [Exeunt King and his Train. Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be glad to see it. Biron. I would, you heard it groan? Ros. Is the fool sick? Biron. Sick at heart. Ros. Alack, let it blood. Biron. Would that do it good? Ros. My physic says, I.3 Biron. Will you prick't with your eye Ros. No poynt, with my knife. Biron. Now, God save thy life! Ros. And yours from long living! Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: What lady is. that same? Boyet. The heir of Alençon, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I beseech you a word; What is she in the white? Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance, light in the light: I desire her name. Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire that, were a shame. Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Long. God's blessing on your beard! Boyet. Good sir, be not offended: She is an heir of Falconbridge. Long. Nay, my choler is ended. She is a most sweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that may be. [Exit Long Biron. What's her name, in the cap? Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. Biron. Is she wedded, or no? Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. Biron. You are welcome, sir; adieu! Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. Exit Biron.-Ladies unmask. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; Not a word with him but a jest. Boyet. And every jest but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to board. Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! Boyet. And wherefore not ships: 4 A French particle of negation. 164 Аст III. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish the jest? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. Mar. Arm. How means't thou? brawling in French? Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary4 to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eyelids; sign [Offering to kiss her. a note, and sing a note; sometime through the Not so, gentle beast; throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; My lips are no common, though several' they be. sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up Boyet. Belonging to whom? love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse- Mar. To my fortunes and me. like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and away: These are com- plements, these are humours; these betray nice wenches-that would be betrayed without these; and make them men of note (do you note, men?) that are most affected to these. agree: The civil war of wits were much better used On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abused. Boyet. If my observation (which very seldom lies,) By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. Prin. With what? Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. Prin. Your reason? Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed, His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be; All senses to that sense did make their repair, To feel only looking on fairest of fair: Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye, As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy: Who, tendering their own worth, from where they were glass'd, Did point you to buy them along as you pass'd. His face's own margent did quote such amazes, That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes: I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd- Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye hath disclos'd: I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st skilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for her father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? Mar. No. Boyet. What then, do you see? Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. Boyet. You are too hard for me. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1.-Another part of the same. Enter Armado and Moth. Arm. Warble, child; make passionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolinel- Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience? Moth. By my penny of observation. Arm. But 0,-but 0,- Moth. -the hobby-horse is forgot. Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt, and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you forgot your love? I Arm. Almost I had. Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three will prove. Arm. What wilt thou prove? Moth. A man, if I live: and this, by, in, and without, upon the instant: By heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. Arm. I am all these three. Moth. And three times as much more, and yet nothing at all! Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me a letter. Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse to be ambassador for an ass! Arm. Ha, ha! what sayest thou? Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go. Arm. The way is but short; away. Moth. As swift as lead, sir. Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? Moth. Minimé, honest master; or rather, mas- ter, no. Arm. I say, lead is slow. Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so; Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun? Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he:- I shoot thee at the swain. Moth. Thump then, and I flee. Erit. Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free of grace! [Singing. By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face; Arm. Sweet air!-Go, tenderness of years? take Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him My herald is return'd. festinately hither; I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French brawl?s Re-enter Moth and Costard. Moth. A wonder, master; here's a Costard broken in a shin. 1 A quibble, several signified unenclosed lands. 4 Canary was the name of a sprightly dance. 2 Hastily. 3 A kind of dance. 5 Quick, ready. 6 A head. SCENE I. 165 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,-thy rance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing l'envoy; begin. but this: Bear this significant to the country-maid Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [Giving him in the mail, sir: Ó, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; money.] for the best ward of mine honour, is, re- no l'envoy, no l'envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy Moth. Like the sequel, I.-Signior Costard, silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smiling: Ŏ, pardon me, Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for Jew!- Exit Moth. Penvoy, and the word, l'envoy, for a salve? Now will I look to his remuneratior. Remunera- Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not tion! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings: Penvoy a salve? Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse to make plain Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it: The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three. There's the moral: Now the l'envoy. Moth. I will add the l'envoy: Say the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three: Moth. Until the goose came out of door, And stay'd the odds by adding four. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envoy. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, Were still at odds, being but three: Arm. Until the goose came out of door, Staying the odds by adding four. Moth. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose; Would you desire more? Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, that's flat:- Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat.- To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose: Let me see a fat l'envoy; ay, that's a fat goose. Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this argument begin? Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin. Then call'd you for the l'envoy. Cost. True, and I for a plantain; Thus came your argument in; Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you bought; And he ended the market. Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken in a shin? Moth. I will tell you sensibly. Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth; I will speak that l'envoy:- Costard, running out, that was safely within, Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Cost. Till there be no more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. Cost. O, marry me to one Frances:-I smell Some l'envoy, some goose, in this. adieu. three farthings-remuneration.-What's the price of this inkle? a penny:-No, I'll give you a re- muneration: why, it carries it.-Remuneration!- why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I wil! never buy and sell out of this word. Enter Biron. Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly well met. Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbor may a man buy for a remuneration? Biron. What is a remuneration? Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. Biron. O, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk. Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you! Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee: As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. Cost. When would you have it done, sir? Biron. O, this afternoon. Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well. Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morning. Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave, it is but this ;- The princess comes to hunt here in the park, And in her train there is a gentle lady; When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name, And Rosaline they call her: ask for her; And to her white hand see thou do commend This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon; go. [Gives him money. Cost. Guerdon,-O sweet guerdon! better than remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most sweet guerdon!-I will do it, sir, in print.4-Guer- don-remuneration. [Exit. Biron. O! And I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip; A very beadle to a humourous sigh; A critic; nay, a night-watch constable; A domineering pedant o'er the boy, Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy: This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at Sole imperator, and great general liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert im- Of trotting paritors,-O my little heart!- mured, restrained, captivated, bound. And I to be a corporal of his field, Cost. True, true; and now you will be my pur-And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop! gation, and let me loose. What? I! I love! I sue! I seek a wife! Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from du- A woman, that is like a German clock, 1 An old French term for concluding verses, which served either to convey the moral, or to ad- dress the poem to some person. 2 Delightful. 3 Reward. 4 With the utmost exactness. 5 Hooded, veiled. 6 Petticoats. 7 The officers of the spiritual courts who serve citations. 166 ACT IV. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Still a repairing; ever out of frame; And never going aright, being a watch, But being watch'd that it may still go right? Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all; And, among three, to love the worst of all; A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: And I to sigh for her! to watch for her! To pray for her! Go to; it is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan; Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. ACT IV. Enter SCENE I-Another part of the same. the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, attendants, and a Forester. Enter Costard. Prin. Here comes a member of the common- wealth. Cost. God dig-you-den' all! Pray you, which is the head lady? Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest that have no heads. Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. Cust. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth is truth. An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest here. Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one lady Rosaline. Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter; he's a good friend of mine: Stand aside, good bearer.-Boyet, you can carve; Break up this capon.2 I am bound to serve.- Boyet. This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse It is writ to Jaquenetta. so hard Against the steep uprising of the hill? Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting mind. Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch, On Saturday we will return to France.- Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, That we must stand and play the murderer in? For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice; A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again Prin. We will read it, I swear: Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is most infallible; true, that thou art beauteous; truth itself, that thou art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous; truer than truth itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal! The magnanimous and most illustrates king Co- phetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize in the vulgar (O base and obscure vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? the king; Why did he come? to see; Why did he see? to overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar; What saw he? the beggar; Who overcame he? the beggar: The conclusion is victory; On whose side? the king's: the captive is enriched; On whose side? the beggar's; The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whose side? the king's-no, on both in one, or [Giving him money. one in both. I am the king; for so stands the com- Fair payment for foul words is more than due. parison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may: Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat O heresy in fair, fit for these days! say, no? O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for wo! For. Yea, madam, fair. Prin. Nay, never paint me now; Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Here, good my glass, take this for telling true; thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange for A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.-rags? robes; For tittles, titles: For thyself, me. But come, the bow:-Now mercy goes to kill, A shooting well is then accounted ill. Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: Not wounding, pity would not let me do't; If wounding, then it was to show my skill, Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, in the dearest design of industry, Don Adriano de Armado. That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar And, out of question, so it is sometimes; Glory grows guilty of detested crimes. When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, We bend to that the working of the heart: As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove- reignty Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their lords? Prin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford To any lady that subdues a lord. 1 God give you good even. 2 Open this letter. 3 Illustrious. 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as is prey, Submissive fall his princely feet before, And he from forage will incline to play: But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? Food for his rage, repasture for his den. Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited this letter? What vane? what weathercock? did you ever hear better? Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the style. Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er is erewhile. 4 Just now, SCENE II. 167 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Boyet. Thit Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps When it comes so smoothly off, so obscene.y, as it here in court; were, so fit. A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport Armatho o' the one side,-0, a most dainty man! To the prince, and his book-mates. To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan; To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' will swear!- Prin. Who gave thee this letter? Cost. Thou, fellow, a word: I told you; my lord. Prin. To whom should'st thou give it? Cost. From my lord to my lady. Prin. From which lord, to which lady? Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of mine, To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. lords, away. Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another day. [Exit Princess and Train. Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? Ros. Shall I teach you to know? Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. Ros. Come, Why, she that bears the bow. Finely put off! Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry, Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. Finely put on! Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. Boyet. And who is your deer? Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come near. Finely put on, indeed!- Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow. Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit her now? Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when king Pepin of France was little boy, as touching the hit it? a Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it. Ros. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it. [Singing. Thou canst not hit it, my good man. Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, An I cannot, another can. [Exeunt Ros. and Kath. Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did fit it! And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit! Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit! Sola, sola! SCENE II.-The same. [Shouting within. [Exit Costard, running Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the testimony of a good conscience. Hol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis,- blood; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of cælo,-the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra,-the soil, the land, the earth. Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: But, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. Hol. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explica- tion; facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination,-after his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or rather unlettered, or ratherest, uncon- a deer. firmed fashion-to insert again my haud credo for Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. Hol. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus !-0 thou monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper as it were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in the duller parts; And such barren plants are set before us, that we thankful should be (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts For as it would ili become me to be vain, indiscreet, that do fructify in us more than he. or a fool, Mar. A mark marvellous well shot; for they So, were there a patch2 set on learning, to see him both did hit it. in a school: Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark; A But, omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind, can brook the weather, that love not the mark, says my lady! Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if may be. it Mar. Wide o' the bow hand! I'faith, your hand is out. Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout. Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your. hand is in. Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving the pin. Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips grow foul. Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal- lenge her to bowl. Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! Lord, lord! how the ladies and I have put him down! O' my troth, most sweet jests! most incony vul- gar wit! 1 A species of apple. 2 A low fellow. Many wind. Dull. You two are book-men: Can you tell by your wit, What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet? Hol. Dictynna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man Dull. Dull. What is Dyctinna. Nath. A title to Phebe, to Luna, to the moon. Hol. The moon was a month old when Adam was no more; And raughts not to five weeks, when he came to five score. The allusion holds in the exchange. the exchange. Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the coliusion holds in Hol. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allu sion holds in the exchange. Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the ex- change; for the moon is never but a month old: 3 Reached. 168 ACT IV. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful cess kill'd. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee iike osiers bow'd. the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess Study his bias leaves, and make his book thine kill'd, a pricket. Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. Hol. I will something affect the letter; for it argues facility. The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty pleasing pricket; Some say, a sore, but not a sore, till now made sore with shooting. The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps from thicket; Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall hooting. If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; sore L! Of one sore I a hundred make, by adding one more L. Nath. A rare talent! a O but eyes; Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend: If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend: All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without won- der; (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;) Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! Hol. Yon find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy, him with a talent. facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovi- Hol. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; dius Naso was the man: And why, indeed, Naso; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fan- shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, cy, the jerks of invention? Imitari, is nothing. so revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater; and tired horse his rider.-But damosella virgin, was deilver'd upon the mellowing of occasion: But the this directed to you? gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful for it. Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of the strange queen's lords. Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so Hol. I will overglance the superscript. To the may my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd snow-white hands of the most beauteous lady Rosa- by you, and their daughters profit very greatly un-line. I will look again on the intellect of the let- der you: you are a good member of the common- ter, for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto: wealth. Hol Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they shali want no instruction: if their daughters be ca- pable, I will put it to them: But vir sapit, qui pau- ca loquiter: a soul feminine saluteth us. Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. Hol. Master parson, quasi pers-on. And if one should be pierced, which is the one? Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that likest to a hogshead. is Hol. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty; it is well. Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent me from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it. Hol. Fauste, precor gelidâ quando pecus omne sub umbrâ. Ruminat,-and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice: Vinegia, Vinegia, BIRON. Your ladyship's in all desired employment, Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with the King; and here he hath framed a letter to a se- quent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the or by the way of progression, hath miscarried.- royal hand of the king; it may concern much: Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty; adieu! Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.-Sir, God save your life! Cost. Have with thec, my girl. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, very religiously; and, as a certain father saith- Hol. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear colourable colours. But to return to the verses; Did they please you, sir Nathaniel? Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall Hol. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth on my privilege I have with the parents of the fore- thee not, loves thee not.-Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa.- where I will prove those verses to be very unlearn- said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, ed, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention as Herace says in his-What, my soul, verses? I beseech your society. Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. Hol. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, text) is the happiness of life. Nath. And thank you too: for society (saith the domine. swear to love? Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I cludes it.-Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too; you Hol. And certes, 2 the text most infallibly con- Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty gentles are at their game, and we will tont shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away; the Vowed! 1 Horse adorned with ribbands. recreation. 2 In truth. SCENE III. 169 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. A This same snall go.- [He reads the sonnet. SCENE III-Another part of the same. Enter These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. Biron, with a paper. Biron. [Aside.] O, rhymes are guards on wanton Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am Disfigure not his slop. Cupid's hose: coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am Long. toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul! word. Well, set thee down, sorrow! for so, they Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. (Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) Well proved, wit! By the lord, this love is as mad Persuade my heart to this false perjury? as Ajax: it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment Well proved again on my side! I will not love: if woman I forswore; but, I will prove, I do, hang me; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye,- Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee; by this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my sonnets already; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin if the other three were in: Here comes one with a paper; God give him grace to groan! [Gets up into a tree. Enter the King, with a paper. King. Ah me! Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven !-Proceed, sweet Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap:-I'faith secrets.- King. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light; Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, So ridest thou triumphing in my wo: Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through thy grief will show: But do not love thyself; then thou will keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel!" No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.- How shall she know my grief? I'll drop the paper; Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here [Steps aside. Enter Longaville, with a paper. What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear. Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, appear! [Aside. Long. Ah me! I am forsworn. Thy grace being gained, cures all disgrace in me. Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth shine, Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is: If broken then, it is no fault of mine; If by me broke, What fool is not so wise, To lose an oath to win a paradise? Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity; A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. God amend us, God amend! we are much out o the way. Enter Dumain, with a paper. Long. By whom shall I send this ?-Company! stay. [Stepping aside. Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play: Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eve. More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish Dumain transform'd: four woodcocks in a dish! Dum. O most divine Kate! Biron. O most profane coxcomb! [Aside Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! Biron. By earth, she is but corporal; there you lie. [Aside. Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted.1 Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. [Aside. Dum. As upright as the cedar. Biron. Her shoulder is with child. Dum. Stoop, I say; [Aside. As fair as day. [Aside. Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must shine. Dum. O that I had my wish! Long. And I had mine! [Aside. King. And I mine too, good Lord! [Aside. Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word? [Aside. Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she Aside. Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then inci- Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wear- ing papers. King. In love, I hope Swee: fellowship in sion Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name? Would let her out in saucers; Sweet misprision! shame! [Aside. [Aside. Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort; not by two, that I know: Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society, The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up sim- plicity. Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move: 0 sweet Maria, empress of my love! I Outstripped, surpassed. Aside Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit. [Aside. Dum. On a day (alack the day!) Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom, passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 170 ACT IV. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But alack, my hand is sworn, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom even Jove would swear, Juno but an Ethiop were; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love.- This will I send; and something else more plain, That shall express my true love's fasting pain. O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill, Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note; For none offend, where all alike do dote. Long. Dumain, [advancing.] thy love is far from charity, That in love's grief desir'st society: You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. King Come, sir, [advancing.] you blush; as his your case is such; You chide at him, offending twice as much: You do not love Maria; Longaville Did never sonnet for her sake compile; Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. I have been closely shrouded in this bush, And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion; Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion: Ah me! says one; O Jove! the other cries; One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes: You would for paradise break faith and troth; [To Long. And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. [To Dumain. What will Biron say, when that he shall hear A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear? How will he scorn? how will he spend his wit? How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? For all the wealth, that ever I did see, I would not have him know so much by me. Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.- Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me : [Descends from the tree. Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove These worms for loving, that art most in love? Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears, There is no certain princess that appears: You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing; Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not, All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? You found his mote; the king your mote did see; But I a beam do find in each of three. 0, what a scene of foolery I have seen, Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen!! O ine, with what strict patience have I sat, To see a king transformed to a gnat! To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, And profound Solomon to tune a jigg, And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, And critic Timon laugh at idle toys! Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain? And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? And where my liege's? all about the breast:- A caudle, ho! King. Too bitter is thy jest. 1 Grief. 2 Cynic. 3 In trimming myself. Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you; I, that am honest; I, that hold it sin To break the vow I am engaged in ; I am betrayed, by keeping company With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme 7 Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time In pruning me? When shall you hear that I Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, A leg, a limb ?- King. Soft; Whither away so fast? A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go, Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. Jaq. God bless the king! King. What present hast thou there? Cost. Some certain treason. King. What makes treason here? Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. King. If it mar nothing neither, The treason, and you, go in peace away together. Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; Our parson misdoubts it; 'twas treason, he said. King. Biron, read it over. [Giving him the letter. Where hadst thou it? Jaq. Of Costard. King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. King. How now! what is in you? why dost thou tear it? Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy; your grace needs not fear it. Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore let's hear it. Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. [Picks up the pieces. Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos tard.] you were born to do me shame. Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. King. What? Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make up the mess: He, he, and you, my liege, and I, Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dum. Now the number is even. Biron. True, true; we are four:- Will these turtles be gone? King. Hence, sirs, away. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai- tors stay. Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us em- brace! As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; Young blood will not obey an old decree: We cannot cross the cause why we were born; Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. King. What, did these rent lines show some love of thine? Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heavenly Rosaline, That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, At the first opening of the gorgeous cast, Bows not his vassal head; and, strucken blind, Kisses the base ground with obedient breast? What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty? King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? SCENE III. 171 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. My love, ner mistress, is a gracious moon; She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Birón: O, but for my love, day would turn to night! Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek; Where several worthies make one dignity; Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,- Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not: To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine! King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. Birom. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! A wife of such wood were felicity. O, who can give an oath? where is a book? That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, If that she learn not of her eye to look: No face is fair, that is not full so black. King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. Biron: Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of light. 0, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, Should ravish doters with a false aspéct; And therefore is she born to make black fair. Her favour turns the fashion of the days; For native blood is counted painting now; And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. Long. O, some authority now to proceed, Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. Dum. Some salve for perjury. Biron. O, 'tis more than need' Have at you then, affection's men at arms: Consider, what you first did swear unto ;- To fast,-to study,-and to see no woman ;- Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. Say, can you fast? your stomachs are too young; And abstinence engenders maladies. And where that you have vow'd to study, lols, In that each of you hath forsworn his book: Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, Have found the ground of study's excellence, Without the beauty of a woman's face? From women's eyes this doctrine I derive; They are the ground, the books, the académes, From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire. Why, universal plodding prisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries; As motion, and long-during action, tires The sinewy vigour of the traveller. Now, for not looking on a woman's face, You have in that forsworn the use of eyes; And study too, the causer of your vow: For where is any author in the world, Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, And where we are, our learning likewise is. Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, Do we not likewise see our learning there? O, we have made a vow to study, lords; And in that vow we have forsworn our books; For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, In leaden contemplation, have found out Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with? Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; And therefore finding barren practisers, Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste For valour, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical, Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; [Showing his shoe. And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Biron. O, if the streets were paved with thine Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread! Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs; Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. over From women's eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; King. But what of this? Are we not all in love? They are the books, the arts, the académes, Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for- That show, contain, and nourish all the world: Else, none at all in aught proves excellent: Then fools you were these women to forswear; Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love: Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted bright. King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion crack. Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, For fear their colours should be wash'd away. King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you plain, I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day here. King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. face see. eyes, lies The street should see as she walk'd head. sworn. King. Then leave this chat; and, good Birón, now prove Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. Dun. Ay, marry, there;-some flattery for this evil. 1 Law chicane. 172 ACT V. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Or for love s sake, a word that loves all men; Or for men's sake, the author's of these women; Or women's sake, by whom we men are men; Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths: It is religion to be thus forsworn: For charity itself fulfills the law; And who can sever love from charity? King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the field! Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, lords; Pell-mell, down with them! but be first advis'd, In conflict that you get the sun of them. Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by: Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? King. And win them too: therefore let us devise Some entertainment for them in their tents. Biron. First from the park let us conduct them thither; Then, homeward, every man attach the hand Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon We will with some strange pastime solace them, Such as the shortness of the time can shape; For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, Fore-run fair love, strewing her way with flowers. King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted, That will be time, and may by us be fitted. Biron. Allons! Allons!-Sow'd cockle reap'd no corn; And justice always whirls in equal measure: Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; Hol. Bone!bone, for bene: Priscian a little scratch'd; 'twill serve. Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. Nath. Videsne quis venit? Hol. Video, et gaudeo. Arm. Chirra. [To Moth. Hol. Quare Chirra, not sirrah? Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. Hol. Most military sir, salutation. Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan guages, and stolen the scraps. [To Costard aside. Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-bas- ket of words! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for a word; for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. Moth. Peace; the peal begins. Arm. Monsieur, [To Hol.] are you not letter'd? Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn book: -What is a, b, spelt backward, with a horn on his head? Hol. Ba, puerita, with a horn added. Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn! You hear his learning. Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant? Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you re- peat them; or the fifth, if I. Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i- Moth. The sheep; the other two concludes it; o, u. Arm. Now by the salt wave of the Mediterra- If so, our copper buys no better treasure. neum, a sweet touch,' a quick venew of wit: snip, [Exeunt. snap, quick and home; it rejoiceth my intellect: true wit. ACT V. SCENE I-Another part of the same. Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. Hol. Satis quod sufficit. Moth. Offered by a child to an old man; which is wit-old. Hol. What is the figure? what is the figure? Moth. Horns. Hol. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy gig. Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will whip about your infamy circum circa; A gig of a at dinner have been sharp and sententious: pleas-cuckold's horn! Nath. I praise God for you, sir; your reasons Adriano de Armado. guem. ant without scurrility, witty without affection, Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou audacious without impudency, learned without should'st have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there opinion, and strange without heresy. I did con-is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou verse this quondam day with a companion of the half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon egg of discre- king's, who is entitled, nominated, or called, Don tion. O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wert but my bastard! what a joyful father would'st Hol. Novi hominem tanquam te: His humour is thou make me! Go to; thou hast it ad dunghill, lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his at the fingers' ends as they say. eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general Hol. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for un- behaviour vain, ridiculous and thrasonical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too perigrinate as I may call it. Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. [Takes out his table book. Hol. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the staple of his argument. 1 abhor such fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-de- Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure vise companions; such rackers of orthography, as and affection, to congratulate the princess at her to speak, dout, fine, when he should say doubt; pavilion, in the posteriors of this day; which the det, when he should pronounce debt; d, e, b, t, not rude multitude call the afternoon. Arm. Arts-man, præambula; we will be singled from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the charge-houses on the top of the mountain? Hol. Or, mons, the hill. Arm. At your sweet pleasure for the mountain. Hol. I do, sans question. d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neigh- Hol. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, bour, vocatur, nebour; neigh, abbreviated, ne: is liable, congruent, and measurable for the after- This is abominable (which he would call abomma-noon: the word is well cull'd, chose; sweet and ble); it insinuateth me of insanie: Ne intelligis apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. domine? to make frantic, lunatic. Nath. Laus deo, bone intelligo. 1 Discourses. 3 Boastful. 5 Finical exactness. 2 Affectation. 4 Over-dressed. Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman; and my familiar, I do assure you, very good friend:- 6 A small inflammable substance, swallow'd in a glass of wine. 7A hit. 8 Free-school. SCENE II. 173 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. For what is inward¹ detween us, let it pass :-I do beseech thee, remember thy courtesy ;-1 beseech thee, apparel thy head; and among other importu- As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, nate and most serious designs,-and of great im- Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all; port, indeed, too;-but let that pass :-for I must That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world) sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder; and with Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love in rhyme Ros. That was the way to make his god-head wax; his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement,2 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd your sister. with my mustachio: but sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no fable; some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; seen the world: but let that pass.-The very all of And so she died: had she been light, like you, all is,-but, sweet heart, I do implore secrecy,-Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 3 light word? that the king would have me present the princess, She might have been a grandam ere she died: sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or And so may you; for a light heart lives long. show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse," of the understanding that the curate and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your assistance. Hol. Sir, you shall present before her the nine worthies.-Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en- tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of this day, to be rendered by our assistance,-the king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and learned gentleman,-before the princess; I say, none so fit as to present the nine worthies. Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to present them? Hol. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabæus; this swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the great; the page, Hercules. Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff;" Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. Kath. So do not you; for you are a light wench. Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. Kath. You weigh me not,-0, that's, you care not for me. Ros. Great reason; for, Past cure is still past care. Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd But Rosaline, you have a favour too: Who sent it? and what is it? Ros. I would, you knew. An if my face were but as fair as yours, Arm. Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity My favour were as great; be witness this. enough for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big Nay, I have verses too, I thank Birón: as the end of his club. Hol. Shall I have audience? he shall present Hercules in minority; his enter and exit shall be I strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for that purpose. Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the audience hiss, you may cry: well done, Hercules! now thou crusheth the snake! that is the way to make an offence gracious; though few have the grace to do it. Arm. For the rest of the worthies? Hol. I will play three myself. Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman! Arm. Shall I tell you a thing? Hol. We attend. Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I beseech you, follow. Hol. Via, good man Dull! thou has spoken no word all this while. Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. Hol. Allons! we will employ thee. Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so; or I will play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance the hay. Hol. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away. [Exeunt. SCENE II-Another part of the same. Before the Princess's Pavilion. Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and Maria. The numbers true; and, were the numb'ring too I were the fairest goddess on the ground; am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! Prin. Any thing like? Ros. Much, in the letters; nothing in the praise. Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. Kath. Fair as text B in a copy-book. Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your debtor, My red dominical, my golden letter: O, that your face were not so full of O's! Kath. A pox of that jest! and beshrew all shrows? Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Du- main? Kath. Madam, this glove. Prin. Did he not send you twain? Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover, Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: A huge translation of hypocrisy, Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longa- ville; The letter is too long by half a mile. Prin. I think no less: Dost thou not wish in heart, Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never The chain were longer, and the letter short? part. Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking se Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, That same Birón I'll torture ere I go. If fairings come thus plentifully in: A lady walled about with diamonds!-- Look you, what I have from the loving king. O, that I knew he were but in by the week! How would I make him fawn, and beg, and seek, Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? And wait the season, and observe the times, 1 Confidential. 4 Suit. 2 Beard. 5 Courage. 3 Chick. 6 Grow. 12 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; 7 Formerly a term of endearment. 8 In anger. 174 ACT V. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. And shape his service wholly to my behests; And make him proud to make me proud that jests! So portent-like would 1 o'ersway his state, That he should be my fool, and I his fate. Prin. None are so surely caught when they are catch'd, As wit turn'd fool: folly in wisdom hatch'd, Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school; And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness. Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; Since all the power thereof it doth apply, To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. Enter Boyet. Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's her grace? Prin. Thy news, Boyet? Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare!- Arm, wenches, arm; encounters mounted are Against your peace: Love doth approach disguis'd, Arm'd in arguments; you'll be surpris'd: Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid! What are they, That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, I though to close mine eyes some half an hour: When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, Toward that shade I might behold addrest The king and his companions: warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, And overheard what you shall overhear; That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. Their herald is a pretty knavish page, That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: Action, and accent, did they teach him there; Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear: And ever and anon they made a doubt, Presence majestical would put him out: For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see; Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously. The boy replied, An angel is not evil; I should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder; Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and swore, A better speech was never spoke before: Another, with his finger and his thumb, Cry'd, Via! we will do't, come what will come : The third he caper'd, and cried, All goes well: The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. With that, they all did tumble on the ground, With such a zealous laughter, so profound, That in this spleen ridiculous appears, To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us? Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,-- Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance: And every one his love-feat will advance Unto his several mistress; which they'll know By favours several which they did bestow. Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be task'd:- For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; And no a man of them shall have the grace, Despite of suit, to see a lady's face.- Hold Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear; And then the king will court thee for his dear; Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine, So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.- And change you favours too; so shall your loves Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. Kath. But in this changing, what is your intent? Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs: They do it but in mocking merriment: And mock for mock is only my intent. Their several counsels they unbosom shall To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal, Upon the next occasion that we meet, With visages display'd to talk and greet. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? Prin. No; to the death, we will not move a foot: Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's heart, And quite divorce his memory from his part. Prin. Therefore I do it; and, I make no doubt, The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown; To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: So shall we stay, mocking intended game; And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. [Trumpets sound within Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the maskers come. The ladies mask. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, musi cians, and attendants. Moth. All hail! the richest beauties on the earth! Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, The ladies turn their backs to him. That ever turn'd their-backs-to mortal views! Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Out- Boyet. True; out, indeed. Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe Not to behold Biron. Once to behold, rogue. Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,with your sun-beamed eyes- Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet; You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out. Biron. Is this your perfectness? be gone, you rogue. Ros. What would these strangers? know their minds, Boyet: If they do speak our language, 'tis our will That some plain man recount their purposes: Know what they would. Boyet. What would you with the princess? Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Ros. What would they, say they? Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Ros. Why, that they have; and bid then so be gone. Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Boyet. They say, that they have measur'd many a mile, To tread a measure with you on this grass. Ros. It is not so: ask them how many inches SCENE II. 175 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Is in one mile: if they have measur'd many, The measure then of one is easily told. Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles, And many miles; the princess bids you tell, How many inches do fill up one mile. Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. Boyet. She hears herself. Ros. How many weary steps, Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, Are number'd in the travel of one mile? Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you; Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without accompt. Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, That we, like savages, may worship it. Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine (Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat'ry eyne. Ros. O vain petitioner! beg a greater matter; Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one change: soon. Thou bid'st me beg; this begging is not strange. Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it [Music plays. Not yet;-no dance:-thus change I like the moon. King. Will you not dance? How come you thus estrang'd? Ros. You took the moon at full; but now she's chang'd. King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. King. But your legs should do it. Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by chance, We'll not be nice: take hands;-we will not dance. King. Why take we hands then? Ros. Only to part friends:- Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. King. More measure of this measure; be not nice. Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your company? That can never be. Ros. Your absence only. King. Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so adieu; Twice to your visor, and half once to you! King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In private then. King. I am best pleas'd with that. [They converse apart. Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee. Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. Biron. Nay then, two treys (an if you grow so nice,) Metheglin, wort, and malmsey;-Well run, dice! There's half a dozen sweets. Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu! Since you can cog,' I'll play no more with you. Biron. One word in secret. Prin. Let it not be sweet. Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. Gall? bitter. Prin. Biron. Therefore meet. They converse apart. Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change word? 1 Falsify dice, lie. 2 A quibble on the French adverb of negation. Mar. Name it. Dum. Mar. Fair lady,- Say you so? Fair lord,- Please it you, Take that for your fair lady. Dum. As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. [They converse apart. Kath. What, was your visor made without a tongue? Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. Kath. O, for your reason? quickly, sir; I long. Long. You have a double tongue within your mask. And would afford my speechless visor half. Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ;-Is not veal a calf? Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath. Long. Let's part the word. Kath. No, a fair lord calf. No, I'll not be your half: Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp mocks! Will you give horns, chaste lady? do not so. Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you [They converse apart. a cry. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen As is the razor's edge invisible, Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; Above the sense of sense: so sensible Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter things. Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off, break off. Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, music, and attendants. Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites.- Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths puff'd out. Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross fat, fat. Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout! Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? Or ever, but in visors, show their faces? This pert Birón was out of countenance quite. Ros. O! they were all in lamentable cases! The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. Prin. Birón did swear himself out of all suit. Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword: Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart: No point, quoth I: my servant straight was mute. And trow you, what he call'd me? Prin. Kath. Yes, in good faith. Prin. Qualm, perhaps. Go, sickness as thou art; Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute- caps.3 But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. Prin. And quick Birón hath plighted faith to me. Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: Immediately they will again be here 3 Better wits may be found among citizens. 176 ACT V. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. In their own shapes; for it can never be, They will digest this harsh indignity. Prin. Will they return? Boyet. They will, they will, God knows; And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: Therefore, change favours; and when they repair, Blow like sweet roses in the summer air. Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be un- derstood. Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, Are angels veiling clouds, or roses blown. Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, If they return in their own shapes to woo? Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd: Let us complain to them what fools were here, Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless2 gear; And wonder what they were; and to what end Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, And their rough carriage so ridiculous, Should be presented at our tent to us. Boyet. Ladies, withdraw; the gallants are at hand. Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. [Exeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria. Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, in their proper habits. King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the princess? Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty, Command me any service to her thither? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. [Exit. Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit's pedlar; and retails his wares At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs; And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve: He can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he. That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy; This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That when he plays at tables, chides the dice, In honourable terms! nay, he can sing A mean most meanly; and, in ushering, Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: This is the flower that smiles on every one, To show his teeth as white as whale's bone:5 And consciences, that will not die in debt, Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, That put Armado's page out of his part! Enter the Princess, usher'd by Boyet; Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, and attendants. Biron. See where it comes!-Behaviour, what wert thou, Till this man show'd thee? and what art thou now? King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. King. We came to visit you; and purpose now To lead you to our court; vouchsafe it then. Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your Vow: Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you pro- voke; The virtue of your eye must break my oath. Prin. You nick-rame virtue; vice you should have spoke; For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure As the unsullied lily, I protest, A world of torments though I should endure, I would not yield to be your house's guest; So much I hate a breaking cause to be Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear. We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; A mess of Russians left us but of late. King. How, madam? Russians? Prin. Ay, in truth, my lor:; Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. Ros. Madam, speak true:--Iteis not so, my lord; My lady (to the manner of the days, ) In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. We four, indeed, confronted here with four In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour, And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord, They did not bless us with one happy word. I dare not call them fools; but this I think, When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. Biron. This jest is dry to me-Fair, gentle sweet, Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, By light we lose light: Your capacity Is of that nature, that to your huge store Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye,- Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. Ros. All the fool mine? Biron. I cannot give you less. Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore? Biron. Where? when? what visor? why de- mand you this? Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case, That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. King. We are descried: they'll mock us now downright. Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. Prin. Amaz'd, my lord? Why looks your high- ness sad? Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon! Why look you pale?- Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. perjury. Can any face of brass hold longer out?- King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me; day! Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 1 Features, countenances. 3 Rustic merry-meetings. 4 The tenor in music. 2 Uncouth. Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; 5 The tooth of the horse-whale. 6 After the fashion of the times. SCENE II. 177 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. And I will wish thee never more to dance, Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 0! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue; Nor never come in visor to my friend;¹ Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: Taflata phrases, silken terms precise, Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, Figures pedantical; these summer-flies. Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: I do forswear them: and I here protest, By this white glove, (how white the hand, God knows!) Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes: And, to begin, wench,-So God help me, la !- My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. Biron. Yet I have a trick Of the old rage:-bear with me, I am sick; I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see;- Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; They are infected, in their hearts it lies; They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes: These lords are visited; you are not free, For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us. Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. Ros. It is not so; For how can this be true, That you stand forfeit, being those that sue? Biron. Peace; for I will not have to do with you. Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude transgression Some fair excuse. Prin. The fairest is confession. Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? King. Madam, I was. Prin. I see the trick on't ;-Here was a consent (Knowing aforehand of our merriment,) To dash it like a Christmas comedy: Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany,4 Some mumble-news, some trencner-knight, come Dick,- That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd,-- Told our intents before: Which once disclos'd, The ladies did change favours; and then we, Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. Now, to our perjury to add more terror, We are again forsworn; in will, and error. Much upon this it is:-And might not you, [To Boyet Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue? Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, And laugh upon the apple of her eye? And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd; Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud You leer upon me, do you? there's an eye, Wounds like a leaden sword. Boyet. Full merrily Hath this brave manage, this career, beer run. Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done. Enter Costard. Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray. Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know, Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. Biron. What, are there but three. Cost. No, sir; but it is vara fine, For every one pursents three. Biron. And three times thrice is nine. Cost. Not so, sir; under correction, sir; I hope, it is not so: You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we know what we know: hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,- Biron. I And were you well advis'd? King. I was, fair madam. Prin. When you then were here,! What did you whisper in your lady's ear? King. That more than all the world I did respect it her. Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re- ject her. King. Upon mine honour, no. Prin. Peace, peace, forbear; Is not nine. Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil doth amount. Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get your living by reckoning, sir. Biron. How much is it? Your oath once broke, you force? not to forswear. Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: Prin. I will; and therefore keep it :-Rosaline, for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect What did the Russian whisper in your ear? Ros. Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear sir. As precious eye-sight; and did value me Above this world: adding thereto, moreover, That he would wed me, or else die my lover. Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord Most honourably doth uphold his word. one man,-e'en one poor man; Pompion the great, King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my troth, I never swore this lady such an oath. Ros. By heaven, you did; and to confirm it plain, You gave me this: but take it, sir, again. King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give; I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear; And lord Birón, I thank him, is my dear:- What; will you have me, or your pearl again? Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pompion the great: for mine own part, I know not the degree of the worthy: but I am to stand for him. Biron. Go, bid them prepare. Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take [Exit Costard. some care. King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not approach. Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 'tis some policy To have one show worse than the king's and his company. King. I say, they shall not come. Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now; 1 Mistress. 2 Make no difficulty. 3 Conpsiracy. 4 Buffoon. 1 5 Rule. 178 ACT V. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. That sport best pleases, that doth least know how: Where zeal strives to content, and the contents Die in the zeal of them which it presents, Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; When great things labouring perish in their birth. Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. Enter Armado. Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense of thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. [Armado converses with the King, and delivers him a paper. Prin. Doth this man serve God? Biron. Why ask you? My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it stands too right. Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most ten- der-smelling knight. Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd: Proceed, good Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander ;- Boyet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so, Ali- sander. Biron. Pompey the great, Cost. Your servant, and Costárd Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Alisander. Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown monarch: for, I protest, the school-master is ex- Alisander the conqueror? You will be scraped out cecding fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain: of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna della his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, couplement ! [Exit Armado. and afeard to speak! run away for shame, Alisan- King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor-der. [Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you; thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, a foolish mild man; an honest man, look you, and Pompey the great; the parish curate, Alexander; soon dash'd! He is a marvellous good neighbour, Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas in sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Alisan- der, alas, you see, how 'tis ;-a little o'erparted:- But there are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some other sort. Machabæus. And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, These four will change habits, and present the other five. Biron. There is five in the first show. King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- priest, the fool, and the boy:- Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world again, Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein. King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes amain. [Seats brought for the King, Princess, &c. Pageant of the Nine Worthies. arm'd, for Pompey. Cost. I Pompey am,- Boyet. Cost. I Pompey am, Boyet. Enter Costard You lie, you are not he. With libbard's head on knee. Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be friends with thee. Cost. 1 Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big,- Dum. The great. Cost. It is great, sir;-Pompey surnam'd the great; That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my foe to sweat: And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by chance; And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass of France. If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had done. Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. Cost. 'Tis not so much worth; but, I hope, I was perfect; I made a little fault in great. Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the best worthy. Enter Nathaniel armed, for Alexander. Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's commander; By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con- quering might: 1 A game with dice. 3 A soldier's powder-horn. 2 Pick. Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. Enter Holofernes arm'd, for Judas, and Moth arm'd, for Hercules. Hol. Great Hercules is presented by this imp, Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three-headed canus; And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, Quoniam, he seemeth in minority; Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. [Ex. Moth. Ergo, I come with this apology.- Hol. Judas I am,- Dum. A Judas! Hol. Not Iscariot, sir.- Judas I am, ycleped Machabæus. Dum. Judas Machabæus clipt, is plain Judas. Biron. A kissing traitor:-How art thou provid Judas? Hol. Judas 1 am,- Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. Hol. What mean you, sir? Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. Hol. Begin, sir; you are my elder. Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hang'd cr an elder. Hol. I will not be put out of countenance. Biron. Because thou hast no face. Hol. What is this? Boyet. A cittern head. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Biron. A death's face in a ring. Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. Boyet. The pummel of Cæsar's faulchion. Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.3 Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.* Dum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer: tenance. Hol. You have put me out of countenance. Biron. False; we have given thee faces. (4) An ornamental buckle for fastening hat bands, &c. SCENE II. 179 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. Hol. But you have out-fac'd them all. Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay? Dum. For the latter end of his name. Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him :- Jud-as, away. Hol. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas: it grows dark, he may stumble. Prin. Alas, poor Machabæus, how hath he been baited! Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles: here comes Hector in arms. Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, will now be merry. King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. Boyet. But is this Hector? I Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd. Long. His leg is too big for Hector. Dum. More calf, certain. Boyet. No; he is best indued in the small. Biron. This cannot be Hector. Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- mighty, Gave Hector a gift- Dum. A gilt nutmeg Biron. A lemon. Long. Stuck with cloves. Dum. No, cloven. Arm. Peace. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion; A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea From morn till night, out of his pavilion. I am that flower,- Dum. Long. That mint. That columbine. Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue. Long. I must rather give it the rein; for it runs against Hector. Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breath'd, he was a man-But I will for- ward with my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Prin- cess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Costard. Prin. Speak, brave Hector; we are much de- lighted. Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. Boyet. Loves her by the foot. Dum. He may not by the yard. Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,- Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two months on her way. Arm. What meanest thou? Pompey! Pompey the huge! Dum. Hector trembles. Biron. Pompey is mov'd:-More Ates, more Ates; stir them on! stir them on! Dum. Hector will challenge him. Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's belly than will sup a flea. Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern man; I'll slash; I'll do it by the sword :-I pray you, let me borrow my arms again. Dum. Room for the incensed worthies, Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. Dum. Most resolute Pompey! Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? What mean you? you will lose your reputation. Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me: I will not combat in my shirt. Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hath made the challenge. I Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. Biron. What reason have you for't? Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; go woolward for penance. Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, he wore none, but a dish-clout of Jacquenetta's; and that 'a wears next his heart, for a favour. Enter Mercade. Mer. God save you, madam! Prin. Welcome, Mercade; But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. Mer. I am sorry, madam; for the news I bring, Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father- Prin. Dead, for my life. Mer. Even so; my tale is told. Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath: I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. King. How fares your majesty? Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. Prin. Prepare, I say.-I thank you, gracious lords, For all your fair endeavours; and entreat, Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, The liberals opposition of our spirits: If over-boldly we have borne ourselves In the converse of breath, your gentleness Was guilty of it.-Farewell, worthy lord! A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue. Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks For my great suit so easily obtain'd. Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, King. The extreme parts of time extremely form the child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours. poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the All causes to the purpose of his speed; And often, at his very loose, decides Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- That which long process could not arbitrate: And though the mourning brow of progeny Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, The holy suit which fain it would convince; Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it tates? thou shalt die. Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jacque- netta that is quick by him; and hang'd, for Pom- pey that is dead by him. Dum. Most rare Pompey! Boyet. Renowned Pompey! From what it purposed; since, to wail friends lost, Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great, Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 1 Lance-men. 2 Até was the goddess of discord. 3 A clown. 4 Clothed in wool, without linen. 5 Free to excess. 180 ACT V. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. As to rejoice at friends but newly found. Prin. I understand you not: my griefs are double. Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief;- And by these badges understand the king. For your fair sakes have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our oaths; your beauty, ladies, Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours Even to the opposed end of our intents: And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous,- As love is full of unbefitting strains; All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain; Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll To every varied object in his glance: Which party-coated presence of loose love Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies, Our love being yours, the error that love makes Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, By being once false for ever to be true To those that make us both :-fair ladies, you: And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. i Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; You are attaint with faults and perjury; Therefore, if you my favour mean to get, A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, But seek the weary beds of people sick. Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me? Kath. A wife!-A beard, fair health, and ho- nesty; With three-fold love I wish you all these three. Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? Kath. Not so, my lord;-a twelvemonth and a day I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say: Come when the king doth to my lady come, Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. Long. What says Maria? Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time is long. Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, What humble suit attends thy answer there; Prin. We have receiv'd your letters full of love; Impose some service on me for thy love. Your favours the embassadors of love; And, in our maiden council, rated them At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, As bombast, and as lining to the time: But more devout than this, in our respects, Have we not been; and therefore met your loves In their own fashion, like a merriment. Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more than jest. Long. So did our looks. Ros. We did not quote them so. King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, Grant us your loves. Prin. A time, methinks, too short To make a world-without-end bargain in: No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore, this,- If for my love (as there is no such cause) You will do aught, this shall you do for me: Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed To some forlorn and naked hermitage, Remote from all the pleasures of the world; There stay until the twelve celestial signs Have brought about their annual reckoning; If this austere insociable life Change not your offer made in heat of blood; If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, But that it bear this trial, and last love: Then, at the expiration of the year, Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, I will be thine; and till that instant, shut My woful self up in a mourning house; Raining the tears of lamentation, For the remembrance of my father's death. If this thou do deny, let our hands part; Neither intitled in the other's heart. King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! Hence even then my heart is in thy breast. 1 Tempted. s Clothing. 2 Regard. 4 Vehement. Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Birón, Before I saw you: and the world's large tongue Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; Which you on all estates will execute, That lie within the mercy of your wit: To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain; And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, (Without the which I am not to be won,) You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day Visit the speechless sick, and still converse With groaning wretches; and your task shall be, With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be; it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: A jest's prosperity lies in the ear Of him that hears it, never in the tongue Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears, Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear groans, Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, And I will have you, and that fault withal; But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, And I shall find you empty of that fault, Right joyful of your reformation. Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befall what will befall, I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my [To the King. King, No, madam: we will bring you on your leave. way. Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy Might well have made our sport a comedy, King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, 5 Immediate. SCENE П. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 181 And then 'twill end. Biron. That's too long for a play. Enter Armado. Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,- Prin. Was not that Hector? Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the plough for her sweet love three years. But, most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the owl and the cuckoo? It should have followed in the end of our show. King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. Arm. Holla! approach.- Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and others. This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. Ver, begin. SONG. Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear! II. Cuckoo, cuckoo,-O word of fear Unpleasing to a married ear III. Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs2 hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, To-who; Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.-You, that way; we, this way. [Exeunt. 1 Cool. 2 Wild apples. In this play, which all the editors have concur- When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, red to censure, and some have rejected as unwor- And merry larks are ploughmen's thy of our poet, it must be confessed that there are clocks, many passages mean, childish, and vulgar: and When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, some which ought not to have been exhibited, as And maidens bleach their summer we are told they were, to a maiden queen. But there are scattered through the whole many sparks of genius; nor is there any play that has mora evident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. JOHNSON. smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree,, Mocks married men, for thus sings he, Cuckoo; MERCHANT OF VENICE. Duke of Venice. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Prince of Morocco, Prince of Arragon, suitors to Portia. Antonio, the merchant of Venice. Bassanio, his friend. Salanio, Salarino, friends to Antonio and Bassanio. Gratiano, friend Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. Shylock, a Jew. Tubal, a Jew, his friend. Launcelot Gobbo, a clown, servant to Shylock. Old Gobbo, father to Launcelot. ACT I. Salerio, a messenger from Venice. Leonardo, servant to Bassanio. Balthazar, Stephano, servants to Portia. Portia, a rich heiress. Nerissa, her waiting-maid. Jessica, daughter to Shylock. Magnificoes of Venice, officers of the court of Jus tice, jailer, servants, and other attendants. Scene, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the seat of Portia, on the continent. That such a thing, pechanc'd, would make me sad? But, tell not me; I know, Antonio SCENE I-Venice. A street. Enter Antonio, Is sad to think upon his merchandise. Salarino, and Salanio. Antonio. IN sooth, I know not why I am so sad; It wearies me; you say, it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn; And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, That I have much ado to know myself. Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; There, where your argosies! with portly sail,- Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood," Or, as it were the pageants of the sea,- Do overpeer the petty traffickers, That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, As they fly by them with their woven wings. Salan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, The better part of my affections would Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads; And every object, that might make me fear Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, Would make me sad. Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, Would blow me to an ague, when I thought What harm a wind too great might do at sea. I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, But I should think of shallows and of flats; And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, And see the holy edifice of stone, And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? Which touching but my gentle vessel's side, Would scatter all her spices on the stream; Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; And, in a word, but even now worth this, And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought To think on this; and shall I lack the thought, 1 Ships of large burthen. 2 Lowering. Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it, My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Upon the fortune of this present year: Therefore, my merchandise makes me not sad. Salan. Why then you are in love. Ant. Fie, fie! Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you are sad, Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time: Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; And other of such vinegar aspéct, That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; We leave you now with better company. Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry, If worthier friend, had not prevented me. Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. I take it, your own business calls on you, And you embrace the occasion to depart. Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say, when? You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found yours. Antonio, We two will leave you: but, at dinner-time, I pray you, have in mind where me must meet. Bass. I will not fail you SCENE IL 183 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; You have too much respect upon the world: They lose it, that do buy it with much care. Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. Ant. I hold the world but as the world, tiano; A stage, where every man must play a part, And mine a sad one. Gra- Gra. Let me play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,- I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;- There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond; And do a wilful stillness' entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark! 0, my Antonio, I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise, For saying nothing; who, I am very sure, If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. I'll tell thee more of this another time: But fish not with this melancholy bait, For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.- Come, good Lorenzo:-Fare ye well, a while; I'll end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner- time: I must be one of these same dumb wise men, For Gratiano never lets me speak. Gra. Weil, keep me company but two years more, Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. Ant. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. Gra. Thanks, i'faith; for silence is only com- mendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. Ant. Is that any thing now? Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, My purse, my person, my extremest means, Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow of the self-same flight The self-same way, with more advised watch, To find the other forth; and by advent'ring both, I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, Because what follows is pure innocence. I owe you much; and, like a wilful youth, That which I owe is lost: but if you please To shoot another arrow that self way Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, As I will watch the aim, or to find both, Or bring your latter hazard back again, And thankfully rest debtor for the first. Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but time, To wind about my love with circumstance; And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, In making question of my uttermost, Than if you had made waste of all I have: Then do but say to me what I should do, That in your knowledge may by me be done, And I am prest2 unto it: therefore, speak. Buss. In Belmont is a lady richly left, And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages: Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth; For the four winds blow in from every coast Renowned suitors; and her sunny locks Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand, And many Jasons come in quest of her. O my Antonio, had I but the means To hold a rival place with one of them, I have a mind presages me such thrift, That I should questionless be fortunate. Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea; Nor have I money, nor commodity To raise a present sum: therefore go forth. Try what my credit can in Venice do; That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, Go, presently inquire, and so will I, more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are Where money is; and I no question make, as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; To have it of my trust, or for my sake. you shall seek all day ere you find them; and, when you have them, they are not worth the search. Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is this same To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, How much I nave disabled mine estate, By something showing a more swelling port Than my faint means would grant continuance: Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd From such a noble rate; but my chief care Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, Wherein my time, something too prodigal, Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio, I owe the most, in money, and in love; And from your love I have a warranty To unburthen all my plots and purposes, How to get clear of all the debts I owe. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Portia and Nerissa. Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world. Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mise- ries were in the same abundance as your good for- tunes are: And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with nothing: It is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. Por. Good sentences, and well pronounced. Ner. They would be better, if well followed. Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; twenty what were good to be done, than be one of And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 1 Obstinate silence. 2 Ready. the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain 3 Formerly.. 184 ACT I MERCHANT OF VENICE. may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper a beast: an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I leaps over a cold decree: such a hare is madness shall make shift to go without him. the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion the right casket, you should refuse to perform your to choose me a husband:-O me, the word choose! father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray whom I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter thee, set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the con- curb'd by the will of a dead father:-Is it not hard, trary casket: for, if the devil be within, and that Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? temptation without, I know he will choose it. I Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy will do any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to men, at their death, have good inspirations; there-a spunge. fore. the lottery, that he hath devised in these three Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who of these lords; they have acquainted me with their chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, determinations: which is, indeed, to return to their never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you home, and to trouble you with no more suit; unless snall rightly love. But what warmth is there in you may be won by some other sort than your fa- your affection towards any of these princely suitors ther's imposition, depending on the caskets. that are already come? Por. If I live to be as old as Sybilla, I will die Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the namest them, I will describe them; and, according manner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel to my description, level at my affection. of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one among them but I dote on his very absence, and I Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. Por. Ay, that's a colt,' indeed, for he doth no-pray God grant them a fair departure. thing but talk of his horse: and he makes it a great Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your fa- appropriation to his own good parts, that he can ther's time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, shoe him himself: I am much afraid, my lady, his that came hither in company of the Marquis of mother, played false with a smith. Montferrat? Ner. Then is there the county Palatine. Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so Por. He does nothing but frown; as who should was he called. say, An if you will not have me, choose: he hears Ner. True, madam; he, of all the men that merry tales, and smiles not: I fear, he will prove ever my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being deserving a fair lady. so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had Por. I remember him well; and I remember rather be married to a death's head with a bone in him worthy of thy praise.-How now! what news? his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me from these two! Ner. How say you by the French lord, Mon- sieur Le Bon? Enter a Servant. Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, to take their leave: and there is a forerunner come Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who brings for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. mocker: But, he! why, he hath a horse better than Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I than the count Palatine: he is every man in no should be glad of his approach: if he have the man: if a throstle sing, he falls straight a caper-condition³ of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, ing; he will fence with his own shadow: if I should I had rather he should shrive me than wive me. marry him, I should marry twenty husbands: If Come, Nerissa.-Sirrah, go before.-Whiles we he would despise me, I would forgive him; for if shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at he love me to madness, I shall never requite him. the door. [Exeunt. Ner. What say you then to Falconbridge, the SCENE III-Venice. A public place. Enter young baron of England? Bassanio and Shylock. Por. You know, I say nothing to him: for he un- derstands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latin, French, nor Italian; and you will come into the court and swear, that I have a poor penny-worth in the English. He is a proper man's picture But, alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bon- net in Germany, and his behaviour every where. Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English- man, and swore he would pay him again, when he was able: I think the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under for another. Shy. Three thousand ducats,-well. Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. Shy. For three months,-well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. Shy. Antonio shall become bound,-well. Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? Shall I know your answer? Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months and Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. Shy. Antonio is a good man. Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary? Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no;-my meaning in say; Ner. How like you the young German, the duke ing he is a good man, is to have you understand of Saxony's nephew? me, that he is sufficient: yet his means are in sup- Por. Very vilely in the morning, when he is so-position; he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, an ber; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is other to the Indies: I understand, moreover, upon drunk: when he is best, he is a little worse than a the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for man; and when he is worst, he is little better than England, and other ventures he hath squan 1 A heady, gay youngster. 2 Count. 3 Temper, qualities. SCENE III. 185 MERCHANT OF VENICE der'd abroad: But ships are but boards, sailors but And in the doing of the deed of kind,3 men: there be land-rats, and water-rats, water-He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; thieves, and land-thieves; I mean, pirates; and Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time then, there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks: Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's, The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient ;-three This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; thousand ducats;-I think I may take his bond. And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. Bass. Be assured you may. Shy. I will be assured I may; and, that I may be assured, will bethink me: May I speak with Antonio? Bass. If it please you to dine with us. A Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; thing not in his power to bring to pass, But sway'd and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. Was this inserted to make interest good? Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habita- Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams? tion which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into: I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto?-Who is he comes here? Shy. I cannot tell: I make it breed as fast:- But note me, signior. Enter Antonio. Bass. This is signior Antonio. Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him, for he is a Christian: But more, for that, in low simplicity, He lends out money gratis, and brings down The rate of usance here with us in Venice. If I can catch him once upon the hip, I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. He hates our sacred nation: and he rails, Even there, where merchants most do congregate, On me, my bargains, and my well-won-thrift, Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe, If I forgive him. Bass. Shylock, do you hear? Shy. I am debating of my present store; And by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up the gross Of full three thousand ducats: What of that? Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, Will furnish me: But soft; How many months Do you desire ?-Rest you fair, good signior; [To Antonio. Your worship was the last man in our mouths. Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, By taking, nor by giving of excess, Yet, to supply the ripe wants' of my friend, I'll break a custom :-Is he yet possessed,2 How much you would? Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot,-three months, you told me so. Well then, your bond; and, let me see,But hear you; Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow, Upon advantage. Ant. I do never use it. Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep, This Jacob from our holy Abraham was (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) The third possessor; ay, he was the third. Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would say, Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. When Laban and himself were compromis'd, That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, Should fall as Jacob's hire; the ewes, being rank, In the end of autumn turned to the rams: And when the work of generation was Between these woolly breeders in the act, The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 1 Wants which admit no longer delay. Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. An evil soul, producing holy witness, Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; A goodly apple rotten at the heart; O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! Shy. Three thousand ducats,-'tis a good round sum. Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, In the Rialto you have rated me About my monies, and my usances: 4 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe: You call me-misbeliever, cut-throat dog, And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, And all for use of that which is mine own. Well then, it now appears, you need my help: Go to then; you come to me, and you say, Shylock, we would have monies; You say so; You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur Over your threshold; monies is your suit. What should I say to you? Should I not say, Hath a dog money? is it possible, A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or, Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key, With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, Say this, Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; You spurn'd me such a day; another time You call'd me-dog; and for these courtesies I'll lend you thus much monies. Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends (for when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend? But lend it rather to thine enemy; Who if he break, thou may'st with better face Exact the penalty. Shy. Why, look you, how you storm! I would be friends with you, and have your love, Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with, Supply your present wants, and take no doit Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear ine: This is kind I offer. Ant. This were kindness. This kindness will I show :- Shy. Go with me to a notary, seal me there Your single bond; and, in a merry sport, If you repay me not on such a day, In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit Be nominated for an equal pound Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken In what part of your body pleaseth me. 4 Interest. 2 Informed. 3 Nature. 186 Аст II MERCHANT OF VENICE. Ant. Content, in faith I'll seal to such a bond, And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, I'll rather dwell in my necessity. Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it; Within these two months, that's a month before This bond expires, I do expect return Of thrice three times the value of this bond. Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are i Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect The thoughts of others! Pray you, tell me this; If he should break his day, what should I gain By the exaction of the forfeiture? A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, Is not so estimable, profitable neither, As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, To buy his favour, I extend this friendship: If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not. Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's; Give him direction for this merry bond, And I will go and purse the ducats straight; See to my house, left in the fearful guard Of an unthrifty knave; and presently I will be with you. [Exit. Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. Ant. Come on: in this there can be no may, My ships come home a month before the day. That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,- I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she-bear, Yea, mock the lion when he roars for prey, To win thee, lady: But, alas the while! If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice Which is the better man, the greater throw May turn by fortune from the weaker hand: So is Alcides beaten by his page; And so may I, blind fortune leading me, Miss that which one unworthier may attain, And die with grieving. Por. You must take your chance; And either not attempt to choose at all, Or swear, before you choose,-if you choose wrong, Never to speak to lady afterward In way of marriage; therefore, be advis'd." Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my chance. Por. First, forward to the temple; after dinner Your hazard shall be made. Mor. Good fortune then! [Cornets. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Venice. A street. Enter Launce- lot Gobbo. To make me bless'd'st, or cursed'st among men. Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to dis-run from this Jew, my master: The fiend is at mine elbow; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Laun- celot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, or [Exeunt. good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the start, run away: My conscience says,-no; take heed, honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo; or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo, do not run; scorn running with thy heels: Well, the most SCENE I-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. courageous fiend bids me pack; via! says the Flourish of cornets. Enter the Prince of Mo- fiend; away! says the fiend, for the heavens; rouse rocco, and his train; Portia, Nerissa, and other up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. Well, of her attendants. ACT II. Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. Bring me the fairest creature northward born, Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, And let us make incision2 for your love, To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine. I tell thee, lady, this aspéct of mine Hath fear'd' the valiant; by my love, I swear, The best-regarded virgins of our clime Have lov'd it too: I would not change this hue, Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led By nice direction of a maiden's eyes: Besides, the lottery of my destiny Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: But, if my father had not scanted me, And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, As any comer I have look'd on yet, For my affection. Mor. Even for that I thank you; Therefore I pray you, lead me to the caskets, To try my fortune. By this scimetar,- That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince, 1 Abide. 2 Allusion to the eastern custom for lovers to testify their passion by cutting themselves in their mistresses' sight. Launce- my conscience, hanging about the neck of my heart, says very wisely to me,-my honest friend Launce lot, being an honest man's son,-or rather an ho nest woman's son ;-for, indeed, my father did something smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste;-well, my conscience says, lot, budge not; budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my conscience: Conscience, say I, you coun- sel well; fiend, say I, you counsel well: to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with the Jew my master, who (God bless the mark!) is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is the very devil incarnation; and, in my conscience, my con- science is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew: The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; my heels are at your commandment, I will run. Enter old Gobbo, with a basket. Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true be gotten father! who, being more than sand-blind, high-gravel blind, knows me not:-I will try con- clusions with him. Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to master Jew's? Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next 3 Terrified. 5 Experiments. 4 Not precipitate. SCENE II. 187 MERCHANT OF VENICE. turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other fol- left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no lowers. hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. Bass. You may do so;-but let it be so hasted, Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that clock: See these letters deliver'd; put the liveries dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? to making; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodging. [Exit a servant. Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ?- Mark me now; [aside.] now will I raise the wa- ters-Talk you of young master Launcelot? Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son; his father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor man, and, God be thanked, well to live. Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we talk of young master Launcelot. Laun. To him, father. Gob. God bless your worship! Bass. Gramercy; Would'st thou aught with me? Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy,- man; that would, sir, as my father shall specify,- Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would say, to serve- Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve seech you; Talk you of young master Launcelot? the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. specify,- Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of Gob. His master and he (saving your worship's master Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins: (according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings; the sisters three, and such branches of Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the learning,) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. Gob. Marry, God forbid! the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a staff, or a prop?-Do you know me, father? Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young gentleman: but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy (God rest his soul!) alive, or dead? Laun. Do you not know me, father? Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son: Give me your blessing: truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may; but, in the end, truth will out. Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up; I am sure, you are not Launcelot, my boy. Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Laun- celot, your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. Gob. I cannot think you are my son. Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and, I am sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. you, Gob. I have a dish of doves, that I would be- stow upon your worship; and my suit is, Laun. In very brief the suit is impertinent to old man; and, though I say it, though old man, myself, as your worship shall know by this honest yet, poor man, my father. Bass. One speak for both;-What would you? Laun. Serve you, sir. Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. Bass. I know thee well, thou hast cbtained thy suit: Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, To leave a rich Jew's service, to become The follower of so poor a gentleman. Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. tween my master Shylock and you, sir; you have Bass. Thou speak'st it well: Go, father, with thy son:- Take leave of thy old master, and inquire My lodging out:-Give him a livery - More guarded2 than his fellows': See it done. [To his followers. Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, I have ne'er a tongue in my head.-Well; [look- Laun. Father, in:-I cannot get a service, no;-- if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and ing on his palm.] if any man in Italy have a fairer blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be! what a beard table, which doth offer to swear upon a book.- hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin, I shall have good fortune; Go to, here's a simple than Dobbin my thill-horse' has on his tail. Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tail fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine. line of life! here's a small trifle of wives: Alas, grows backward; I am sure he had more hair on maids, is a simple coming-in for one man: and his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw him. then, to 'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril Gob. I.ord, how art thou chang'd! How dost of my life with the edge of a feather-bed ;-here thou and thy master agree? I have brought him a present; How 'gree you now? Laun. Well, well; but, for my own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground: my master's a very Jew: Give him a present! give him a halter: am famished in his service; you may tell every finger I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come; give me your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries: if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune! here comes the man;- to him, father; for I am a Jew, if I serve the Jew any longer. 1 Shaft-horse. 2 Ornamented. an eye. are simple 'scapes! Well, if fortune be a woman, I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of she's a good wench for this gear.-Father, come; [Exeunt Laun. and old Gob. These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; Return in haste, for I do feast to-night My best-esteem'd acquaintance; hie thee, go. Leon. My best endeavours shall be done nerei Enter Gratiano. Gra. Where is your master? Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonard 3 The palm of the hand extended. 188 ACT II MERCHANT OF VENICE. Gra. Signior Bassanio,- Bass. Gratiano! Gra. I have a suit to you. Bass. You have obtain❜d it. Gra. You must not deny me; I must go with you to Belmont. Bass. Why, then you must;-But hear thee, Gratiano; Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice;- Parts, that become thee happily enough, And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; But where thou art not known, why, there they show Something too liberal;-pray thee, take pain To allay with some cold drops of modesty Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild beha- viour, I be misconstrued in the place I go to, And lose my hopes. Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: If I do not put on a sober habit, Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely; Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen; Use all the observance of civility, Like one well studied in a sad ostent2 To please his grandam, never trust me more. Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing." Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me By what we do to-night. Bass. No, that were pity; I would entreat you rather to put on Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends That purpose merriment: But fare you well, I have some business. Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest; But we will visit you at supper time. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A room in Shylock's house. Enter Jessica and Launcelot. Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so; Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness; But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee. And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: Give him this letter; do it secretly, And so farewell; I would not have my father See me talk with thee. Laun. Adieu!-tears exhibit my tongue.-Most beautiful Pagan,-most sweet Jew! If a Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I am much deceived: But, adieu! these foolish drops do some- what drown my manly spirit, adieu! Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot.- Alack, what heinous sin is it in me, To be asham'd to be my father's child! But though I am a daughter to his blood, [Exit. Salan. "Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly or der'd; And better, in my mind, not undertook. Lor. "Tis now but four o'clock; we have two hours To furnish us. Enter Launcelot, with a letter. Friend Launcelot, what's the news? Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it shall seem to signify. Lor. I know the hand: in faith 'tis a fair hand; And whiter than the paper it writ on, Is the fair hand that writ. Gra. Love-news, in faith. Laun. By your leave, sir. Lor. Whither goest thou? Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master, the Jew, to sup to night with my new master the Christian. Lor. Hold here, take this:-tell gentle Jessica, I will not fail her;-speak it privately; go.— Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot, Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? am provided of a torch-bearer. I Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. Salan. And so will I. Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano, At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. Salar. 'Tis good we do so. [Exeunt Salar. and Salan. Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? Lor. I must needs tell thee all: She hath directed, How I shall take her from her father's house; What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with; What page's suit she hath in readiness. If e'er the Jew, her father, come to heaven, It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: And never dare misfortune cross her foot, Unless she do it under this excuse,- That she is issue to a faithless Jew. Come, go/with me; peruse this as thou goest: Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The same. Before Shylock's house. Enter Shylock and Launcelot. Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy judge, The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio:- What, Jessica!-thou shalt not gormandize, As thou hast done with me;-What, Jessica!- And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ;- Why, Jessica, I say! Laun. Why, Jessica! Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could do nothing without bidding. Enter Jessica. Jes. Call you? What is your will? I am not to his manners: 0 Lorenzo, Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica; If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife; There are my keys:-But wherefore should I go, Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit. I am not bid for love; they flatter me: SCENE IV-The same. A street. Enter Gra- tiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time; Disguise us at my lodging, and return All in an hour. Gra. We have not made good preparation. Salar We have not spoke us yet of torch- bearers. 1 Gross, licentious. 2 Show of staid and serious demeanour. The prodigal Christian.-Jessica, my girl, But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon Look to my house:-I am right loath to go, There is some ill a brewing towards my rest. For I did dream of money-bags to-night. Laun. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master doth expect your reproach. Shy. So do I his. Laun. And they have conspired together, I will not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, 3 Carriage, deportment. 4 Invited. SCENE VII. 189 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleed- Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. ing on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i'the morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday was four year in the afternoon. Shy. What! are there masques? Hear you me, Jessica: Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, Clamber not you up to the casements then, Nor thrust your head into the public street, To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces: But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements; Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter My sober house.-By Jacob's staff, I swear, I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: But I will go.-Go you before me, sirrah; Say, I will come. Laun. I will go before, sir.- Mistress, look out at window, for all this; There will come a Christian by, Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress; nothing else. Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder, Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day More than the wild cat; drones hive not with me; Therefore I part with him; and part with him To one that I would have him help to waste His borrow'd purse.-Well, Jessica, go in ; Perhaps, I will return immediately; Do, as I bid you, [Exit. Shut doors after you: Fast bind, fast find; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. Jes. Farewell: and if my fortune be not crost, I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed; For who love I so much? And now who knows, But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that thou art. Jes. Here, catch this casket; it is worth the pains. I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, For I am much asham'd of my exchange: But love is blind, and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy. Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch bearer. Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? They in themselves, good sooth, are too, too light. Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love; And I should be obscur'd. Lor. So are you, sweet, Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. But come at once; For the close night doth play the run-away, And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself With some more ducats, and be with you straight. [Exil, from above. Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily: For she is wise, if I can judge of her; And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true; And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself; And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul. Enter Jessica, below. What, art thou come?-On, gentlemen, away SCENE VI.-The same. Enter Gratiano and Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. Salarino, masked. Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo Desir'd us to make stand. Salar His hour is almost past. Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, For lovers ever run before the clock. Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont, To keep obliged faith unforfeited! Gra. That ever holds: Who riseth from a feast, With that keen appetite that he sits down? Where is the horse that doth untread again His tedious measures with the unbated fire That he did pace them first? All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker, or a prodigal, The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! Enter Lorenzo. Salar. Here comes Lorenzo; more of this here- after. Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long abode; Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait; When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 'll watch as long for you then.-Approach; Here dwells my father Jew:-Ho! who's within? Enter Jessica above, in boy's clothes. Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 1 Decorated with flags. [Exit with Jessica and Salarino. Enter Antonio. Ant. Who's there? Gra. Signior Antonio? Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano? where are all the rest? 'Tis nine o'clock; our friends all stay for you :- No masque to-night; the wind is come about, Bassanio presently will go aboard: I have sent twenty out to seek for you. Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight, Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. Exe. SCENE VII.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Flourish of cornets. Enter Portia, with the prince of Morocco, and both their trains. Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover The several caskets to this noble prince :- Now make your choice. Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears;- Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. The second; silver, which this promise carries ;-- Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves, The third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ;- Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. How shall I know if I do choose the right? Por. The one of them contains my picture, prince; you choose that, then I am yours withal. If Mor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see, I will survey the inscriptions back again : What says this leaden casket? Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. Must give-For what? for lead? hazard for lead? 13 This casket threatens: Men, that hazard all, 190 ACT II. MERCHANT OF VENICE. Do it in hope of fair advantages: A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. What says the silver, with her virgin hue? Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. As much as he deserves?-Pause there, Morocco, And weigh thy value with an even hand: If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough May not extend so far as to the lady; And yet to be afeard of my deserving, Were but a weak disabling of myself. As much as I deserve!-Why, that's the lady. I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, In graces, and in qualities of breeding; But more than these, in love I do deserve. What if I stray'd no further, but chose here;- Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold: Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. Why, that's the lady; all the world desires her: From the four corners of the earth they come, To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now, For princes to come view fair Portia : The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar To stop the foreign spirits; but they come, As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. One of these three contains her heavenly picture. Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation, To think so base a thought; it were too gross To rib¹ her cerecloth in the obscure grave. Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd, Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold? O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem Was set in worse than gold. They have in England A coin, that bears the figure of an angel Stamped in gold: but that's insculp'd2 upon; But here an angel in a golden bed Lies all within.-Deliver me the key; Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. Mor. O hell! what have we here? A carrion death, within whose empty eye There is a written scroll? I'll read the writing. All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told: Many a man his life hath sold, But my outside to behold: Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old, Your answer had not been inscroll'd Fare you well; your suit is cold. Cold, indeed; and labour lost: Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. Portia, adieu! I have too griev'd a heart To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit. Por. A gentle riddance:--Draw the curtains, go Let all of his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII.-Venice. A street. Enter Sala- rino and Salanio. Salar. Why man, I saw Bassanio under sail; With him is Gratiano gone along; And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 1 Enclose. 2 Engraven. 3 Conversed. 4 To siubber is to do a thing carelessly Salan. The villain Jew with outeries rais'd the duke; Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail; But there the duke was given to understand, That in a gondola were seen together Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke, They were not with Bassanio in his ship. Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, So strange, outrageous, and so variable, As the dog Jew did utter in the streets: My daughter!-O my ducats!-O my daughter! Fled with a Christian ?-O my Christian ducats! Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter! A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! And jewels; two stones, two rich and precious stones, Stol'n by my daughter!-Justice! find the girl: She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats! Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, Crying,-his stones, his daughter, and his ducats Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, Or he shall pay for this. Salar. Marry, well remember'd: I reason'd³ with a Frenchman yesterday; Who told me,-in the narrow seas, that part The French and English, there miscarried A vessel of our country, richly fraught: I thought upon Antonio, when he told me; And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you hear; Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: Bassanio told him, he would make some speed Of his return; he answer'd-Do not so, Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, But stay the very riping of the time; And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me, Let it not enter in your mind of love: Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughts To courtship, and such fair ostents of love As shall conveniently become you there: And even there, his eye being big with tears, Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, And with affection wondrous sensible He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. Salan. I think, he only loves the world for him. I pray thee let us go, and find him out, And quicken his embraced heaviness With some delight or other. Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt. SCENE IX.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Nerissa, with a servant. Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the cul- tain straight; The prince of Arragon has ta'en his oath, And comes to his election presently. Flourish of cornets. Enter the prince of Arragon, Portia, and their trains. Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince. If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd; But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, You must be gone from hence immediately. Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things 5 Shows, tokens. 6 The heaviness he is fond of. SCENE 1. 191 MERCHANT OF VENICE. First, never to unfold to any one Which casket 'twas I chose; next, if I fail Of the right casket, never in my life To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly, if I do fail in fortune of my choice, Immediately to leave you and be gone. Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear, That comes to hazard for my worthless self. Ar. And so have I address'd' me: Fortune now To my heart's hope!-Gold, silver, and base lead. Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath: You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. What says the golden chest? ha! let me see:- Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. What many men desire.-That many may be meant By the fool multitude, that choose by show, Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach; Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, Builds in the weather on the outward wall, Even in the force2 and road of casualty. I will not choose what many men desire, Because I will not jump3 with common spirits, And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; Tell me once more what title thou dost bear; Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves; And well said too: For who shall go about To cozen fortune, and be honourable Without the stamp of merit! Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. 0, that estates, degrees, and offices, 10 these deliberate fools! when they do choose, They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy ;- Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. Enter a Servant. Serv. Where is my lady? Por. Here; what would my lord? Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate. A young Venetian, one that comes before To signify the approaching of his lord: From whom he bringeth sensible regreets; To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen So likely an embassador of love: A day in April never came so sweet, To show how costly summer was at hand, As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. Por. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard, Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee, Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him.- Come, come, Nerissa; for I long to see Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be! [Exeunt. ACT III. Were not deriv'd corruptly! and that clear honour SCENE I.-Venice. A street. Enter Salanio, Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover, that stand bare? How many be commanded, that command? How much low peasantry would then be glean'd From the true seed of honour? and how much honour Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, To be new varnish'd? Well, but to my choice: Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves; I will assume desert;-Give me a key for this, And instantly unlock my fortunes here. Por. Too long a pause for that which you find there. Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, Presenting me a schedule? I will read it. How much unlike art thou to Portia ? How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings? Who chooseth me, shall have as much as he deserves. Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, And of opposed natures. Ar. What is here? The fire seven times tried this; Seven times tried that judgment is, That did never choose amiss: Some there be, that shadows kiss; Such have but a shadow's bliss: There be fools alive, I wis, Silver'd o'er; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed I will ever be your head: So begone, sir, you are sped. Still more fool I shall appear By the time I linger here: With one fool's head I came to woo, But I go away with two.- Sweet, adieu! I'll keep my oath, Patiently to bear my wroth. [Exeunt Arragon, and train. Pcr. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 1 Prepared. 2 Power. 3 Agree with. and Salarino. Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto? Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours be- lieve she wept for the death of a third husband: But it is true,-without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the plain high-way of talk,-that the good Antonio, the honest Antonio,-0 that I had a title good enough to keep his name company!- Salar. Come, the full stop. Salan. Ha,-what say'st thou ?-Why the end is, he hath lost a ship. Salar, I would it might prove the end of his losses! Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. Enter Shylock. How now, Shylock? what news among the mer- chant's? Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, of my daughter's flight. Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the tailor that made the wings she flew withal. Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the bird was fledged; and then it is the complex. ion of them all to leave the dam. Shy. She is damn'd for it. Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel! Salan. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at these years? 4 Know. 5 Salutations. 192 ACT III. MERCHANT OF VENICE. Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one night, fourscore ducats. Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me:- -I shall and hers, than between jet and ivory; more be- tween your bloods, than there is between red wine never see my gold again: Fourscore ducats at a and rhenish:-But tell us, do you hear whether sitting! fourscore ducats! Antonio have had any loss at sea or no? Shy. I am very glad of it; I'll plague him.; I'll Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors Shy. There I have another bad match: a bank-in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot rupt, a prodigal, who dares scarce show his head on choose but break. the Rialto;-a beggar, that used to come so smug upon the mart;-let him look to his bond: he was torture him; I am glad of it. wont to call me usurer;-let him look to his bond: he was wont to lend money for a Christian courte- sy;-let him look to his bond. Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh; What's that good for? Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of your daughter for a monkey. Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal: it was my turquoise; I had it of Leah, when I was bachelor: I would not have given it for a wilder- ness of monkies. a SCENE II.-Belmont. [Exeunt. Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true; Go, Tu- my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, bal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight be thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated fore: I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit; mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew: for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer- Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, chandise I will; Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our syna- the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject gogue, Tubal. to the same diseases, healed by the same means, A room in Portia's warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum- mer, as a Christian is? if you prick us, do we not house. Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Ne- bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you rissa, and attendants. The caskets are set out. poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, Por. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two, shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong, rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong I lose your company; therefore, forbear a while: a Christian, what is his humility? revenge; If a There's something tells me (but it is not love,) Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance I would not lose you; and you know yourself, be by Christian example? why, revenge. The Hate counsels not in such a quality: villany you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction. Enter a Servant. Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his house, and desires to speak with you both. Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. Enter Tubal. Salan. Here comes another of the tribe; a third cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn Jew. [Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant. Shy. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? hast thou found my daughter? Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot find her. I But lest you should not understand me well (And yet a maiden hath no tongue but though would detain you here some month or two, How to choose right, but then I am forswora; Before you venture for me. I could teach you, But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin So will I never be: So may you miss me; That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me; One half of me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours: O! these naughty times Put bars between the owners and their rights; And so, though yours, not yours.-Prove it so, Let fortune go to hell for it,-not I. Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond I speak too long; but 'tis to peize the time; gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! To eke it, and to draw it out in length, The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I To stay you from election. never felt it till now:-two thousand ducats in that; Bass. Let me choose; and other precious, precious jewels.-I would, my For, as I am, I live upon the rack. aughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio? then confess her ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and What treason there is mingled with your love. the ducats in her coffin! No news of them?-Why, Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, so:-and I know not what's spent in the search: Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: Why, thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so There may as well be amity and life much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring, but Por. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, what lights o' my shoulders; no sighs, but o' my Where men enforced do speak any thing. breathing; no tears, but o' my shedding. Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio, as I heard in Genoa,- Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? Tub. hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis. Shy. I thank God, I thank God:-Is it true? is it true? Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- caped the wreck. Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal;-Good news, good news ha ha-Where? in Genoa? Bass. Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth Por. Well then, confess, and live. Confess, and love, Had been the very sum of my confession: O happy torment, when my torturer Doth teach me answers for deliverance! But let me to my fortune and the caskets. Por. Away then: I am lock'd in one of them; If you do love me, you will find me out.- Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof.- 2 Delay. 1 A precious stone. WS SHYLOCK AND TUBAL. TUBAL.-"Antonio, as I heard in Genoa SHYLOCK." What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?" "Merchant of Venice," Act III., Scene I. M OF VICH SCENE II. 163 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Let music sound, while he doth make his choice; Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, Fading in music: that the comparison May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, And wat'ry death-bed for him: He may win: And what is music then? then music is Even as the flourish when true subjects bow To a new-crowned monarch: such it is, As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, And summon him to marriage. Now he goes, With no less presence,' but with much more love, Than young Alcides, when he did redeem The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice, The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, With bleared visages come forth to view The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules! Live thou, I live :-With much much more dismay I view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets to himself. SONG. 1. Tell me, where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the hend? How begot, how nourished? Reply. 2. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies: All. Bass. - Let us all ring fancy's knell; I'll begin it,Ding, dong, bell. Ding, dong, bell. As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy. O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy, In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess: I feel too much thy blessing, make it less, For fear I surfeit ! Bass. What find I here? [Opening the leaden caskcl Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woven A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her eyes,- How could he see to do them? having made one, Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow And leave itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how far In underprizing it, so far this shadow Doth limp behind the substance.-Here's the scroll, The continent and summary of my fortune. You that choose not by the view, Chance as fair, and choose as true! Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this, And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is, And claim her with a loving kiss. So may the outward shows be least A gentle scroll;-Fair lady, by your leave, themselves; [Kissing her. I come by note, to give and to receive. Like one of two, contending in a prize, That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, Hearing applause and universal shout, Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt Whether those peals of praise be his or no; So, thrice-fair lady, stand I, even so; As doubtful whether what I see be true, Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am: though, for myself alone, would not be ambitious in my wish, I To wish myself much better; yet, for you I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich; The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple, but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars; Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk? And these assume but valour's excrement, To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it: So are those crisped4 snaky golden locks, Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The scull that bred them in the sepulchre. Thus ornament is but the guileds shore But she may learn; and happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word, Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit The seeming truth which cunning times put on Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee: Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, Is now converted; but now I was the lord Tween man and man: but thou, thou meagre lead, Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, This house, these servants, and this same myself Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence! And here choose I: Joy be the consequence! Are yours my lord; I give them with this ring: Por. How all the other passions fleet to air Which when you part from, lose, or give away. Let it presage the ruin of your love, And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 1 Dignity of mien. 3 Winning favour. 2 Love. 4 Curled. That only to stand high on your account, I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, Exceed account: but the full sum of me Is sum of something; which, to term in gross, Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd: Happy in this, she is not yet so old 5 Treacherous. 6 Likeness, portrait. 194 Аст III. MERCHANT OF VENICE. words, | Your hand, Salerio; What's the news from Venice? How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? I know, he will be glad of our success; We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost! Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : And there is such confusion in my powers, As, after some oration fairly spoke By a beloved prince, there doth appear Among the buzzing pleased multitude; Where every something, being blent' together, Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, Express'd, and not express'd: But when this ring Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper, To cry, good joy; Good joy, my lord, and lady! Gra. My lord Bassanie, and my gentle lady! I wish you all the joy that you can wish; For, I am sure, you can wish none from me: And, when your honours mean to solemnize The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you Even at that time I may be married too. Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. Gra. I thank your lordship; you have got me one. My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid; You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission2 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. Your fortune stood upon the caskets there; And so did mine too, as the matter falls: For wooing here, until I sweat again; And swearing, till my very roof was dry With oaths of love; at last,-if promise last, I got a promise of this fair one here, To have her love, provided that your fortune Achiev'd her mistress. Por. Is this true, Nerissa? Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith? Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord. Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your marriage. Ga. We'll play with them, the first boy for thousand ducats. Ner. What, and stake down?- a Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake down. But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel? What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio ? Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither; If that the youth of my new interest here Have power to bid you welcome :-By your leave, I bid my very friends and countrymen, Sweet Portia, welcome. Por. They are entirely welcome. So do I, my lord; Lor. I thank your honour:-For my part, lord, My purpose was not to have seen you here; But meeting with Salario by the way, He did entreat me, past all saying nay, To come with him along. Sale. And I have reason for it. Commends him to you. Bass. Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon' same paper, That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek: Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world Could turn so much the constion Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?-- With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself, And I must freely have the half of any thing That this same paper brings you. I Bass. O sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words, That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, freely told you, all the wealth I had Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman; And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart: When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; The paper as the body of my friend, And every word in it a gaping wound, Issuing life-blood.-But is it true, Salerio? Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit! From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, From Lisbon, Barbary, and India? And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch Of merchant-marring rocks? Sale. Not one, my lord, Besides, it should appear, that if he had The present money to discharge the Jew, He would not take it: Never did I know A creature, that did bear the shape of man, So keen and greedy to confound a man: He plies the duke at morning, and at night: And doth impeach the freedom of the state, If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, The duke himself, and the magnificoes3 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him; But none can drive him from the envious plea Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him swear, To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen, That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, Than twenty times the value of the sum That he did owe him: and I know, my lord, my If law, authority, and power deny not, It will go hard with poor Antonio. I did, my lord, Signior Antonio [Gives Bassanio a letter. Ere I ope his letter, I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind; Nor well, unless in mind; his letter there Will show you his estate. Gra. Nerissa, cheer yen' stranger; bid her come. 1 Blended. 2 Pause, delay. Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble? Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best condition'd and unwearied spirit In doing courtesies; and one in whom The ancient Roman honour more appears, Than any that draws breath in Italy. Por. What sum owes he the Jew? Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. Por. What, no more! Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; Double six thousand, and then treble that, Before a friend of this description wel-Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. First, go with me to church, and call me wife: 3 The chief men. SCENE III. 195 MERCHANT OF VENICE. And then away to Venice to your friend; For never shall you lie by Portia's side With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold To pay the petty debt twenty times over; When it is paid, bring your true friend along: My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time, Will live as maids and widows. Come, away; For you shall hence upon your wedding-day: Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer: Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. But let me hear the letter of your friend. SCENE IV.-Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and Balthazar. I Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your pre- sence, You have a noble and a true conceit Of god-like amity; which appears most strongly In bearing thus the absence of your lord. But, if you knew to whom you show this honour. How true a gentleman you send relief, Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bussanio, my ships have How dear a lover of my lord your husband, all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate know, you would be prouder of the work, is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and Than customary bounty can enforce you. since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, Por. I never did repent for doing good, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might Nor shall not now: for in companions but see you at my death: notwithstanding, use That do converse and waste the time together your pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, come, let not my letter. There must be needs a like proportion Por. O love, despatch all business, and be gone., Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit; Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, I will make haste: But, till I come again, No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. Which makes me think, that this Antonio, Being the bosom lover of my lord, Must needs be like my lord: If it be so, How little is the cost I have bestow'd, In purchasing the semblance of my soul This comes too near the praising of myself; From out the state of hellish cruelty? Therefore no more of it: hear other things.- of Lorenzo, I commit into your hands [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Venice. A street. Enter Shylock, Salanio, Antonio, and Gaoler. Shy. Gaoler, look to him;-Tell not me mercy;- This is the fool that lent out money gratis ;- Gaoler, look to him. Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against ray bond; I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond: Thou call'dst me dog, before thou had'st a cause: But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs: The duke shall grant me justice.-I do wonder, Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond² To come abroad with him at his request. Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more. I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield To Christian intercessors. Follow not; I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. [Exit Shylock. Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, That ever kept with men. Ant. Let him alone, I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. He seeks my life; his reason well I know; I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures Many that have at times made moan to me; Therefore he hates me. Salan. I am sure, the duke Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law. For the commodity that strangers have With us in Venice, if it be denied, Will much impeach the justice of the state; Since that the trade and profit of the city Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh To-morrow to my bloody creditor.- Well, gaoler, on:-Pray God, Bassanio come To see me pay this debt, and then I care not! [Exeunt. 1 Face. 2 Foolish. The husbandry and manage of my house, Until my lord's return: for mine own part, I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow To live in prayer and contemplation, Only attended by Nerissa here, Until her husband and my lord's return: There is a monastery two miles off, And there we will abide. I do desire you, Not to deny this imposition; The which my love, and some necessity, Now lays upon you. Lor. Madam, with all my heart, I shall obey you in all fair commands. Por. My people do already know my mind, And will acknowledge you and Jessica In place of lord Bassanio and myself. So fare you well, till we shall meet again. Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you. Jes. I wish your ladyship, all heart's content. Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica.- [Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. Now, Balthazar. As I have ever found thee honest, true, So let me find thee still: Take this same letter, And use thou all the endeavor of a man, In speed to Padua; see thou render this Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee, Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed Unto the tranect, to the common ferry Which trades to Venice:-waste no time in words, But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee. Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. [Exit. Por. Come on Nerissa; I have work in hand, That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands, Before they think of us. Ner. Shall they see us? Por. They shall, Nerissa; but in sucn a habit, That they shall think we are accomplished With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager. 196 ACT IV. MERCHANT OF VENICE. When we are both accoutred like young men, I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, And wear my dagger with the braver grace; And speak, between the change of man and boy, With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps Into a manly stride; and speak of frays, Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies, How honourable ladies sought my love, Which I denying, they fell sick and died; I could not do withal;-then I'll repent And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: And twenty of these prny lies I'll tell, That men shall swear I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth:-I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, Which I will practise. Ner. Why, sha: we turn to men? Por. Fie! what a question's that, If thou wert near a lewd interpreter? But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device When I am in my coach, which stays for us At the park gate; and therefore haste away, For we must measure twenty miles to-day. SCENE V.-The same. A Garden. Launcelot and Jessica. silence; and discourse grow commendable in none only but parrots.-Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare for dinner. Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! then bid them prepare dinner. Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the word. Lor. Will you cover then, sir? Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion! Wil: thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in- stant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in lus plain meaning: go to thy fellows; bid them cover the table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to dinner. Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coming in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and conceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot, Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! [Exe. The fool hath planted in his memory An army of good words; And I do know Enter A many fools, that stand in better place, Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou Jessica? And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, Jes. Past all expressing: It is very meet, How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife? The lord Bassanio live an upright life; For, having such a blessing in his lady, He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; And, if on earth he do not mean it, it Laun. Yes, truly:-for, look you, the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children: there- fore, I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: Therefore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think, you are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that can do you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard hope neither. Is reason he should never come to heaven. Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your And on the wager lay two earthly women, Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match, father got you not, that you are not the Jew's And Portia one, there must be something else daughter. Hath not her fellow. Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed; so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: well, you are gone both ways. Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made me a Christian. Lor. Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. Even such a husband Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. Lor. I will anon; first, let us go to dinner. Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a stomach. shall digest it. Laun. Truly, the more to blame he: we were Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mongst other things Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk, Christians enough before; e'en as many as could well live, one by another: This making of Christians I will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher on the coals for money. Enter Lorenzo. Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you say; here he comes. Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce- lot, if you thus get my wife into corners. Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exe. ACT IV. SCENE I-Venice. A court of Justice. Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes; Antonio, Bassanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and others. Duke. What, is Antonio here? Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to Ant. Ready, so please your grace. A Ant. answer I have heard Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo; Launcelt and 1 are out: he tells me flatly, there is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter: and he says, you are no good member stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, of the commonwealth; for, in converting Jews to Uncapable of pity, void and empty Christians, you raise the price of pork. Lor. I shall answer that better to the common- From any dram of mercy. wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify belly: the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate, than reason: but if she be less than an honest And that no lawful mean can carry me woman. she is, indeed, more than I took her for. Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! 1 Hatred, malice. The very tyranny and rage of his. My patience to his fury; and am arm'd To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. SCENE 1. 197 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. You may as well do any thing most hard, Enter Shylock. Duke. Make room, ard let him stand before our face.- Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse,' more strange Than is thy strange apparent2 cruelty: And where thou now exact'st the penalty (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, But touch'd with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back; Enough to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd To offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what pose; As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) His Jewish heart:-Therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no further means, But, with all brief and plain conveniency, Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats I would not draw them, I would have my bond. Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring none? Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong? You have among you many a purchas'd slave, Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts, Because you bought them:-Shall I say to you, Let them be free, marry them to your heirs? Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates Be season'd with such viands? You will answer, The slaves are ours:-So do I answer you: I pur-Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: pur-The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, If you deny me, fie upon your law! And by our holy sabbath have I sworn, To have the due and forfeit of my bond. If you deny it, let the danger light Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that: But, say, it is my humour;4 Is it answer'd? at if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned? What, are you answer'd yet? Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat; And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose, Cannot contain their urine; For affection, Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood Of what it likes, or loaths: Now, for your answer: As there is no firm reason to be render'd, Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; Why he, a harmless necessary cat; Why he, a swollen bag-pipe; but of force Must yield to such inevitable shame, As to offend, himself being offended; So can I give no reason, nor I will not, More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love? Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee twice? There is no force in the decrees of Venice: I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here to-day. Salar. My lord, here stays without A messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. Duke. Bring us the letters; Call the messenger. Bass. Good cheer, Antonio! What, man? courage yet! The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me. You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio, Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? Ner. From both, my lord: Bellario greets your grace. [Presents a letter. Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so ear- nestly? Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen: but no metal can, No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog! And for thy life let justice be accus'd. Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, Ant. I pray you, think you question" with the To hold opinion with Pythagoras, Jew: You may as well go stand upon the beach, And bid the main flood bate his usual height; You may as well use question with the wolf, Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb; You may as well forbid the mountain pines, To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven; 1 Pity. 2 Seeming. 3 Whereas. 4 Particular fancy. 5 Crying. 6 Prejudice. That souls of animals infuse themselves Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, Infus'd itself in thee; for thy desires Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off m bond, 7 Converse. 8 Malice. 198 ACT IV MERCHANT OF VENICE. Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud: Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall To cureless ruin.-I stand here for law. Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend A young and learned doctor to our court:- Where is he? Ner. To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. Duke. With all my heart:-some three or four He attendeth here hard by, of you, The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. Shy. My deed's upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court; Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: If this will not suffice, it must appear I Go give him courteous conduct to this place.- Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. [Clerk reads.] Your grace shall understand, that, at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick: That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, but in the instant that your messenger came, in Wrest once the law to your authority: oving visitation was with me a young doctor of To do a great right, do a little wrong; Rome, his name is Balthazar: I acquainted him And curb this cruel devil of his will. with the cause in controversy between the Jew and Por. It must not be; there is no power in Venice Antonio the merchant: we turned o'er many books Can alter a decree established: together: he is furnish'd with my opinion; which, "Twill be recorded for a precedent; better'd with his own learning (the greatness And many an error, by the same example, whereof I cannot enough commend,) comes with Will rush into the state: it cannot be. him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's re- quest in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend O estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so old a head. I leave him to your gracious accept- ance, whose trial shall better publish his commen- dation. Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he writes: And here, I take it, is the doctor come.- Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. Give me your hand: came you from old Bellario? Por. I did, my lord. Duke. You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the difference That holds this present question in the court? Por. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylock? Shy. Shylock is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law Cannot impugn' you, as you do proceed.- You stand within his danger, do you not? [To Antonio. Do you confess the bond? Ant. Ay, so he says. Por. Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this scepter'd sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this,- That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvaticu: we do pray for mercy : And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 1 Oppose.. 2 Reach or control. Shy. A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Da- niel!- wise young judge, how do I honour thee! Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? No, not for Venice. Por. Why, this bond is forfeit; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart:-Be merciful; Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor.- It doth appear, you are a worthy judge; You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me: I stay here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court To give the judgment. Por. Why then, thus it is, You must prepare your bosom for his knife. Shy. O noble judge! O excellent young man! Por. For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond. Shy. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge! How much more elder art thou than thy looks! Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. Shy. Ay, his breast; So says the bond;-Doth it not, noble judge?- Nearest his heart, those are the very words. Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh The flesh? Shy. I have them ready. Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? Por. It is not so express'd; But what of that? 'Twere good you do so much for charity. Shy. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? Ant. But little; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.- Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well! Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; For herein fortune shows herself more kind SCENE I. 199 MERCHANT OF VENICE. Thou diest, and ali tny goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! Than is her custom it is still her use, To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, An age of poverty; from which lingering penance Of such a misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honourable wife: Tell her the process of Antonio's end, Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death; And when the tale is told, bid her be judge, Whether Bassanio had not once a love. Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, And he repents not that he pays your debt; For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, Which is as dear to me as life itself; But life itself, my wife, and all the world, Are not with me esteem'd above thy life: I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all Here to this devil, to deliver you. Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy for feiture. Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Bass. I have it ready for thee; here it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court, He shall have merely justice, and his bond. Gra. A Daniel, still say I; a second Daniel!-- I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it! I'll stay no longer question. Por. Tarry, Jew, The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice,- If it be prov'd against an alien, Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for That by direct, or indirect attempts, that, If she were by, to hear you make the offer. Gra. I have a wife, whom I protest I love; I would she were in heaven, so she could Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back; The wish would make else an unquiet house. Shy. These be the Christian husbands: I have daughter; "Would any of the stock of Barabbas Had been her husband, rather than a Christian! [Aside. He seek the life of any citizen, The party, 'gainst the which he dotn contrive, Shall seize one half his goods; the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the state; And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say thou stand'st; a For it appears by manifest proceeding, That, indirectly, and directly too, We trifle time: I pray thee pursue sentence. Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine; The court awards it, and the law doth give it. Shy. Most rightful judge! Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned judge!-A sentence; come, prepare. - Por. Tarry a little, there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; The words expressly are, a pound of flesh: Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate Unto the state of Venice. Gra. O upright judge!-Mark, Jew;-0 learn- ed judge! Shy. Is that the law? Por. Thyself shalt see the act: For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. Gra. O learned judge!-Mark, Jew ;-a learned judge! Shy. I take this offer then ;-pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Bass. Por. Soft; Here is the money. Thou hast contriv'd against the very life Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd The danger formerly by me rehears'd. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. Gra. Beg, that thou may'st have leave to hang thyself: And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord; Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. Por. Ay, for the state; not for Antonio. Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that: You take my house, when you do take the prop That doth sustain my house; you take my life, When you do take the means whereby I live. Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? Gra. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, To quit the fine for one half of his goods; I am content, so he will let me have The other half in use,-to render it, Upon his death, unto the gentleman That lately stole his daughter: Two things provided more,-That, for this favour, He presently become a Christian; The other, that he do record a gift, Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, The Jew shall have all justice;-soft!-no haste;-Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. He shall have nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less, nor more, But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, Or less, than a just pound,-be it but so much As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair,- Duke. He shall do this; or else I do recant The pardon, that I late pronounced here. Por. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say? Shy. I am content. Por. Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; I am not well; send the deed after me, And I will sign it. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 200 ACT V. MERCHANT OF VENICE. Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god-SCENE II.-The same. A street. Enter Portia fathers; Had I been judge, thou should'st have had ten more, To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. [Exit Shylock. Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon; I must away this night toward Padua, And it is meet I presently set forth. and Nerissa. Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this deed, And let him sign it; we'll away to-night, This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. And be a day before our husbands home. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken: Duke. I am sorry, that your leisure serves you My lord Bassanio, upon more advice, not. Antonio, gratify this gentleman; For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. [Exeunt Duke, magnificoes, and train. Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend, Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof, Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, We freely cope your courteous pains withal. Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, In love and service to you evermore. Por. He is well paid, that is well satisfied; And I, delivering you, am satisfied, And therein do account myself well paid; My mind was never yet more mercenary. I pray you, know me, when we meet again; I wish you well, and so I take my leave. Buss. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you fur- ther; Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute, Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you, Not to deny me, and to pardon me. Hath sent you here this ring; and doth entreat Your company at dinner. Por. That cannot be: This ring I do accept most thankfully, And so, I pray you, tell him: Furthermore, pray you, show my youth old Shylock's house. Gra. That will I do. Ner. I Sir, I would speak with you:- I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. Por. Thou may'st, I warrant: We shall have old swearing, That they did give the rings away to men, But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. Away, make haste; thou know'st where I will tarry. Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this house? [Exeunt. ACT V. Por. You press me far, and therefore I will SCENE I.-Belmont. Avenue to Portia's house. yield. Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake; And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you :- Do not draw back your hand; I'll take no more; And you in love shall not deny me this. Bass. This ring, good sir,-alas, it is a trifle; I will not shame myself to give you this. Por. I will have nothing else but only this; And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, And find it out by proclamation; Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks, You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; And, when she put it on, she made me vow, That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. An if your wife be not a mad woman, And know how well I have deserv'd this ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever, For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! [Exeunt Portia and Nerissa. Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring; Let his deservings, and my love withal, Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him, Give him the ring; and bring him, if thou canst, Unto Antonio's house:-away, make haste. [Exit Gratiano. Come, you and I will thither presently; And in the morning early will we both Fly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 1 Reflection. Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. as this, Lor. The moon shines bright:-In such a night When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise; in such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night. Jes. In such a night, Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, And ran dismay'd away. Lor. In such a night, Stood Dido with a willow in her hand Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love To come again to Carthage. Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs That did renew old son. Jes. Lor. In such a night, In such a night, Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew: And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, As far as Belmont. Jes. And in such a night, Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well, Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, And ne'er a true one. Lor. Dial pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, And in such a night, Slander her love, and he forgave it her Jes. I would out-night you, did nobody come: Bui, hark, I hear the footing of a man. Enter Stephano. Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Steph. A friend. Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray you, friend? Steph. Stephano is my name and I bring word, · SCENE I. 201 MERCHANT OF VENICE. My mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont: she doth stray about By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. Lor. Who comes with her? Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. I pray you, is my master yet return'd? Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.- But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, And ceremoniously let us prepare Some welcome for the mistress of the house. Enter Launcelot. Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, soia, sola! Lor. Who calls? Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. Por. That light we see, is burning in my hatl. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the candle. Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less; A substitute shines brightly as a king, Until a king be by; and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark! Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, Laun. Sola! did you see master Lorenzo, and When neither is attended; and, I think, mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola! Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here. Laun. Sola! where? where? Lor. Here. Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their coming. The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my To their right praise, and true perfection!- master, with his horn full of good news; my mas- Peace, hoa! the moon sleeps with Endymion, ter will be here ere morning. [Exit. And would not be awak'd! [Music ceases. Lor. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo, By the bad voice. And yet no matter;-Why should we go in? My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, Within the house, your mistress is at hand; And bring your music forth into the air.- [Exit Stephano. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.- Enter musicians. Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet music. [Music. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For do but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard, and fun of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature: The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.-Mark the music. 1 A small flat dish, used in the administration of the Eucharist. Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. Por. We have been praying for our husbands' welfare, Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet; But there is come a messenger before, To signify their coming. Por. Go in, Nerissa, Give order to my servants, that they take No note at all of our being absent hence ;- Nor you, Lorenzo;-Jessica, nor vou. [A tucket2 sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick, It looks a little paler; 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their followers. Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; For a light wife doth make a heavy husband. And never be Bassanio so for me; But God sort all!-You are welcome home, my lord. Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my friend. To whom I am so infinitely bound. This is the man, this is Antonio, Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him, For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: It must appear in other ways than words, Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy.3 [Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong; 2 A flourish on a trumpet. 3 Verbal, complimentary form. 202 ACT V. MERCHANT OF VENICE. In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter? Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me; whose posy was For all the world, like cutler's poetry Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not. Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value? You swore to me, when I did give it you, That you would wear it till your hour of death; And that it should lie with you in your grave: Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, You should have been respective,' and have kept it. Gave it a judge's clerk !-but well I know, The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it. Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,- A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee; I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, And riveted so with faith unto your flesh. I gave my love a ring, and made him swear Never to part with it; and here he stands; I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off, And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk, That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine: And neither man, nor master, would take aught But the two rings. Por. What ring gave you, my lord? Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, I would deny it; but you see my finger Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed Until I see the ring. Ner. Till I again see mine. Bass. Nor i in yours, Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gave the ring, If you did know for whom I gave the ring, And would conceive for what I gave the ring, And how unwillingly I left the ring, When nought would be accepted but the ring, You would abate the strength of your displeasure. Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, Or your own honour to contain the ring, You would not then have parted with the ring. What man is there so much unreasonable, If you had pleas'd to have de Cended it, With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty To urge the thing held as a ceremony? Nerissa teaches me what to believe; I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul, No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 1 Regardful. 2 Advartage. Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him, And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away: Even he that had held up the very life Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? I was enforc'd to send it after him; I was beset with shame and courtesy; My honour would not let ingratitude So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady, For, by these blessed candles of the night, Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, And that which you did swear to keep for me, I will become as liberal as you: I'll not deny him any thing I have, No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: Lie not a night from home; watch me like Argus: If you do not, if I be left alone, Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own, I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd, How you do leave me to mine own protection. Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieve not you; You are welcome notwithstanding. Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforc'd wrong; And, in the hearing of these many friends, swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, Wherein I see myself,- I Por. Mark you but that! both my eyes he doubly sees himself: In each eye one:-swear by your double self, And there's an oath of credit. Bass. Nay, but hear me: Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, I never more will break an oath with thee. Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth; Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, [To Portia. Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again, My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord Will never more break faith ad: sedly. Por. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this; And bid him keep it better than the other. Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor; P. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; For by this ring the doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano; For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, In lier of this, last night did lie with me. Grd. Why, this is like the mending of highways In suminer, where the ways are fair enough: What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? Por. Speak not so grossly.-You are all amaz'd: Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; It comes from Padua, from Bellario: There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, And but even now return'd; I have not yet Enter'd my house.-Antonio, you are welcome: And I have better news in store for you, Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; There you shall, three of your argosies Are richly come to harbour suddenly: You shall not know by what strange accident SCENE I. 203 MERCHANT OF VENICE, I chanced on this letter. Ant. I am dumb. Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me cuckold? Ner. Ay, but the clerk that never means to do it, Unless he live until he be a man. Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; When I am absent, then lie with my wife. Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life and living; For here I read for certain, that my ships Are safely come to road. Por. How now, Lorenzo? My clerk hath some good comforts, too, for you. Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him, without fee.- There do I give to you and Jessica, From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way Of starved people. Por. It is almost morning, And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied Of these events at full: Let us go in; a And charge us there upon intergatories, And we will answer all things faithfully. Gra. Let it be so: The first intergatory, That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, Whether till the next night she had rather stay; Or go to bed now, being two hours to day: But were the day come, I should wish it dark, That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt. Of the Merchant of Venice the style is even and easy, with few peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of construction. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other story cannot be main- tained. The union of two actions in one event is in this drama eminently happy. Dryden was much pleased with his own address in connecting the two plots of his Spanish Friar, which yet, believe, the critic will find excelled by this play. JOHNSON. AS YOU LIKE IT. Duke, living in exile. PERSONS REPRESENTED. William, a country fellow, in love with Audrey. Frederick, brother to the Duke, and usurper of A person representing Hymen. his dominions. Amiens, lords attending upon the Duke in his banishment. Jaques,' Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. Charles, his wrestler. Oliver, Jaques, sons of sir Rowland de Bois. Orlando, Adam, servants to Oliver. Dennis, Touchstone, a clown. Sir Oliver Mar-text, a vicar. Corin, Sylvius, shepherds. ACT 1. SCENE I-An orchard, near Oliver Enter Orlando and Adam. Orlando. Rosalind, daughter to the banished Duke. Celia, daughter to Frederick. Phebe, a shepherdess. Audrey, a country wench. Lords belonging to the two Dukes; pages, foresters and other attendants. The Scene lies, first, near Oliver's house; after- wards, partly in the usurper's court, and partly in the forest of Arden. Oli. What mar you then, sir? Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that house. which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught a while. Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion have i spent, that I should come to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are, sir? Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. Oli. Know you before whom, sir? As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me: By will, but a poor thousand crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there be- gins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. speak more properly, stays me here at home un-I know you are my eldest brother, and, in the gen- kept: For call you that keeping for a gentlemantle condition of blood, you should so know me of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that that you are the first-born; but the same tradition they are fair with their feeding, they are taught takes not away my blood, were there twenty bro- their manage, and to that end riders dearly hired: thers betwixt us: I have as much of my father ir but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but me, as you; albeit, I confess, your coming before growth; for the which his animals on his dung-me is nearer to his reverence. hills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this Oli. What, boy! nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the some- Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are toc thing that nature gave me, his countenance seems young in this. to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as Orl. I am no villain:2 I am the youngest son of in him lies, mines my gentility with my education. sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he This is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot of my father, which I think is within me, begins villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer take this hand from thy throat, till this other had endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast rail- to avoid it. Enter Oliver. Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. ed on thyself. Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your fa- ther's remembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me go, I say. Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My father charged you in his will to give me good education: you have trained me like a peasant, ob- Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. scuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like Oli. Now, sir! what make you here?¹ 1 What do you here? 2 Villain is used in a double sense; by Oliver for a worthless fellow. and by Orlando for a man of base extraction. qualities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, of give me the noor allottery my father left me by tes SCENE II. 205 AS YOU LIKE IT. tament: with that I will go buy my fortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled with you: you shall have some part of vour will: I pray you leave me. Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes ine for my good. and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against me his natural brother; there- fore use thy discretion; I had as lief thou didst Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. break his neck as his finger: And thou wert best Adam. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I look to't; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, have lost my teeth in your service.-God be with or if he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he my old master, he would not have spoke such a will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by word. [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. some treacherous device, and never leave thee till Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? he hath ta en thy life by some indirect means or I will physic your rankness,and yet give no thous- other: for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I and crowns neither.-Holla, Dennis. speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous this day living. I speak but brotherly of him but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me? Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and importunes access to you. Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]-Twill be good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is. Enter Charles.. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. a Oli. Good monsieur Charles! what's the new news at the new court? i Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: And so, God keep your worship! [Exit. Oli. Farewell, good Charles.-Now will I stir this gamester:2 I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sortsá Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in old news: that is, the old duke is banished by his the heart of the world, and especially of my own younger brother the new duke; and three or four people, who best know him, that I am altogether loving lords have put themselves into voluntary misprized: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich shall clear all: nothing remains, but that I kindle the new duke; therefore he gives them good leave the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit SCENE II-A lawn before the Duke's palace Enter Rosalind and Celia. to wander. Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daugh- ter, be banished with her father? Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred merry. together, that she would have followed her exile, Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am or have died to stay behind her. She is at the mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his Unless you could teach me to forget a banished own daughter; and never two ladies loved as father, you must not learn me how to remembe they do. any extraordinary pleasure. Öli. Where will the ola duke live? Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the Cha. They say, he is already in the forest of full weight that I love thee: if my uncle, thy ba- Arden, and a many merry men with him; and nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke there they live like the old Robin ood of England: my father, so thou hads't been still with me, I could they say, many young gentlemen flock to him every have taught my love to take thy father for mine; day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me the golden world. were so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my es- tate, to rejoice in yours. Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke? Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint Cel. You know, my father hath no child but 1, you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies understand, that your younger brother, Orlando, thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken hath a disposition to come in disguis'd against me away from thy father perforce, I will render thee to try a fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my again in affection; by mine honour, I will; and credit: and he that escapes me without some bro- when I break that oath, let me turn monster: there- ken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is fore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. but young, and tender; and, for your love, I would Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise be loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honour, sports: let me see; What think you of falling in if he come in: therefore, out of my love to you, I love? came hither to acquaint you withal; that either Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: you might stay him from his intendment, or brook but love no man in good earnest; nor no further in such disgrace well as he shall run into;' in that it sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou is a thing of his own search, and altogether against may'st in honour come off again. my will. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, forth be bestowed equally. 1 A ready assent. 2 Frolicksome fellow. 3 Of all ranks. 14 206 ACT L AS YOU LIKE IT. Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel "Tis true: for those, that she makes fair, she scarce makes nonest; and tnose, that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. Ros. As wit and fortune will. Touch. Or as the destinies decree. Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank,- Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost Ros. Nay, now thon goest from fortune's office to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, the sight of." not in the lineaments of nature. Enter Touchstone. Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair crea- ture, may she not by fortune fall into the fire!- Though nature hath given us wit to flout at for- tune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off of nature's wit. Ros. Yes, tell us the manner of the wrestling. Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it please your ladyship, you may see the end: for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they Cel. Well-the beginning, that is dead and buried. are coming to perform it. Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three sons, Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work growth and presence; neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural Ros. With bills on their necks,-Be it known un- wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent to all men by these presents. this natural for our whetstone: for always the dull-Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits.-How Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a now, wit? whither wander you? moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your the second, and so the third: Yonder they lie; the that there is little hope of life in him: so he served father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you. Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge? poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas! Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day; is the first time that ever I heard, breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. it Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your music in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. rib-breaking?-Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. Le Beau. You must, if you stay here; for here Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they but if you swear by that that is not, you are not are ready to perform it. forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he stay and see it. had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pan-Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, cakes or that mustard. Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st? Charles and attendants. Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. Duke F. Come on, since the youth will not be Cel. Mv father's love is enough to honour him.-entreated, his own peril be on his forwardness. Enough! speak no more of him: you'll be whipp'd Ros. Is yonder the man? for taxation, one of these days. Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely, what wise men do foolishly. Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true: for since the httle wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here comes monsieur Le Beau. Enter Le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of news. Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons their young. Le Beau. Even he, madam. Cel. Alas, he is too young: yet he looks success- fully. Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin? are you crept hither to see the wrestling? Ros. Ay, my liege? so please you give us leave. Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds in the men: In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, feed see if you can move him. but he will not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies: Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. Cel. All the better; we shall be the more mar- ketable. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau: What's the news? Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. Cel. Of what colour! Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? 1 Satire. 2 Perplex, confuse. Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. Duke F. Do so; I'll not be by. [Duke goes apart. Le Beau. Monsieur, the challenger, the prin- cesses call for you. Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general chal lenger: I come but in, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. SCENE III. 207 AS YOU LIKE IT. Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 1 should have given him tears unto entreaties, for your years: You have seen cruel proof of this Ere he should thus have ventur'd. man's strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes, Cel. Gentle cousin, or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear Let us go thank him, and encourage him: of your adventure would counsel you to a more My father's rough and envious disposition equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own Sticks me at heart.-Sir, you have well deserv'd: sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over If you do keep your promises in love, this attempt. But justly, as you have exceeded promise, Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not Your mistress shall be happy. therefore be misprized; we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. Ros. Gentleman, [Giving him a chain from her neck. Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune;2 hard thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, That could give more, but that her hand lacks to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But means.- let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me Shall we go, coz? to my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but Cel. Ay:-Fare you well, fair gentleman. ne shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts one dead that is willing to be so: I shall do my Are all thrown down; and that which here stan:Is friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; Is but a quintain,3 a mere lifeless block. the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have made it empty. Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. Ros. Fare you well.-Pray heaven, I be de- ceived in you! Cel. Your heart's desires be with you! Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. Duke F. You shall try but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your grace; you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per- suaded him from a first. Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before: but come your ways. Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle. Ros. O excellent young man! Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. Duke F. No more, no more. Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breathed. Duke F. How dost thou, Charles? Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles is borne out.] What is thy name young man? Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir Rowland de Bois. Duke F. I would, thou hadst been son to some man else. The world esteem'd thy father nonourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: [up, Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my fortunes: I'll ask him what he would:-Did you call, sir? Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies. I Cel. 18 Will you go, coz? Ros. Have with you:-Fare you well. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Re-enter Le Beau. O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you To leave this place: Albeit, you have deserv'd High commendation, true applause, and love; Yet such is now the duke's condition,+ That he misconstrues all that you have done. The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed, More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. Orl. I thank you, sir: and, pray you, tell me this; Which of the two was daughter of the duke That here was at the wrestling? Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, To keep his daughter company; whose loves Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. But I can tell you, that of late this duke Grounded upon no other argument, Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece; But that the people praise her for her virtues, And pity her for her good father's sake; And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this Will suddenly break forth.-Sir, fare you well; deed, Hadst thou descended from another house. But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; I would, thou hadst told me of another father. [Exeunt Duke Fred. train, and Le Beau. Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, His youngest son;-and would not change that calling, To be adopted heir to Frederick. Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father's mind: Had I before known this young man his son, 1 Appellation. 2 Turned out of her service. 3 The object to dart at in martial exercises. Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you; fare you well. [Exit Le Beau. Thus must I from the smoke into the smother; But heavenly Rosalind! From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother :--- [Exit SCENE III-A room in the palace. Enter Celia and Rosalind. Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 4 Temper, disposition. 208 ACT I AS YOU LIKE IT. away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, lame me with reasons. It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;2 Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when I was too young that time to value her, the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: 0, how full of briers is this working-day world! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. 0, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable. Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence, and her patience, Speak to the people, and they pity her. Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name, And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous, When she is gone: then open not thy lips; Firm and irrevocable is my doom Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; I Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is it pos- sible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son? If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. And in the greatness of my word, you die. Cei. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. cannot live out of her company. Duke F. You are a fool:-You, niece, provide yourself; Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not ? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do :--Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Enter Duke Frederick, with lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, And get you from our court. Ros. Me, uncle? You, cousin; Duke F. Within these ten days if that thou be'st found So near our public court as twenty miles, Thou diest for it. Ros. I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence, Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, Never, so much as in a thought unborn, Did I offend your highness. Duke F. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself:- Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor; Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. [Exeunt Duke Frederick and lords. Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. I Thou hast not, cousin; Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me his daughter? Res. That he hath not. Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the lo.c Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No; let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us; And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Ros. Why, whither shall we go? Cel. To seek uncle. my Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, And with a kind of unber³ smirch my face; The like do you; so shail we pass along, And never air assailants. Ro.. Were it not better, Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe4 upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will, We'll have a swashings and a martial outside; Ros. So was I, when your highness took his As many other mannish cowards have, dukedom; So was I, when your highness banish'd him; Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What's that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, To think my poverty is treacherous. Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page, And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. But what will you be call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, No longer Celia, but Aliena. Else had she with her father rang'd along. 1 Inveterately. 2 Compassion.. 3 A dusky, yellow-coloured earth. Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal The clownish fool out of your father's court? 4 Cutlass. 5 Swaggering. SCENE I, II, III. 209 AS YOU LIKE IT. Would he not be a comfort to our travel? Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me; Leave me alone to woo him: Let's away, And get our jewels and our wealth together; Devise the fittest time, and safest way To hide us from pursuit that will be made After my flight: Now go we in content, To liberty, and not to banishment. ACT II. [Exeunt. SCENE 1-The forest of Arden. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the dress of Foresters. Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference; as the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,- This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity; Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. Ami. I would not change it: Happy is your grace, That can translate the stubbornness of fortune Into so quiet and so sweet a style. Juke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,- Being native ourghers of this desert city,- Should, in their own confines, with forked heads¹ Have their round haunches gor'd. 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him, as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat Almost to bursting; and the big round tears Cours'd one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase: and thus the hairy fool, Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, Augmenting it with tears. Duke S. Did he not moralize this spectacle? But what said Jaques 1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. First, for his weeping in the needless stream; Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more To that which had too much: Then, being alone, Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends; 2 Encounter. 1 Barbed arrows. 4 Sink into dejection. 3 Scurvy. 5 Memorial. 'Tis right, quoth he; this misery doth part The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd, Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, And never stays to greet him; Ay, quoth Jaques, Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? Thus most invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court, Yea, and of this our life; swearing, that we Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse, To fright the animals, and to kill them up, In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- plation? 2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and com- menting Upon the sobbing deer. Duke S. Show me the place; love to cope2 him in these sullen fits, For then he's full of matter. I 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and attendants. Duke F. Can it be possible, that no man saw them? It cannot be: some villains of my court Are of consent and sufferance in this. 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, Saw her a-bed; and, in the morning early, They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 2 Lord. My lerd, the roynish³ clown, at whom so oft Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard Your daughter and her cousin much commend The parts and graces of the wrestler, That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; And she believes, wherever they are gone, That youth is surely in their company. Duke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither; If he be absent, bring his brother to me, I'll make him find him: do this suddenly: And let not search and inquisition quail4 To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Before Oliver's house. Enter Or- lando and Adam, meeting.. Orl. Who's there? Adam. What! my young master?-0, my gen- tle master, O, my sweet master, O you memory5 Of old sir Rowland! why, what make you here? Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant? Why would you be so fonds to overcome The bony priser of the humourous duke? Your praise has come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master, to some kind of men, ? Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. O, what a world is this, when what is comely, Envenoms him that bears it? Orl. Why, what's the matter? Adam. O, unhappy youth Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives: 6 Inconsiderate. 210 Аст П. AS YOU LIKE IT. Your brother-(no, no brother; yet the son Yet not the son;-I will not call him son- Of him I was about to call his father,)- man's apparel, and to cry like a woman: but 1 must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: Hath heard your praises; and this night he means therefore,courage, good Aliena. To burn the lodging where you used to lie, And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off: I overheard him, and his practices. This is no place,' this house is but a butchery; Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orl. Why, whither, Adam, would'st thou have me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. Orl. What, would'st thou have me go and beg my food? Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce A thievish living on the common road? This I must do, or know not what to do: Yet this I will not do, do how I can; I rather will subjéct me to the malice Of a diverted blood,2 and bloody brother. Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame, And unregarded age in corners thrown; Take that: and He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; All this I give you: Let me be your servant; Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility; Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly: Let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. Orl. O good old n.an; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee. But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield, In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: But come thy ways, we'll go along together; And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, We'll light upon some settled low content. Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee, To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.-- From seventeen years till now almost fourscore, Here lived 1, but now live here no more. At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; But at fourscore, it is too late a week; Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, than bear you; yet I should bear no cross,³ if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content. Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:-Look you who comes here; a young man, and an old, in sol- emn talk. Enter Corin and Silvius. Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow; But if thy love were ever like to mine, (As sure I think did never man love so,) How many actions most ridiculous Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily: If thou remember'st not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not lov'd: Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not lov'd; Or if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lov'd:-O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! [Exit Sylvius. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd!-searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own. Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight4 to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd: and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and giving her them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale with me. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The Forest of Arden. Enter Ros-If he for gold will give us any food; Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, alind in boy's clothes, Celia, drest like a Shep-I faint almost to death. herdess, and Touchstone. Ros. O Jupiter! how weary are my spirits! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 1 Mansion, residence. 2 Blood turned from its natural course. 3 A piece of money stamped with a cross. Touch. Holla; you, clown! Ros. Peace, fool; he's not thy kinsman Cor. Who calls? Touch. Your betters, sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. 4 In the night. 5 The instrument with which washers beat clothes. SCENE V, VI, VII. 211 AS YOU LIKE IT. Ros. Good even to you, friend. Peace, I say: Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed: Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, And faints for succour. Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, My fortunes were more able to relieve her: But I am shepherd to another inan, And do not shear the fleeces that I graze; My master is of churlish disposition, And tle recks' to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality:" Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, By reason of his absence, there is nothing That you will feed on: but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me; if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. SCENE V.-The same. Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. SONG. Ami. Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. [Exe. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree :--he hath been all this day to look you. Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too dispútables for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. SONG. Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it. Jaq. Thus it goes: If it do come to pass, That any man turn ass, Leaving his wealth and ease, A stubborn will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; Here shall he see, Gross fools as he, An if he will come to Ami. Ami. What's that ducdame ? Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is [Exeunt severally. SCENE VI.-The same. prepar'd. Adam. Enter Orlando and Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, 1 die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thy- self a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death a while at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur to eat, l'll give thee leave to die: but if thod ulest Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can Well said! thou look'st cheerly: and I'll be with before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. thee quickly.-Yet thou liest in the bleak air: Ami. My voice is ragged; I know, I cannot shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any Come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou please you. Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire thing in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Ere. you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call SCENE VII-The same. A table set out. Enter you them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing? Duke senior, Amiens, Lords and others. For I can no where find him like a man. Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 1 Lord. My Lord, he is but even now gone hence; Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like We shall have shortly discord in the spheres: Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him. thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny, and he records me the beggarly thanks. 1 Cares. 2 Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning. Enter Jaques. 1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 3 Disputatious. 4 Made up of discords. 212 Аст II. AS YOU LIKE IT. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What! you look merrily. Jaq. A fool, a fool!I met a fool i' the forest, A motley fool;-a miserable world!- As I do live by food, I met a fool;- Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms,-and yet a motley fool. Good-morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he, Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune: And then he drew a dial from his poke; And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock: Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags: 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine; And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe, and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot, and rot, And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh, sans intermission, An hour by his dial.-O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.' Duke S. What fool is this? Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been courtier; And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,- Which is as dry as the remainder bisket After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd With observation, the which he vents The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? Or what is he of basest function, That says, his bravery2 is not on my cost (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits His folly to the mettle of my speech? There then; How, what then? Let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, Why inen, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unclaim'd of any man.-But who comes here? Enter Orlando, with his sword drawn.. Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy distress; Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in civility thou seem'st so empty? Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred,3 And know some nurture:4 But forbear, I say; He dies, that touches any of this fruit, a Till I and my affairs are answered. In mangled forms:-0, that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat. Duke S. Thou shalt have one. Jag. It is my only suit; Provided, that you weed your better judgments Of all opinion that grows rank in them, That I am wise. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so? The why is plain as way to parish church: He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd Even by the squandering glances of the fool. Invest me in my motley; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine. Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle- ness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Duke S. Sit down and feed, welcome to our table. Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look'd on better days; If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; If ever sat at any good man's feast; If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied; Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: In the which hope, I blush, and hice my sword. Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes Duke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd: would'st do. Jaq, What, for a counter, would I do, but good? Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: For thou thyself hast been a libertine, As sensual as the brutish sting itself; And all the embossed sores, and headed evils That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the general world. Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, That can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, Till that the very very means do ebb? What woman in the city do I name, When that I say, The city-woman bears 1 The fool was anciently dressed in a party- coloured coat. And therefore sit you down in gentleness, And take upon command what help we have, That to your wanting may be ministred. Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, And give it food. There is an old poor man, Who after me hath many a weary step Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd,- Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,- I will not touch a bit. Duke S. Go find him out, And we will nothing waste till you return. Ori. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good [Exit comfort! 2 Finery. 3 Well brought up. 4 Good manners. SCENE I, 11. 213 AS YOU LIKE IT. Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un-[As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were; happy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in. Jaq. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays mery parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow: Then, a soldier; Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden' and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice; In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern2 instances, And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable burden, And let him feed. Orl. I thank you most for him. Adam. So had you need; I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. Duke S. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you As yet, to question you about your fortunes:- Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. Amiens sings. SONG. I. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkinds As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,- Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke, That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man, Thou art right welcome as thy master is: Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand And let me all your fortunes understand. ACT III. [Exit SCENE I-A room in the palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and attendants. Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that con- not be: I should not seek an absent argument But were I not the better part made mercy, Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it; Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is; Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living, Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more To seek a living in our territory. Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands: Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth, Of what we think against thee. Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this I never lov'd my brother in my life. Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him out of doors; And let my officers of such a nature Do this expediently, and turn him going. Make an extents upon his house and lands: [Exe. SCENE II.-The Forest. Enter Orlando, with a paper. Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye, which in this forest looks, Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree, The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive" she. [Exit, Enter Corin and Touchstone. Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, mas- ter Touchstone? Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's folly: Then, heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly. II. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bile so nigh, As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c. life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary i like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast thou any philosophy in thee, shepherd? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:-That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat Duke S. If that you were the good sir Row- sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack land's son,- 1 Violent. 3 Unnatural 2 Trite, common. 4 Remembering. of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by 5 Seize by legal process. 6 Expeditiously. 7 Inexpressible. 214 ACT Ill. AS YOU LIKE IT. nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.- Wast ever in court, shepherd? Cor. No, truly. Touch. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope,- Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill- roasted egg, all on one side. Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste:- Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners, at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most This mockable at the court. You told me, you salute you not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hand sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as whole- some as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say; come. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: A more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed?-Learn! of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, sheplierd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.¹ Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, con- tent with my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a hell-wether; and to betray a she- lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou should'st 'scape. Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my] new mistress's brother. Enter Rosalind, reading a paper. Ros. From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind. All the pictures, fairest lin'd,2 Are but black to Rosalind, Let no face be kept in mind, But the fairs of Rosalind. If a hart do lack a hind, Let him seek out Rosalind. If the cat will after kind, So, be sure, will Rosalind. Winter-garments must be lin'd, So must slender Rosalind. They that reap, must sheaf and blind; Then to cart with Rosalind. Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find, Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. is the very false gallop of verses; Why do infect yourself with them? Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country: for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter Celia, reciting a paper. Ros. Peace! Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. Cel. Why should this desert silent be? For it is unpeopled? No; Tongues I'll hang on every tree, That shall civils sayings chow. Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage; That the stretching of a span Buckles in his sum of age. Some, of violated vows Twixt the souls of friend and friend But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence' end, Will I Rosalinda write; Teaching all that read, to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little showo. Therefore heaven nature charg'd That one body should be fill'd With all graces wide enlarg'd: Nature presently distill'd Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Cleopatra's majesty; Atalanta's better part; Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devis'd, Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious ho mily of love have you wearied your parishion- ers withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people! Cel. How now! back, friends;-Shepherd, go off a little :-Go with him, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honoura- ble retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exe. Cor. and Touch. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too, 1 Unexperienced. 2 Delineated. 3 Complexion, beauty. 4 Grave, solemn. i 5 Features. SCENE II. 215 AS YOU LIKE IT. for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. the propositions of a lover:-but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good observance. found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. I Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon knight. rhese trees? Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the well becomes the ground. wonder, before you came; for look here what I Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, hunter. which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour? Ros. I pr'ythee, who? Cel. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends" to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petition- ary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- ful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!! Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a dou- blet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou could'st stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? a Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bring'st me cut of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out:-Soft! comes he not here? Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him. [Celia and Rosalind retire, Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. I Orl. And so had 1: but yet, for fashion's sake, thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. 1 pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks. Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? Orl. Yea, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings? 6 Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. cloth, from whence you have studied your ques- Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd ur the tiens. wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery. sad brow, and true maid.2 Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando ? Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in love. Orl. "Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. I Jay. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook, look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cy- Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word toc great for any mouth of this age's size: To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, pher. is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know that I am in the forest, good signior love. and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve 1 Out of all measure. 2 Speak seriously and honestly. 3 How was he dressed? Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy. Exit Jaques,-Celia and Rosalind come forward. 4 The giant of Rabelais. 5 Motes. 6 An allusion to the moral sentences on old ta- pestry hangings. 216 ACT Ill. AS YOU LIKE IT. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquev. and under that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, forester ? Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks? Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue Orl. Very well; What would you? Ros. I pray you, what is't a'clock? Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's cye, and sunken; which you have not: an un- no clock in the forest. questionable spirit;3 which you have not: a beard Ros. Then, there is no true lover in the forest; neglected; which you have not:-but I pardor else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. a younger brother's revenue:-Then your hose Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your not that been as proper? sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every Ros. By no means, sir; Time travels in divers thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation, paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time But you are no such man; you are rather point- ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time devices in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal. Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is time's pace is so hard that it seems the length ofjapter to do, than to confess she does: that is one seven years. Orl. Who ambles time withal? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps ea- sily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal. Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. Orl. Who stays it still withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves. Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orl. Are you a native of this place? Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where ane is kindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so remov'd' a dwelling. of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad- men do: and the reason why they are not so pu- nished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel. Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantasti cal, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, the most part cattle of this colour: would now like an old religious uncle of taine taught me to speak, him, now loath him; then entertain him, then for who was in his youth an in-land man; one that swear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, I have heard him read many lectures against it; to a living humour of madness; which was, to for and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a with so many giddy cffences as he hath generally nook merely monastic: And thus I cured him; tax'd their whole sex withal. Ori. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic, but me where it is. on those that are sick, There is a man haunts the Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you: and, forest, that abuses our young plants with carving by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon haw- you live: Will you go? thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, Orl. With all my heart, good youth. [Exeunt deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind:-Come, that fancy-monger, I would give him some good sister, will you go? counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy. 1 Sequestered. 2 Civilized. 3 A spirit averse to conversation. 4 Estate. SCENE III.-Enter Touchstone, and Audrey; Jaques at a distance, observing them. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch 6 Variable. 5 Over-exact. SCENE IV. 217 AS YOU LIKE IT. up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I, Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? I'll give her. Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you" for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand here, sir:-Nay; pray, be cover'd. features? Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious' poet, honest Ovid, was among he Goths. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited !2 worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! Jaq. Will you be married, motley? [Aside. Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more nibbling. dead than a great reckoning in a little room :- Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest in deed, and word: Is it a true thing? Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign. Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical? Touch. I do, truly: for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. Aud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey sauce to sugar. a [Aside. Jaq. A material fool !3 Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest! Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods am foul.4 [Aside. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breed- ing, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. [Aside. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Touch. Come, sweet Audrey; We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good master Oliver; Not-O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behi' thee; But-Wind away, Begone, I say, I will not to wedding wi' thee. [Exe. Jaq. Touch. and Audrey. of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Ex. I Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave SCENE IV.-The same. Before a Cottage. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul- ness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it, as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end I have been with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the woc, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said,- Many a man knows no end of his goods: right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting.-Horns! Even so: Poor men alone; No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defence is bet- ter than no skill, by so much is a horn more pre- cious than to want. Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there- fore weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour. Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanotity as the touch of holy bread. Cel. He hata bought a pair of cast lips of Diana; nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- giously; the very ice of chastity is in them. Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. Do you think so? Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horce-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet, or a worm- Ros. Not true in love? Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is n tin. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he Here comes sir Oliver:-sir Oliver Mar-text, you eaten nut. are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- riage is not lawful. 1 Lasciviousness. 2 Ill-lodged. 3 A fool with matter in him. 4 Homely. 5 Lean deer are called rascal deer. was. Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are 7 God reward you. 6 The art of fencing. S Yoke. 218 ACT III. AS YOU LIKE IT. both the confirmers of false reckonings: He at- tends here in the forest on the duke your father. Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question' with him. He asked me, of what parent- age I was; I told him, of as good as he: so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not: As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have more beauty, Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart Than without candle may go dark to bed,, the heart of his lover:2 as a puny tilter, that spurs Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides:-Who comes here! Enter Corin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love; Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress. Cel. Well, and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Between the pale complexion of true love And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. Ros. O, come, let us remove; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest. Silvius and Phebe. Why, what means this? Why do you look on mei see no more in you, than in the ordinary Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life! I think, she means to tangle my eyes too:- No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; 'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, That can entame my spirits to your worship.- You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? You are a thousand times a properer man, Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you, That make the world full of ill-favour'd children: 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; And out of you she sees herself more proper, Than any of her lineaments can show her.-. But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: For I must tell you friendly in your ear,- [Exeunt. Sell when you can; you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer; Enter Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. So take her to thee, shepherd;-fare you well. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to gether; Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Say, that you love me not; but say not so In bitterness: The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humble neck, But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. Phe. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye: 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomies,- Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush, The cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Sil. I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.-Why look you so upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. For I am falser than vows made in wine: Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, Besides, I like you not: If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by :- Will you go, sister?-Shepherd, ply her hard:- Come, sister: Shepherdess, look on him better, And be not proud: though all the world could see, None could be so abus'd in sight as he. Come, to our flock. [Exe. Ros. Cel. and Cor.. Phe. Dear shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not a first sight? Sil. Sweet Phebe,- Phe. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness, Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love: But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me. I will endure; and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense, But, till that time, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, O dear Phebe, If ever (as that ever may be near,) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Then shall you know the wounds invisible That love's keen arrows make. Phe. 1 Conversation. 2 Mistress. 3 Love. SCENE J. 219 AS YOU LIKE IT. That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while? Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old carlot' once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; "Tis but a peevish2 boy:-yet he talks well;- But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth:-not very pretty:- But, sure he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall: His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well : There was a pretty redness in his lip; A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the dif ference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him: but, for my pert, I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me? He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: I marvel, why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart: I will be bitter with him, and passing short: Go with me, Silvius. ACT IV. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-The same. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and posi jhands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make ine merry, than ex- perience to make me sad; and to travel for it too. Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay, then, God he wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suis; disable all the bene- fits of your own country; be out of love "vith your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.-Why, how now, Orfan- do! Where have you been all this while? You a lover?-An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clap'd him o' the shoulder, but I war- rant him heart-whole. Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more ir my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. Orl. Of a snail? Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. What's that? Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leers than you. a holiday humour, and like enough to consent:- Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in What would you say to me now, an I were your very verv Rosalind? Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, abominable fellows; and betray themselves to when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, every modern censure, worse than drunkards. lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanest shift Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. is to kiss. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Orl. How if the kiss be denied? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is begins new matter. fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, mistress? which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a me- mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker lancholy of mine own, compounded of many sim-than my wit. ples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, Orl. What of my suit? the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? sadness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great would be talking of her. Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, 1 Peasant. 2 Silly. 3 Trifling. Ros. Well in her person I say--I will not have you. 4 Undervalue. 5 Complexion. 220 AcT IV. AS YOU LIKE IT. Or!. Then, in mine own person, I die. stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world chimney. is almost six thousand years old, and in all this Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, time there was not any man died in his own person, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt? videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it till dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's he could to die before; and he is one of the pat-bed. terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had Ros. Marry, to say, she came to seek you there. not been for a hot miasummer night: for, good You shall never take her without her answer, un- youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hel-less you take her without her tongue. O, that wo- lespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was man that cannot make her fault her husband's oc- drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age carin, let her never nurse her child herself, for found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all she will breed it like a fool. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. lies; men have died from time to time, and worms Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave have eaten them, but not for love. thee. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;-I knew what you would prove; my friends told me 23 much, and I thought no less :-that flattering tongue Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, of yours won me :-'tis but one cast away, and and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Orl. What say'st thou ? Ros. Are you not good? Orl. I hope so. 50,-come, death.-Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.-Give me your hand, Orlando:- you call Reealind, that may be chosen out of the What do you say, sister? Orl. Pray thee, marry us. Cel. I cannot say the words. gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert in- Ros. You must begin,Will you, Orlando, -Will you, Orlando,-deed my Rosalind: So, adieu. Cel. Go to:-Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Roanlind? Orl. I will. Ros. Ay, but when? Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, Rosa- lind, for wife. Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu! [Exit Orlando. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in -I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There love! but it cannot be sounded; my affection hath a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a ar rnknown hottom, like the bay of Portugal. woman's thought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her. Órl. For ever, and a day. Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. nos. No, t.at same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, ro, Or-abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, lando; men are April when they woo, December let him be judge, how deep I am in love:-I'll when they wed: maids are May when they are tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-come. vigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a par- rot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt. more giddy in my desires than a monkey; I will SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest. Enter weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise. Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. Jag. Which is he that killed the deer? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Ro- man conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory: -Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? 2 Lord. Yes, sir. Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors' upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case- Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune ment; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; so it make noise enough. 1 Bar the doors. 2 Melancholy. SCENE III. 221 AS YOU LIKE IT. SONG. 1. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? 2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 1. Then sing him home: Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born; The rest shall bear this bur- den. 1. Thy father's father wore it; 2. And thy father bore it: All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. SCENE III-The Forest. [Exeunt. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth-to sleep: Look, who comes here. Enter Silvius. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth;- My gentle Phehe bid me give you this: Alack, in me what strange effect Would they work in mild aspéct ? Whiles you chid me, I did love; How then might your prayers move? He, that brings this love to thee, Little knows this love in me: And by him seal up thy mind; Whether that thy youth and kind Will the faithful offer take Of me, and all that I can make; Or else by him my love deny, And then I'll study how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. -Wilt thou love such a woman?-What, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured!-Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her:-That if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her.-If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more [Exit Silvius. [Giving a letter. company. I know not the contents; but, as I guess, By the stern brow, and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenor: pardon me, I am but as a guiltless messenger. Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners; She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me Were man as rare as phoenix; Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it. Ros. Come, come, you are a tool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter: I say, she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand. Sil. Sure, it is hers. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance:-Will you hear the letter? Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant writes. Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?- Can a woman rail thus? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? While the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance' to me.- Meaning me a beast.- Enter Oliver. Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus4 of this forest, stands A sheepcote, fenc'd about with olive-trees? Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom, The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then I should know you by description; Such garments, and such years: The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, And browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin; Are you he? Ros. I am: What must we understand by this? Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stain'd. Cel. I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, He left a promise to return again Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside, And, mark, what object did present itself! [Reads. Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age, And high top bald with dry antiquity, If the scorn of your bright eyne? Have power to raise such love in mine, 1 Mischief. 2 Eyes. 3 Nature. A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd The opening of his mouth; but suddenly Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, And with indented glides did slip away Into a bush: under which bush's shade A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis 4 Environs of a forest. 5 Handkerchief. 222 ACT V. AS YOU LIKE IT. The royal disposition of that beast, Το prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render' him the most unnatural, That liv'd 'mongst men. And well he might do so, Oli. For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando ;-Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so: But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling, From miserable slumber I awak'd. Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame To tell you what I was, since my conversion So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But, for the bloody napkin?- Oli. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, As, how I came into that desert place :- In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, By and by. Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, Committing me unto my brother's love; Who led me instantly unto his cave, There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm The lioness had torn some flesh away, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, He sent me hither, stranger as I am, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise, and to give this napkin, Dy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him:-Will you go? [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying. Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis, he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean. Enter William. Touch. It is meat and drink to me, to see a clown: By my troth we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Will. Good even, Audrey. Aud. God ye good even, William. Will. And good even to you, sir. Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend? Will. Five and twenty, sir. Touch. A ripe age; Is thy name William ? Will. William, sir. Touch. A fair name: Wast born i'the forest here? Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. Touch. Thank God;-a good answer: Art rich? Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise? Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remeni ber a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany-heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a [Rosalind faints, grape, would open his lips when he put it into his Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid? Will. I do, sir. Imede ? blood. Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede! Oli. Look, he recovers. Ros. I would I were at home. Cel. We'll lead you thither :- I pray you, will you take him by the arm? Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned? Will. No, sir. Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to have: For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink Oli. Be of good cheer, youth:-You a man?-being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: For all your writers Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would do consent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, think this was well counterfeited: I pray you tell for I am he. You lack a man's heart. your brother how well I counterfeited.-Heigh Will. Which he, sir? ho! Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great. Therefore, you clown, abandon,-which is in the testimony in your complexion, that it was a pas- vulgar, leave,-the society, which in the boorish sion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and feit to be a man. is, company,-of this female,-which in the com- mon is,-woman, which together is, abandon the counter-society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest or, to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, I Ros. So I do: but, i'faith I should have been a kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into woman by right. death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; 1 draw homewards :-Good sir, go with us. Oli. That will 1, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. } Describe. 2 Scuffle. will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'er run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble, and depart. Aud. Do, good William. Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exil SCENE II. 293 AS YOU LIKE IT. Enter Corin. Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come away, away. Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ;-I attend, cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, years old, conversed with a magician, most pro found in this art, and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture I attend. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Oliver. shall you marry her: I know into what straits of [Exeunt. fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to Orlando and me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger. Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? Orl. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but seeing, you should love her? and loving, woo? and, wooing, she though I say I am a magician: Therefore, put you Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, should grant? and will you persever to enjoy her? in your best array, bid your friends; for if you Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, will be married to-morrow, you shall; and to Ros- the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my alind if you will. sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy Enter Silvius and Phebe. each other: it shall be to your good: for my fath-Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of er's house, and all the revenue that was old sir hers. Rowland's will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. Enter Rosalind. Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers: Go you, and prepare Aliens; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. Ros. God save you, brother. Oft. And you, fair sister. Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf! Orl. It is my arm. Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with. the claws of a lion. Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counter- feited to swoon, when he showed me your hand- kerchief? Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentle- ness. To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not, if I have: it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ;- And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ;- And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of phantasy, Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. All made of passion, and all made of wishes; Ros. O, I know where you are:-Nay, 'tis true: All adoration, duty and observance, there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, of two rams, and Cæsar's thrasonical brag of-All purity, all trial, all observance ;- I came, saw, and overcame: For your brother and And so am I for Phebe. my sister no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together; clubs cannot part them. what he wishes for. Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To Rosalind. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [To Phebe. Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Ros. Who do you speak to, Why blame you me to love you? Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bit- Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the ter a thing it is to look into happiness through an- howling of Irish wolves against the moon. I will other man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to- help you, [To Silvius.] if I can:-I would love morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how you, To Phebe.] if I could.-To-morrow meet me much I shall think my brother happy, in having all together.-I will marry you, [To Phebe.] if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your I will satisfy you, ITo Orlando.] if ever I satisfied Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. man, and you shall be married to-morrow :-I will content you, [To Silvius.] if what pleases Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle you contents you, and you shall be married to- talking. Know of me then (for now I speak to morrow.-As you [To Orlando.] love Rosalind, some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman meet;-as you [To Silvius.] love Phebe, meet; of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should And as I love no woman, I'll meet.-So, fare you bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, well; I have left you commands. turn for Rosalind? I say, I know you are; neither do I labour for a Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. greater esteem than may in some little measure. draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three Phe Orl. Nor I. Nor I. [Exe Invite 224 ACT V. AS YOU LIKE IT. SCENE III.-The same. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages. 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met: Come, sit, sit, and a song. 2 Page. We are for you: sit i' the middle. 1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse: which are the only prologues to a bad voice? 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gypsies on a horse. SONG. I. It was a lover, and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring. II. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, &c. III. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, &c. IV. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime, In spring time, &c. Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untunable. 1 Page. You are deceived, sir; we kept time, we lost not our time. Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you; and God mend your voices!-Come, Audrey. Ros. And you say, you will have her, when 1 bring her? [To Orlando. Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? [To Phebe. Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, Phe. So is the bargain. will? Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she [To Silvias. Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing. Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daugh- ter;- Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry nie; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter :- Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd :- Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, If she refuse me:-and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even. [Exeunt Ros. and Cel. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, Methought he was a brother to your daughter; But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born; And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest. Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all! Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome; This is the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure;2 I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. Jaq. And how was that ta'en up? Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. Jag. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like [Exeunt. this fellow. SCENE IV-Another part of the Forest. Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia. Duke S. I like him very well. Touch. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; ac- Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy cording as marriage binds, and blood breaks:-A Can do all this that he hath promised? poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: Rich honesty dwells like a miser, foul sir, in a poor house; as your pearl, in your oyster. not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is tentious. urg'd:- Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen- Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke. such dulcet diseases. Yea will bestow her on Orlando here? uke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. 1 A married woman. ! Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed;-Bear 2 A stately solemn dance. SCENE IV 225 AS YOU LIKE IT. your body more seeming, Audrey-as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: This is called the retort courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: This is called the quip modest. If again, it was not well cut, he disabled my judg- ment: This is called the reply churlish. If again, it was not well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: This is called the reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he would say, I lie: This is called the countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the lie circumstantial, and the lie direct. Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not well cut? Touch. I durst go no further than the lie circum- stantial, nor he durst not give me the lie direct; and so we measured swords, and parted. Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? You and you no cross shall part: [To Orlando and Rosalind. You and you are heart in heart: [To Oliver and Celia. You [To Phebe.] to his love must accord, Or have a woman to your lord:- You and you are sure together, [To Touchstone and Audrey. As the winter to foul weather. Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, Feed yourselves with questioning; That reason wonder may diminish, How thus we met, and these things finish. SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown; O blessed bond of board and bed! 'Tis Hymen peoples every town; High wedlock then be honoured: Honour, high honour and renown, To Hymen, god of every town! Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me, Touch. O, sir, we quariel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the retort courteous; the second, the quip modest; the third, the reply Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. churlish; the fourth, the reproof valiant; the fifth, Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; the countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the lie Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine." [To Silvius. Enter Jaques de Bois. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two; with circumstance; the seventh, the lie direct. All these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you may avoid that too, with an if. I knew when seven justices could not ake up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an if, as, if you said so, then I said so; and I am the second son of old sir Rowland, they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your if, is That bring these tidings to this fair assembly:- the only peace-maker; much virtue in if. Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as Men of great worth resorted to this forest, good at any thing, and yet a fool. Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in woman's clothes; and Celia. Still music. Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven, When earthly things made even Atone together. Good duke, receive thy daughter, Hymen from heaven brought her, Yea, brought her hither; That thou might'st join her hand with his, Whose heart within her bosom is. Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Duke S. [To Orl. Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- lind. Phe. If sight and shape be true, Why then,-my love, adieu! Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he :- [To Duke S. I'll have no husband, if you be not he:- Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [To Orlando. Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion: [To Phebe. 'Tis I must make conclusion Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands, To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. 1 Seemly. 2 Unless truth fails of veracity. Address'd a mighty power which were on foot, In his own conduct, purposely to take His brother here, and put him to the sword: Where, meeting with an old religious man, And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; After some question with him, was converted Both from his enterprize, and from the world: His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, And all their lands restor'd to them again That were with him exil'd: This to be true, I do engage my life. Duke S. Welcome, young man Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: To one, his lands withheld; and to the other, A land itself as large, a potent dukedom. First, in this forest, let us do those ends That here were well begun, and well begot, And after, every of this happy number, That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with me Shall share the good of our returned fortune, According to the measure of their states. Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, And fall into our rustic revelry:- Play, music;-and you brides and bridegrooms all, With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Jaq. Sir, by your patience; if I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life, And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. de B. He hath. Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.- You to your former honour I bequeath: [To Duke S. Your patience, and your virtue well deserves it:- You To Orlando.] to a love, that your true faith. doth merit:- 3 Bind. 226 ACT V AS YOU LIKE IT. You To Onver.] to your land, and love, and great not become me; my way is, to conjure you; and allies:- I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, You [To Silvius.] to a long and well-deserved for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this bed:- play as pleases them: and so I charge you, O men, And you [To Touchstone.] to wrangling; for thy for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive by loving voyage your simpering, none of you hate them,) that be- Is but for two months victualled:-So to your tween you and the women, the play may please. pleasures; I am for other than for dancing measures. Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. Jeq. To see no pastime, I: -what you have, If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me,2 and breaths that I defied not; and, I am would sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I [Exit. make curt'sy, bid me farewell. [Exeunt. I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, And we do trust they'll end in true delights. EPILOGUE. [A dance. Of this play the fable is wild and pleasing. I know not how the ladies will approve the facility with which both Rosalind and Celia give away Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the ep- their hearts. To Celia much may be forgiven, for ilogue: but it is no more unhandsome than to see the heroism of her friendship. The character of the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine Jaques is natural and well preserved. The comic needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs no dialogue is very sprightly, with less mixture of low epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good buffoonery than in some other plays; and the gra- bushes; and good plays prove the better by the ver part is elegant and harmonious. By hastening help of good epilogues. What a case am I in, then, to the end of this work, Shakspeare suppressed the that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insin-dialogue between the usurper and the hermit, and uate with you in the behalf of a good play? I am lost an opportunity of exhibiting a moral lesson, in not furnished' like a beggar, therefore to beg will which he might have found matter worthy of his highest powers. 1 Dressed. 2 That I liked. OHNSON. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. King of France. Duke of Florence. Bertram, Count of Rousillon. Lafeu, an old Lord. Parolles, a follower of Bertram. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Several young French Lords, that serve with tram in the Florentine war. Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram. Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess An old Widow of Florence. Diana, daughter to the widow. Violenta, Ber-Mariana, neighbours and friends to the widow. Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, &c. French and Florentine. Steward, servants to the Countess of Rousillon. Clown, S A Page. ACT I. SCENE I-Rousillon. A Room in the Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, ani Lafeu, in mourning. Countess. Scene, partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. Ber. I heard not of it before. gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Laf. I would, it were not notorious.-Was this Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts IN delivering my son from me, I bury a second an unclean, mind carries virtuous qualities, there husband. commendations go with pity, they are virtues and Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my traitors too; in her they are the better for their father's death anew: but I must attend his majes- simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves ty's command, to whom I am now in ward,' ever- her goodness. more in subjection. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, ma- her tears. dam;-you, sir, a father: He that so generally is Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue her praise in. The remembrance of her father to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such sorrows takes all livelihoods from her cheek. No abundance. more of this, Helena, go to, no more; lets it be Count. What hope is there of his majesty's rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it amendment? Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Laf. How understand we that? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; too. under whose practices he hath persecuted time Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the with hope; and finds no other advantage in the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. process but only the losing of hope by time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (0, that had!2 how sad a passage 'tis!) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch- ed so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think, it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam? Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, Rather in power, than use; and keep thy friend But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn- ingly: he was skillful enough to have lived still, if Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- Advise him. 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, guishes of. Laf. A fistula, my lord. 1 Under his particular care as my guardian. Laf. He cannot want the best 4 i. e. Her excellencies are the better because 2 The countess recollects her own loss of a they are artless. husband, and observes how heavily had passes through her mind. 3 Qualities of good breeding and erudition. 5 All appearance of life. 6 i. e. That may help thee with more and bet ter qualifications. 228 ACT 1. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. That shall attend his love. Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- [Exit Countess. ginity, is to accuse your mothers: which is most Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is thoughts, [To Helena.] be servants to you. Be a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself credit of your father. [Exit Bertram and Lafeu. to the very paring, and so diez with feeding his own Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father; stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? much of her. I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind, that would be mated by the lion, Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, To see him every hour; to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, In our heart's table; heart, too capable Of every line and trick³ of his sweet favour:4 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? Enter Parolles. One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak in the cold wind; withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Par. Save you, fair queen. Hel. And you, monárch. Par. No. Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to vir- ginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't; Out with't: within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the prin cipal itself not much the worse: Away with't. Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her owr liking? Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. "Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with't, while 'tis vendible: answer the time of re- quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and toothpick, which wear not now: Your dates is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French wither- ed pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear: Will you any thing with it? Hel. Not my virginity vet. There shall your master have a thousand loves A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; His humble ambition, proud humility, His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms, That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he- I know not what he shall :-God send him well!- The court's a learning-place;-and he is one- Par. What one, i'faith? Hel. That I wish well.-Tis pity- Par. What's pity? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And show what we alone must think;" which never Returns us thanks. Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit Page. Hel. Monsieur Parolies, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember down again, with the breach yourselves made, you thee, I will think of thee at court. lose your city. It is not politic in the common- wealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a com- panion; away with it. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. 1 i. e. May you be mistress of your wishes, and have power to bring them to effect. 2 Helena considers her heart as the tablet on which his resemblance was portrayed. 3 Peculiarity of feature. 4 Countenance. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Par. Why under Mars? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so? 5 Forbidden. 6 A quibble on date, which means age, and candied fruit. 7 i. e. And show by realities what we now must only think. SCENE II, III. 229 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Hel. You go so mucn backward, when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, As when thy father, and myself, in friendship First try'd our soldiership! He did look far Into the service of the time, and was Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; But on us both did haggish age steal on, Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer And wore us out of act. It much repairs4 me thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the To talk of your good father: In his youth which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, He had the wit, which I can well observe so thou wilt bé capable of a courtier's counsel, To-day in our young lords; but tney may jest and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine Ere they can hide their levity in honour. ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, none, remember thy friends: get thee a good hus- His equal had awak'd them; and his honour, hand, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. Clock to itself, knew the true minute when [Exit. Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him He us'd as creatures of another place; And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, Making them proud of his humility, Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it, which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things.2 Impossible be strange attempts, to those That weigh their pains in sense: and do suppose, What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. SCENE II.-Paris. A room in the King's palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. King, Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. it 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer, And Florence is denied before he comes: Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see The Tuscan service, freely have they leave To stand on either part. / 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What's he comes here? Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man Might be a copy to these younger times; Which, follow'd well, would démonstrate them now But goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance, sir. Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb; So in approof lives not his epitaph, As in your royal speech. King. 'Would, I were with him! He would al- ways say, (Methinks, I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there, and to bear,)-Let me not live,-- Thus his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,-let me not live, quoth he, After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses All but new things disdain: whose judgments are Mere fathers of their garments;" whose constancies Expire before their fashions:This he wish'd: I, after him, do after him wish too, Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, I quickly were dissolved from my hive, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet; Lend me an arm: the rest have worn me out With several applications:-nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, SCENE III-Rousillon. A room in the Coun- Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 1 i. e. Thou wilt comprehend it. 2 Things formed by nature for each other. 3 The citizens of the small republic of which Sienua is the capital. 4 To repair, here signifies to renovate tess's Palace. Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. gentlewoman? Count. I will now hear; what say you of this Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our 5 His is put for its. 6 Approbation. 7 Who have no other use of their facilities than to invent new modes of dress. 8 To act up to your desires. 230 ACT I ALL'S WE. L THAT ENDS WELL. modesty, and make foul the clearness of or de- servings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. I Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. Count. In what case? Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no heritage: and, I think, I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings. Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Fait!, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- ness. Clo. I am out of friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Was this king Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine ad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yel mu good in ten. Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying o' the ong: 'Would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no pu- ritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the sur- plice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for [Exit Clown. Helen to come hither. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- woman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her, than is paid; and more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than, I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate to herself, her own words to her Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. own ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they Clo. You are shallow, madam; e'en great friends; touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am she loved your son: Fortune, she said, was no a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be two estates; Love, no god, that would not extend his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts his might, only where qualities were level; Diana, my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my knight to be surprised, without rescue, in the first flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, assault, or ransome afterward: This she delivered is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife, is my in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard friend. If men could be contented to be what they virgin exclaim in: which I held my duty, speedily are, there were no fear in marriage; for young to acquaint you withal; sithence, in the loss that Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, may happen, it concerns you something to know it. howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep heads are both one, they may joll horns together, it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of like any deer i' the herd. this before, which hung so tottering in the balance Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray calumnious knave? you, leave me: stall this in your bosom, and 1 Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the thank you for your honest care: I will speak with truth the next way:5 For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, you further anon. Enter Helean, [Exit Steward Your cuckoo sings by kind. Count. Even so it was with me when I was young: If we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; more anon. Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid It is the show and seal of nature's truth, Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth: Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would By our remembrances of days foregone, speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, 1 To be married. 3 Ploughs. Such were our faults;-or then we thought them none. [Singing. Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now. Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? 2 Children. 4 Therefore. Count. You know, Helen, 5 The nearest way. 6 Foolishly done. 7 Since. SCENE III. 231 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I am a mother to you. Hel. Mine honourable mistress. Count. Nay, a mother; Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, Methought you saw a serpent: What's in mother, That you start at t? I say, I am your mother; And put you in the catalogue of those That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen, Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds A native slip to us from foreign seeds: You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan, Yet I express to you a mother's care:- God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood, To say, I am thy mother? What's the matter, That this distemper'd messenger of wet, The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? Why?that you are my daughter? Hel. That I am not. Count. I say, I am your mother. Hel. Pardon, madam; The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: I am from humble, he from honour'd name; No note upon my parents, his all noble: My master, my dear lord, he is; and I His servant live, and will his vassal die : He must not be my brother. Count. Nor I your mother? Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you were (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) Indeed, my mother!-or were you both our mothers, I care no more for, than I do for heaven, So I were not his sister: Can't no other, But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- in-law; God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother, So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again? My fear hath catch'd your fondness: Now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears' head. Now, to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son; invention is asham'd, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say thou dost no:: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so:-for, look, thy cheeks Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kind' they speak it: only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected: Speak, is't so? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. Hel. Good madam, pardon me! Count. Do you love my son? Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress! Count. Love you my son? Hel. I love your son :- My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him, That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and intenable sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more. My dearest madam Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do: but, if yourself, Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and love; O then, give pity To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose But lend and give, where she is sure to lose; That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, To go to Paris? Madam, I had. Hel. Count. Wherefore? tell true. Hel. I will tell truth; by grace itself, I swear. You know, my father left me some prescriptions Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading, And manifest experience, had collected For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me In heedfullest reservation to bestow them, As notes, whose faculties inclusive were, More than they were in note: amongst the rest, There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, To cure the desperate languishes, whereof The king is render'd lost. Count. For Paris, was it? speak. This was your motive Hel. My lord your son made me to think of this;. Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, Haply, been absent then. Count. But think you, Helen, if you should tender your supposed aid, He would receive it? He and his physicians Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him, They, that they cannot help: How shall they credit A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off The danger to itself? Hel. There's something hints, More than my father's skill, which was the great st Of his profession, that his good receipt By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified honour Count. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond, The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, Do not you love him, madam? But give me leave to try success, I'd venture Whereof the world takes note: come, come, dis-By such a day, and hour. close The state of your affection; for your passions Have to the full appeach'd. Hel. Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, Count. Dost thou believe't? Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home, e. I care as much for; I wish it equally. that you were no less virtuous when young 2 Contend. 3 The source, the cause of your grief. 4 According to their nature 5 1. e. Whose respectable conduct in age proves! 6 i. e. Venus. 7 Receipts in which greater virtues were en closed than appeared. 8 Exhausted of their skill. 232 ACT II. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Ard pray God's blessing into thy attempt: Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. ACT II. [Exeunt. sword entrenched it: say to him, I live; and ob serve his reports for me. 2 Lord. We shail, noble captain. Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt Lords.] What will you do? Ber. Stay; the king-- SCENE I.-Paris. A room in the King's palace. of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to them; Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking leave for the Florentine war; Bertram, Parolles, and attendants. King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin- ciples, Do not throw from you:-and you, my lord, fare- well:- Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, And is enough for both. 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, After well-enter'd soldiers, to return And find your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart Will not confess he owes the malady That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; Whether I live or die, be you the sons Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall Of the last monarchy,') see, that you come Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when The bravest questant2 shrinks, find what you seek, That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty! [Seeing him rise. Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the list for they wear themselves in the cap of time, there, do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the influence of the most received star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be follow ed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell. Ber. And I will do so. 8 Par. Worthy fellows: and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. [Exe. Bertram and Parolles Enter Lafeu. Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.] for me and for my tidings. King. I'll fee thee to stand up. Laf. Then here's a man Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy; and That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. Good faith, across Will you be cur'd King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pat, And ask'd thee mercy for't. Laf. But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Of your infirmity? King. Laf. No. O, will you eat 10 No grapes, my royal fox? yes, but you will, King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; My noble grapes, an if my royal fox They say, our French lack language to deny, Could reach them: I have seen a medicine," If they demand: beware of being captives, That's able to breathe life into a stone; Before you serve. Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary," Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch King. Farewell.-Come hither to me. Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay, [The King retires to a couch. To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand, Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay And write to her a love-line. behind us. Par. 'Tis not his fault; the spark- 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars! Par. Most admirable: I have seen those wars. Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil4 with; Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away bravely. Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock. Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn, But one to dance with !5 By heaven I'll steal away. 1 Lord. There's honour in the theft. Par. Commit it, count. 2 Lord. I am your accessary, so farewell. Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tor- tured body. 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles! Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:- You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very 1 i. e. Those excepted who possess modern It- aly, the remains of the Roman empire. 2 Seeker, inquirer. 3 Be not captives before you are soldiers. 4 With a noise, bustle. 5 In Shakspeare's time it was usual for gentle- men to dance with swords on. King. What her is this? Laf. Why, doctor she: My lord, there's on: arriv'd, If you will see her,-now, by my faith and honour If seriously I may convey my thoughts In this my light deliverance I have spoke With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,¹2 Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more Than I dare blame my weakness: Will you see her, (For that is her demand,) and know her business? That done, laugh well at me. King. Now, good Lafeu, Bring in the admiration; that we with thee May spend our wonder too, or take off thine, By wond'ring how thou took'st it. Laf. Nay, I'll fit you, And not be all day, neither. [Exit Lafeu. King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. Laf. Nay, come your ways. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Laf. Nay, come your ways; This is his majesty, say your mind to him: 6 They are foremost in the fashion. 7 Have the true military step. 8 The dance. 9 Unskillfully; a phrase taken from the exer- cise at the quintaine. 1 A kind of dance 10 A female physician. 12 By profession is meant her declaration of the object of her coming. SCENE II. 235 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 1 A traitor you do look like; but such traitors His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle, That dare leave two together; fare you well. [Ex. King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was My father; in what he did profess, well found.2 King. I knew him. Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him; Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, And of his old experience the only darling, He bade me store up, as a triple eye,3 Safer than mine own two, more dear: I have so: And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd With that malignant cause wherein the honour Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, I come to tender it, and my appliance, With all bound humbleness. King. We thank you, maiden; But may not be so credulous of cure,- When our most learned doctors leave us; and The congregated college have concluded That labouring art can never ransom nature From her inaidable estate,-I say we must not So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, To prostitute our past-cure malady To empirics; or to dissever so Our great self and our credit, to esteem A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains: I will no more enforce mine office on you; Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts A modest one, to bear me back again. King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful; Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give, As one near death to those that wish him live: But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part; I knowing all my peril, thou no art. Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try, Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy: He that of greatest works is finisher, Oft does them by the weakest minister: So holy writ'in babes hath judgment shown, When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown From simple sources; and great seas have dried, When miracles have by the greatest been denied. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there Where most it promises; and oft it hits, Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. King. I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid; Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid: Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd: It is not so with him that all things knows, As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: But most it is presumption in us, when The help of heaven we count the act of men. Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. I am not an impostor, that proclaim Myself against the level of mine aim;" 1 I am like Pandarus. But know I think, and think I know most sure, My art is not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident? Within what space Hop'st thou my cure? Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring: Ere twice in murk and occidental damp Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp; Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, What dar'st thou venture?" Hel. Tax of impudence, A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,- Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name Sear'd otherwise; no worse of worst extended, With vilest torture let my life be ended. 2 Of acknowledged excellence. 3 A third eye. 4 An allusion to Daniel judging the two Elders. 5 i. e. When Moses smote the rock in Horeb. 6 This must refer to the children of Israel passing the Red Sea, when miracles had been de- nied by Pharaoh. King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth speak; His powerful sound, within an organ weak: And what impossibility would slay In common sense, sense saves another way. Thy life is dear; for all, that life can rate Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate; Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all That happiness and prime¹º can happy call: Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try; That ministers thine own death, if I die. Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee: But, if I help, what do you promise me? King. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it even? King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand, What husband in thy power I will command: Exempted be from me the arrogance To choose from forth the royal blood of France: My low and humble name to propagate With any branch or image of thy state: But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; So make the choice of thy own time; for I Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. More should I question thee, and more I must; Though, more to know, could not be more to trust, From whence thou cam'st, how tended on,-But rest Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.- Give me some help here, ho!-If thou proceed As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II-Rousillon. A room in the Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. Come on sir; I shal! now put you to the height of your breeding. mediocrity of my condition. 7 i. e. Pretend to greater things than befits the 8 The evening star. 9 i. e. May be counted among the gifts enjoyed by thee. 10 The spring or morning of life. 234 ACT 11. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly taught: I know my business is but to the court. Count. To the court! why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court! Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. SCENE III-Paris. A room in the King's Pa lace. Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any our philosophical persons, to make modern² and manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were submit ourselves to an unknown fear.3 not for the court; but, for me, I have an answer Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, will serve all men. that hath shot out in our latter times. Ber. And so 'tis. Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions. Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- tocks; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. Count. Will your answer serve to fit all ques- tions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pan- cake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fit- ness for all questions? Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your con- stable, it will fit any question. Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands. Laf. To be relinquished of the artists,-- Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, Par. Right, so I say. Laf. That gave him out incurable,- Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. Laf. Not to be helped,- Par. Right: as 'twere, a man assured of an- Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in show- ing, you shall read it in,What do you call there?- Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earth- ly actor. Par. That's it I would have said: the very same. Laf. Why, your dolphin4 is not lustier: 'fore me I speak in respect- Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most learned should speak truth of it: here it is, and all facinorous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to that belongs to't: Ask me, if I am a courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn. Count. To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? Clo. O Lord, sir, There's a simple putting more, more, a hundred of them. be the Laf. Very hand of heaven. Par. Ay, so I say.. Laf. In a most weak-- Par. And debile minister, great power, great off;-transcendence: which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, as to be- Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. Clo. O Lord, sir,--Thick, thick, spare not me. Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. Clo. O Lord, sir,-Nay, put me to't, I warrant you. Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. Clo. O Lord, sir,-Spare not me. Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whip- ping, and spare not me? Indeed, your O Lord, sir, is very sequent' to your whipping; you would answer very well to a whipping, if you were but hound to't. Laf. Generally thankful. Enter King, Helena, and attendants. Par. I would have said it; you say well: Here comes the king. Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. Par. Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen? Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. King. Go, call before me all the lords in court.- [Exit an attendant. Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my-Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side; O Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, The confirmation of my promis'd gift, serve ever. to entertain it so merrily with a fool. Clo. O Lord, sir-Why, there't serves well again. Count. An end, sir, to your business; give Hel- en this, And urge her to a present answer back: Commend me to my kinsman, and my son; This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. Count. Not much employment for you: You understand me? Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. 1 Properly follows. 2 Ordinary. 3 Fear means here the object of fear. 4 The dauphin. 5 Wicked. Which but attends thy naming. Enter several Lords. Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice" I have to use: thy frank election make; Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mis- Fall, when love please!-marry, to each, but one. trese 6 Lustigh is the Dutch word for lusty, cheerful. They were wards well as subjects. 7 8 Except one, meaning Bertram. SCENE III. 235 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Laf. I'd give bay Curtal,' and his furniture, My mouth no more were broken than these boys', And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well: Not one of those, but had a noble father. Hel. Gentlemen, Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health. All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. Hel. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest, That, I protest, I simply am a maid :- Please it your majesty, I have done already : The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, We blush, that thou should'st choose; but, refus'd, Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; We'll ne'er come there again. King. A poor physician's daughter my wife!-Disdain Rather corrupt me ever! Kiug. "Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods, Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off In differences so mighty: if she be All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st Of virtue for the name: but do not so: From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, The place is dignified by the doer's deed: be Where great additions swell, and virtue none, It is a dropsied honour: good alone Is good, without a name; vileness is so:" The property by what it is should go, Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; In these to nature she's immediate heir; And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn, Which challenges itself as honour's born, And is not like the sire: Honours best thrive, Make choice; and, sec, Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly; And to Imperial Love, that god most high, Do my sighs stream.-Sir, will you hear my suit? 1 Lord. And grant it. Hel. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw ames-ace³ for my life. Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, Before I speak, too threateningly replies: Love make your fortunes twenty times above Her that so wishes, and her humble love! 2 Lord. No better, if you please. Hel. My wish receive, Which great love grant! and so I take my leave. Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand should take; I'll never do you wrong for your own sake: Blessing upon your vows and in your bed Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; the French ne'er got them. Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, To make yourself a son out of my blood. 4 Lord. Fair one, 1 think not. so. a Laf. There's one grape yet, I am sure thy father drank wine.-But if thou be'st not an ass, I am youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. Hel. I dare not say I take you; [To Bertram. but I give Me, and my service, ever whilst I live, Into your guiding power. This is the man. King. Why, then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy wife. Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your highness, In such a business give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, What she has done for me? Ber. When rather from our acts we them derive Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave, Debauch'd on every tomb; on every grave, A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, Where dust, and damned oblivion, is the tomb Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? If thou canst like this creature as a maid, I can create the rest: virtue and she, Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me. Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive to choose. But never hope to know why I should marry her. Yes, my good lord; King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed. Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down, Must answer for your raising? I knew her well; She had her breeding at my father's charge: 1 A docked horse. 2 i. e. I have no more to say to you. 3 The lowest chance of the dice. Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I am glad; Let the rest go. King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat, I must produce my power: Here, take her hand, Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; That does in vile misprision shackle up My love, and her desert; that canst not dream, We, poising us in her defective scale, Shall weigh thee to the beam: that wilt not know, We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt: It is in us to plant thine honour, where Obey our will, which travails in thy good : Believe not thy disdain, but presently Do thine own fortunes that obedient right, Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims; Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, Into the staggers, and the careless lapse Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate, Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit Without all terms of pity: Speak; thine answer. What great creation, and what dole of honour, My fancy to your eyes: When I consider, Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now Is, as 'twere, born so. The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, King. Take her by the hand, A counterpoise; if not to thy estate, And tell her, she is thine; to whom I promise A balance more replete. Ber. I take her hand. King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king, Smile upon this contract: whose ceremony Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief. 4 i. e. The want of title. 5 Titles. 6 Good is good, independent of any worldly distinction, and so is vileness vile. 236 ACT li. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. And be performed to-night: the solemn feast, Shall more attend upon the coming space, Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, Thy love's to me religious; else, dost err. [Exe. King, Bertram, Hel. Lords, and attendants. Laf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. Par. Your pleasure, sir? Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. Par. Recantation?-My lord? my master? Laf. Ay: Is it not a language, I speak? Par. A most harsh one; and not to be under- stood without bloody succeeding. My master? Laf. Are you companion to the count Ronsillon? Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of another style. Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; which title age cannot bring thee. to Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs, and the bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dis- suade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not: yet art thou good for no- thing but taking up; and that thou art scarce worth. Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee,- Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look through thee. Give me thy hand. Par. My lord, you give me most egregious in- dignity. Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. there's news for you; you have a new mistress. Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my good lord: whom I serve above, is my master. Laf. Who? God? Par. Ay, sir. Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat thee: methinks, thou art a gene- ral offence, and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast created for men to breath³ them- selves upon thee. Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegrante; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you commission. You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. Enter Bertram. (Exit. Par. Good, very good; it is so then.-Good, very good; let it be concealed a while. Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, will not bed her. I Par. What? what, sweet heart? Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me :- I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the import is, I know not yet. Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wars my boy, to the wars! He wears his honour in a box unseen, Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I That hugs his kicksy-wicksy4 here at home; will not bate thee a scruple. Par. Well, I shall be wiser. Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou best bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge; that I may say, in the default, 2 he is man I know. a Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable Spending his manly marrow in her arms, Which should sustain the bound and high curvet Of Mars's fiery steed: To other regions! France is a stable; we that dwell in't, jades; Therefore, to the war! Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled; write to the king That which I durst not speak: His present gift where noble fellows strike: War is no strife Shall furnish me to these Italian fields, Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and To the dark house, and the detested wife. my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure? will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. [Exit. I'll send her straight away: To-morrow vexation. it. 'Tis hard; Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. grace off me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!- Par. Why, these balls bound: there's noise in Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: him with any convenience, an he were double and Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: douole a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, The king has done you wrong; but, hush! 'tis so. than I would have of-I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. Re-enter Lafeu. Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, 1. 1. e. While I sat twice with thee at dinner. 2 At a need. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Another room in the same. Enter Helena and Clown. Hel. My mother greets me kindly: Is she well? Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health; 3 Exercise. 4 A cant term for a wife. 5 The house made gloomy by discontent. SCENE V. 237 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. she's very merry; but yet she is not well: but Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great thanks be given, she's very well, and wants no-in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. thing in the world; but yet she is not well. Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that and transgressed against his valour; and my state she's not very well? that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find n Clo. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two my heart to repen. Here he comes; I pray you, things. make us friends. I will pursue the amity. Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! the other, that she's in earth, from whence God send her quickly! Enter Parolles. Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes. Par. You had my prayers to lead them on: and to keep them on, have them still.-O, my knave! How does my old lady? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money, I would she did as you say. Par. Why, I say nothing. Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a very little of nothing. Par. Away, thou art a knave. Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: this had been truth, sir. Par. Goto, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The search, sir, was profit- able; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed.- Madam, my lord will go away to-night; A very serious business calls on him. The great prerogative and rite of love, Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- ledge; But puts it off by a compell'd restraint; Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets, Which they distil now in the curbed time, To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy, And pleasure drown the brim. Hel. What's his will else? Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the king, And make this haste as your own good proceeding, Strengthen'd with that apology you think May make it probable need.' Hel. What more commands he? Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently Attend his further pleasure. Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. Par. I shall report it so. Hel. SCENE V. Another room in the same. Lafeu and Bertram. Enter Parolles. Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To Bertiata. Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor? Par. Sir? Laf. O, 1 know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good tailor. Ber. Is she one to the king? [Aside to Parelles. Par. She is. Ber. Will she away to-night? Par. As you'll have her. Ber. I have writ my letters, casketted my trea- sure, When I should take possession of the bride,- Given order for our horses; and to-night, And, ere I do begin,- ter end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds, Laf. A good traveller is something at the lat- and uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings God save you, captain. with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.-. Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? into my lord's displeasure. Par. I know not how I have deserved to rum and spurs, and all, like him that leap'd into the Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence. Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at this of me, There can be no kernel in this light his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe nut; the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures.-Farewell, monsieur: I have spoken better of you, than you have or will deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. [Exit. Par. An idle lord, I swear. Ber. I think so. Par. Why, do you not know him? Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. Enter Helena. Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave For present parting; only, he desires Some private speech with you. Ber. I pray you.-Come, sirrah. I shall obey his will. [Exeunt. You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, Enter Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration and required office On my particular: prepar'd I was not For such a business; therefore am I found So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you: That presently you take your way for home; For my respects are better than they seem; And my appointments have in them a need, Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him & soldier. Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. Ber. And by other warranted testimony. Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this ark for a bunting. 1 A specious appearance of necessity. 2 The bunting nearly resembles the skylark; but has little or no song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark. 3 Wonder. 238 ACT III. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. And all the honours, that can fly from us, Shall on them settle. You know your places well; When better fall, for your avails they fell: To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. Sir, I can nothing say, SCENE II.-Rousillon. A room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess and Clown. Count. It hath happened all as I would have had it, save, that he comes not along with her. Greater than shows itself at the first view, To you that know them not. This to my mother: [Giving a letter. "Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so Leave you to your wisdom. Hel. But that I am your most obedient servant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Hel. And ever shall With true observance seek to eke out that, Wherein, toward me my homely stars have fail'd To equal my great fortune. Ber. My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home. Hel, Pray, sir, your pardon. Ber. Let that go: Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; Nor dare I say, 'tis mine; and yet it is; But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal What law does vouch mine own. Ber. What would you have? Hel. Something; and scarce so much:-nothing, indeed. I would not tell you what I would: my lord-'faith, yes;- Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. Ber. I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse. Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. Count. By what observance, I pray you? Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing: pick his teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song. Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. [Opening a letter. Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court: our old ling, and our Isbels o' the country, are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: the brains of my cupid's knocked out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. [Exit. Count. What have we here? Clo. E'en that you have there. Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in- law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?- I have wedded her, not bedded her; and sworn to Farewell. [Exit Helena. make the not eternal. You shall hear, I am run Go thou toward home; where I will never come, away; know it, before the report come. If there Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long Away, and for our flight. distance. My duty to you. Par. Bravely, coragio! [Exe. ACT III. SCENE I-Florence. A room in the Duke's Palace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence attended; two French Lords, and others. Duke. So that from point to point, now have you heard The fundamental reasons of this war; Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, And more thirsts after. 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel Upon your grace's part; black and fearful On the opposer. Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin France Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom Against our borrowing prayers. 2 Lord. Good my lord, The reasons of our state I cannot yield,2 But like a common and an outward man," That the great figure of a council frames By self-unable motion. therefore dare not Say what I think of it; since I have found Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail As often as I guess'd. Duke. Be it his pleasure. 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our ture, That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, Come here for physic. Duke. 1 Possess. na- Welcome shall they be; 2 i. e. I cannot inform you of the reasons. 3 One not in the secret of affairs. 4 As we say at present, our young fellows. Your unfortunate son, BERTRAM. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy. To fly the favours of so good a king; To pluck his indignation on thy head, By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous For the contempt of empire. Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within- between two soldiers and my young lady. Count. What is the matter? Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I thought he would. Count. Why should he be kill'd? he does: the danger is in standing to't; that's the Clo. So say 1, madam, if he run away, as I hear loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come, will tell you more: for my part, I only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown. Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 2 Gent. Do not say so. Count. Think upon patience.-'Pray you, gen tlemen,- I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief, That the first face of neither, on the start, Can woman me unto't :-Where is my son, I pray you? 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence: And, after some despatch in hand at court, We met him thitherward; from thence we came, 5 The folding at the top of the boot. 6 i. e. Affect me suddenly and deeply, as our sex are usually affected. HELENA AND THE COUNTESS. HELENA.-"Madam, my lord is gone, forever gone." "All's Well That Ends Well," Act III., Scene II. TR UNE M OF SCENE III, IV. 239 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Thither we bend again. That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou my Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers Hel. Look on this letter, madam; here's passport. [Reads. When thou canst get the ring upon my Thai ride upon the violent speed of fire, finger, which never shall come off, and show me Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air, a child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, That sings with piercing, do not touck my lord! then call me husband: but in such a then I write Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; a never. This is a dreadful sentence. Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 1 Gent. Ay, madam; And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,2 Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son; But I do wash his name out of my blood, And thou art all my child.-Towards Florence is he? 2 Gent. Ay, madam. Count. And to be a soldier? 2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe't, The duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. Count. Return you thither? 1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 'Tis bitter. Count. Hel. Find you that there? Ay, madam. 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which His heart was not consenting to. Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! There's nothing here that is too good for him, But only she; and she deserves a lord, That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him? 1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman Which I have some time known. Count. Parolles, was't not? 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wick- edness. My son corrupts a well-derived nature With his inducement. 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady, The fellow has a deal of that, too much, Which holds him much to have. Count. You are welcome, gentlemen. I will entreat you, when you see my son, To tell him, that his sword can never win The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you Written to bear along. 2 Gent. We serve you, madam, In that and all your worthiest affairs. Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. Will you draw near? [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France. Nothing in France, until he has no wife! Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I That chase thee from thy country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine to the event Of the none-sparing war? and is it I Whoever charges on his forward breast, I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it; And, though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: better 'twere, I met the ravin4 lion when he roar'd With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere That all the miseries which nature owes, Were mine at once: no, come thou home, Rousillon, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all; I will be gone: My being here it is, that holds thee hence: Shall I stay here to do't? no, no, although The air of Paradise did fan the house, And angels offic'd all: I will be gone; That pitiful rumour may report my flight, To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit. lace. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, SCENE III.-Florence. Before the Duke's Pa- Bertram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we, Upon thy promising fortune. Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence, Ber. Sir, it is We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet To the extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou forth; As thy auspicious mistress! And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, Ber. This very day, Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Rousillon. A room in the Coun- tess's Palace. Enter Countess and Steward. Count. Alas! and would you take the letter of her? Might you not know, she would do as she has done, By sending me a letter? Read it again. Stew. I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone; Ambitious love hath so in me offended, That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon, With sainted vow my faults to have amended. Write, write, that, from the bloody course of wor, My dearest master, your dear son, may hie; Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, His name with zealous fervour sanctify: His taken labours bid him me forgive; I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, Where death and danger dog the heels of worth. He is too good and fair for death and me; Whom I myself embrace to set him free. Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!- Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, 1 i.e. When you can get the ring, which is on otherwise than as she returns the same offices of my finger, into your possession. 2 If thou keepest all thy sorrows to thyself. civility. 4 Ravenous. 3 In reply to the gentleman's declaration, that 5 Alluding to the story of Hercules. they are her servants the countess answers-no 6 Discretion or thought. 240 Аст Пі ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. As letting her pass so; had spoke with her, I could have well diverted her intents, Which thus she hath prevented. Stew. Pardon me, madam: If I had giver you this at over-night, She might have been o'ertaken; and yet she writes, Pursuit would be in vain. Count. What angels shall Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive, Unless her prayers, whom Heaven delights to hear, And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath Of greatest justice.-Write, write, Rinaldo, To this unworthy husband of his wife; Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief, Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Despatch the most convenient messenger:- When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, He will return; and hope I may, that she, Hearing so much, will speed ner foot again, Led hither by pure love: which of them both, Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense - Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. Hel. Is this the way? Wid. Ay, marry, is it.-Hark you' [A march afar off They come this way :-If you will tarry, noly pil- grim, But till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess, As ample as myself. Hel. Is it yourself? Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. Wid. You came, I think, from France? Hel. I did so. Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, That has done worthy service. Hel. His name, I pray you? Dia. The count Rousillon: Know you such a one? Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobiy of him: His face 1 know not. Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, To make distinction:-Provide this messenger:-He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; As 'tis reported, for the king had married him Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Against his liking: Think you it is so? [Exeunt. A SCENE V.-Without the walls of Florence. tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Flo- rence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other citi- zens. Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the count, Reports but coarsely of her. Hel. Dia. Monsieur Parolles. Hel. What's his name? O, I believe with him, Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the sight. In argument of praise, or to the worth Dia. They say, the French count has done most of the great count himself, she is too mean honourable service. To have her name repeated; all her deserving Wid. It is reported, that he has taken their Is a reserved honesty, and that greatest commander; and that with his own hand I have not heard examin'd. he slew the duke's brother. We have lost our la- Dia. Alas, poor lady! bour; they are gone a contrary way: hark! you of a detesting lord. 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife may know by their trumpets. Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- Wid. A right good creature: wheresoe'er she is, selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. her A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. Hel. How do you mean? May be, the amorous count solicits her Mar. I know that knave; hang him! one Pa- In the unlawful purpose. rolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions2 Wid. He does, indeed; for the young earl.-Beware of them, Diana; their And brokes with all that can in such a suit promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: engines of lust, are not the things they go under :3 But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard In honestest defence. many a maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in Enter with drum and colours, a party of the Flo- the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dis- suade succession, but that they are limed with the, twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise you further; but I hope your own grace Wid. will keep you where you are, though there were That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; no further danger known, but the modesty which That, Escalus. is so lost. Dia. You shall not need to fear me. Enter Helena, in the dress of a pilgrim. Wid. I hope so.--Look, here comes a pil- grim: I know she will lie at my nouse: thither they send one another: I'll question her.- God save you, pilgrim! Whither are you bound? Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. Where do the palmers4 lodge, I do beseech you? 1 Weigh, here means to value or esteem. 2 Temptations. 3 They are not the things for which their names would make them pass. rentine army, Bertram, and Parolles. Mar. The gods forbid else! Hel. Dia. So, now they come :- Which is the Frenchman? He; That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow; I would, he lov'd his wife: if he were honester, He were much goodlier:-Is't not a handsome gentleman? Hel. I like him well. Dia. "Tis pity he is not honest: Yond's that same knave, That leads him to these places; were I his lady, 4 Pilgrims; so called from a staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry. 5 Because. 6 The exact, the entire truth. 7 Deals with panders. SCENE VI. 241 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. I'd poison that vile rascal. Hel. Which is he? the humour of his design; let him fetch off his drum in any hand. Dia. That Jackanapes with scarfs: Why is he Ber. How now, monsiet? this drum sticks melancholy? Fel. Perchance he's hurt 'i the battle. iar. Lose our drum! well. sorely in your disposition. 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum. Par. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so Mar. He's shrewdly vex'd at something: Look, lost ?-There was an excellent command! to e has spied us. Wid. Marry, hang you! Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier. [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, officers, and soldiers. Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I will bring you Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, Already at my house. Hel. I humbly thank you: Please it this matron, and this gentle maid, To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking, Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, Worthy the note. Both. SCENE VI.-Camp before Florence. Bertram, and the two French Lords. 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. We'll take your offer kindly. charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers. 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- mand of the service; it was a disaster of war that Cæsar himself could not have prevented if he had been there to command, Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- cess: some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. Par. It might have been recovered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of service is seldom attributed to the truc and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or hic jacet.3 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur [Exe. if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native Enter quarter, be inagnanimous in the enterprize, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor- thiness. 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 1 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake i Ber. Do you think I am so far deceived in him? Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will pre- knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an in- in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepara- finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, tion, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you ship's entertainment. are gone about it? 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, at some great and trusty business, in a main dan- ger, fail you. Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know thou art valiant; and, to the possi- bility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water.-Is not this a strange fellow, my lord? that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares denly surprise him; such I will have, whom, I am better be damned than to do't. to do. sure, he knows not from the enemy: we will bind 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be of discoveries; but when you find him out, you but your lordship present at his examination; if he have him ever after. do not, for the promise of his life, and in the high- Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed est compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, at all of this, that so seriously he does address him- and deliver all the intelligence in his power against self unto? you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon 1 Lord. None in the world; but return with an oath, never trust my judgment in any thing. invention, and clap upon you two or three probable 2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch lies: but we have almost embossed him, you shall his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when see his fall to-night; for, indeed, he is not for your your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, lordship's respect. and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter-ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here lord Lafeu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall find him, which you shall see this very night. he comes. Enter Parolles. 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be 1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not caught. 1 A paltry fellow, a coward. 2 The camp. 3 I would recover the lost drum or another, or die in the attempt. 4 I will pen down my plans, and the probable obstructions. 5 Hunted him down. 6 Strip him naked. 242 ACT IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, 1 Lord. As't please your lordship: I'll leave you. Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, [Exit. And lawful meaning in a lawful act; Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact: But let's about it. Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show you The lass I spoke of. 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest. Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once, And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send; And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature; Will you go see her? 2 Lord. ACT IV. [Exeunt. SCENE I-Without the Florentine camp. En ter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in am- bush. 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this With all my heart, my lord. hedge's corner: When you sally upon him, speak what terrible language you will; though you under- stand it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not SCENE VII.-Florence. A Room in the Widow's seem to understand him; unless some one among house. Enter Helena and Widow. Exeunt. Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, I know not how I shall assure you further, But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born, Nothing acquainted with these businesses; And would not put my reputation now In any staining act. Hel. Nor would I wish you. First, give me trust, the count he is my husband; And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot, By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, Err in bestowing it. Wid. I should believe you; For you have show'd me that, which well approves You are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purse of gold, And let me buy your friendly help thus far, Which I will over-pay, and pay again, When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter, Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent, As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it, Now his important2 blood will nought deny That she'll demand: A ring the county wears, That downward hath succeeded in his house, From son to son, some four or five descents Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire, To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, Howe'er repented after. Wid. Now I see The bottom of your purpose. Hel You see it lawful, then: it is no more, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; In fine, delivers me to fill the time, Herself most chastely absent: after this, To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns To what is past already. Wid. I have yielded: Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, ay prove coherent. Every night he comes With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd To her unworthiness: It nothing steads us, To chide him from our eaves for he persists, As if his life lay on't. Hel. Why then, to-night 2. e. By discovering herself to the count. 3 i. e. Count. 2 Importunate. 4. From under our windows. lus, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he not thy voice? 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak to us again? 1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 1 Lord. He must think us some band of stran gers i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. Enter Parolles. Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What shall I sayl have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it: They begin to smoke me; and dis- graces have of late knocked too often at my door. I find my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his crea- tures, not daring the reports of my tongue. 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. [Aside. Par. What the devil should move me to under- take the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it: They will say, Came you off with so little? ard great ones I dare not give. Wherefore? what's the instance?" Tongue, I must put you into a but- ter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 1 Lord. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? [Aside. Par. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. [Aside. 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say, it was in stratagem. 1 Lord. "Twould not do. Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say stripped. 1'Lord. Hardly serve. Aside. I was Aside 5 i. e. Foreign troops in the enemy's pay. 6 A bird like a jack-daw. 7 The proof SCENE II. 243 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. So should you be. No. Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of the citadel- 1 Lord. How deep? Par. Thirty fathom. [Aside. 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. Ber. Dia. My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more of that! [Aside. I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows:1 Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I was compell'd to her: but I love thee I would swear I recovered it. 1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. Par. A drum now of the enemy's! [Aside. [Alarum within. 1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par carbo, cargo. Par. O! ransome, ransome:-Do not hide mine [They seize him and blindfold him. 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment, And I shall lose my life for want of language: If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, Italian, or French, let him speak to me, eyes. I will discover that which shall undo The Florentine. 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado :- I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue: Kerelybonto:Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards Are at thy bosom. Par. Oh! 1 Sold. Manka revania dulche. 1 Lord. O, pray, pray, pray. Oscorbi dulchos volivorca. 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on To gather from thee: haply, thou may'st inform Something to save thy life. Par. O, let me live, And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, Their force, their purposes: nay, I'll speak that Which you will wonder at. 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully? Par. If I do not, damn me. 1 Sold. Come on, thou art granted space. By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. Dia. Ay, so you serve us, Till we serve you: but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn? Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the Highest to witness: 2 Then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: Therefore, your oaths Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd; At least, in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with: Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: Say, thou art mine, and ever My love, as it begins, shall so perséver. Dia. I see that men make hopes in such affairs, That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power To give it from me. Dia. Will you not, my lord? Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Acordo linta.-Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose. Dia. Mine honour's such a ring: My chastity's the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion honour on my part, Against your vain assault. [Exit, with Parolles guarded. 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled, Till we do hear from them. 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves;- Inform 'em that. 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely lock'd. [Exeunt. Ber. Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- ber window; I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. SCENE II.-Florence. A room in the Widow's Now will I charge you in the band of truth, house. Enter Bertram and Diana. Ber. They told me, that your name was tibell. Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. Ber. When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, Fon-Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, Titled goddess; In your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stern; And now you should be as your mother was, When your sweet self was got. Dia. She then was honest. 1 i. e. Against his determined resolution never to cohabit with Helena. My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them, When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: And on your finger, in the night, I'll put Another ring; that, what in time proceeds, May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not; you have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber. A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing thee. [Exit Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and me! 2 The sense is-we never swear by what is not holy, but take to witness the Highest, the Divinity 244 ACT IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. You may so in the end.- My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in his heart; she says, all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me, When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him, When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so [Exit. braid,' Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid: Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin To cozen him, that would unjustly win. SCENE III.-The Florentine camp. Enter the two French Lords, and two or three Soldiers. 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter? of her last breath, and now she sings in neaven. 2 Lord. How is this justified? 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own let- ters; which makes her story true, even to the point of her death: her death itself, which could not be her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector of the place. 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence? 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming of tne verity. 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad of this. 1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us comforts of our losses! 2 Lord. And how mightly, some other times, we drown our gain in tears! The great dignity, that his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home be encountered with a shame as ample. 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled 2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since: there is something in't that stings his nature; for, on the reading it, he changed almost into another man. 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not; and our a lady. 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the ever-crimes would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.- lasting displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it. Enter a Servant. How now? where's your master? Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewo-will next morning for France. The duke hath of man here in Florence, of a most chaste renown; fered him letters of commendations to the king. and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful honour: he hath given her his monumental ring, there, if they were more than they can commend. and thinks himself made in the unchaste composi- Enter Bertram. tion. 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's are ourselves, what things are we! tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the lord, is't not after midnight? common course of all treasons, we still see them Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred nesses, a month's length a piece, by an abstract of ends; so he, that in this action contrives against success: I have conge'd with the duke, done my his own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for himself.2 her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; en- 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be tertained my convoy; and, between these main trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs; then have his company to-night? the last was the greatest, but that I have not 2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted ended yet. to his hour. 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly this morning your departure hence, it requires have him see his company anatomized; that he haste of your lordship. might take a measure of his own judgments, Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fear- wherein so curiously he had set this counterfeit. ing to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the whip of the other. 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these wars. 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then? will he travel higher, or return again into France? 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir! so should I be a great deal of his act. dialogue between the fool and the soldier?- Come, bring forth this counterfeit module; he has deceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 2 Lord. Bring him forth: [Exeunt Soldiers.] he has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. Ber. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his spurse so long. How does he carry himself? 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already: the stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would be understood; he weeps, like a wench that had shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, time of his remembrance, to this very instant dis- fled from his house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to aster of his setting i' the stocks: And what think Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, you he hath confessed? with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished: Ber. Nothing of me, has he? and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature be- 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be came as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as, I be- 1 Crafty, deceitful. 2 2. e. Betrays his own secrets in his own talk. 3 Here, as elswhere, used adverbally. 4 For companion. 5 Mode, pattern. 6 An allusion to the degradation of a knight by hacking off his spurs. SCENE III. 245 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. heve you are, you must have the patience to not possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, te hear it. corrupt him to a revolt. What say you to this? what do you know of it? Re-enter Soldiers, with Parolles. Ber. A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush! hush! 1 Lord. Hoodman comes !-Porto tartarossa. 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures; What will you say without 'em? Par. I will confess what I know without con- straint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho. 2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 1 Sold. You are a merciful general:-Our general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out of a note. Par. An truly, as I hope to live. 1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong. What say you to that? Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my repu- tation and credit, and as I hope to live. 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? Par. Do; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will. Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! 1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this is monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his own phrase,) that had the whole theoric¹ of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep- ing his sword clean; nor believe he can have every thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, I will say true, or thereabouts, set down,-for I'll speak truth. 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the ture he delivers it. Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the partic- ular of the interrogatories: Demand them singly. 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain? Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent, that could not say him, nay. [Dumain lifts up his hand in anger. Ber Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next title that falls. 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- rence's camp? Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy. 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon., 1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket. 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. Par. In good sadness I do not know; either it is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other letters, in my tent. it 1 Sold. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I read to you? Par. I do not know if it be it, or no. Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 1 Lord. Excellently. 1Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold- Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very ruttish; I pray you, sir, put it up again. 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very hon- est in the behalf of the maid; for I knew the young na-count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy; who is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they are afoot. What say you to that. Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue! 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; After he scores, he never pays the score: Half won, is match well made; match, and well make it ;7 Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this pre- sent hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio a He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before; hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this, so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodo- Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: wick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each: mine For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to fif- teen thousand poll; half of which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces. Ber. What shall be done to him. 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- mand of him my conditions, and what credit have with the duke. PAROLLES. Ber. He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in his forehead. 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the man- Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, ifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. and now he's a cat to me. 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall de-shall be fain to hang you. mand of him, whether one captain Dumain be i the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is afraid to die; but that, my offences being toany, 1 Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am with the duke, what his valour, honesty, and ex-would repent out the remainder of nature: let me pertness in wars; or whether he thinks, it were 1 Theory. 2 The point of the scabbard. 5 For interrogatories. 6 A natural fool. 7. i. e. A match well made is half won; make 3 Cassock then signified a horseman's loose coat. your match, therefore, but make it well. 4 Disposition and character. 246 ACT IV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. live, sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, of all your friends. so I may live. [Unmuffling him. So look about you: Know you any here? Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to ny lord Lafeu? I am for France. 1 Sold, We'll see what may be done, so you con- fess freely; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain: You have answered to his reputation with the duke, and to his valour: What is his honesty? Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking them, the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with Rousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel such volubility, that you would think truth were a it of you; but fare you well. [Exe. Ber. Lords, &c. fool: drunkenness is his best virtue; for he will be 1 Sold. You are undone, captain: all but your swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little harm, scarf, that has a knot on't yet. save to his bed-clothes about him; but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every Par. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot? 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so much shame, you thing that an honest man should not have; what might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; an honest man should have, he has nothing. 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. am for France, too; we shall speak of you there. I Ber. For this description of thine honesty? A [Exit. pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? "Twould burst at this: Captain I'll be no more; Pur. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft English tragedians,-to belie him, I will not,-and As captain shall: simply the thing I am more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place there call'd Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. 1 Lord. He hath out-villained villany so far that the rarity redeems him. Ber. A pox on him! he's a cat still. Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, That every braggart shall be found an ass. Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! There's place, and means, for every man alive. I'll after them. [Exit. SCENE IV.-Florence. A room in the Widow's house. Enter Helena, Widow and Diana. Hel. That you may well perceive 1 have not wrong'd you, 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecus he will sell the fee- simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and One of the greatest in the christian world cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual succession for it perpetually. 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Dumain? 2 Lord. Why does he ask him of me? 1 Sold. What's he? Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful, Time was, I did him a desired office, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd, Par. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altogether His grace is at Marseilles; to which place so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great We have convenient convoy. You must know, deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, I yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is: In am supposed dead: the army breaking, a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming And by the leave of my good lord, the king, My husband hies him home: where, heaven aiding, on he has the cramp. 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rousillon. We'll be, before our welcome. Wid. Gentle madam, You never had a servant, to whose trust Your business was more welcome. Hel. 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know Nor you, mistress, his pleasure. Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour Par. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all To recompense your love; doubt not, but Heaven drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to be- Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, guile the supposition of that lascivious young boy As it hath fated her to be my motives the count, have I run into this danger: Yet, who And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! would have suspected an ambush where I was That can such sweet use make of what they hate, taken? [Aside. When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must Defiles the pitchy night! so lust does play die: the general says, you, that have so traitorously With what it loaths, for that which is away: discovered the secrets of your army, and made such But more of this hereafter:-You, Diana, pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can Under my poor instructions yet must suffer serve the world for no honest use; therefore you Something in my behalf. must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. Dia. 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave Let death and honesty Par. O Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my Go with your impositions, I am yours death! Upon your will to suffer. Hel. Yet I pray you, But with the word, the time will bring on summer, When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 4 To deceive the opinion. 1 i. e. He will steal any thing however trifling, from any place however holy. 2 The Centaur killed by Hercules. 3 The fourth part of the smaller French crown. 5 For mover. 6 Lascivious. 7 i. e. An honest death. 9 Commands. SCENE I. 247 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. And be as sweet as snarp. We must away; Our wagon is prepar'd, and time revives us : All's well that ends well: still the fine's' the crown; Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. [Exe. ¡be jade's tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature. Exit. Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy." Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made himself much sport out of him: by his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will. SCENE V.-Rousillon. A room in the Countess's Palace. Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there; whose villanous saffron Laf. I like him well: 'tis not amiss: and I was would have made all the unbaked and doughy about to tell you, since I heard of the good lady's youth of a nation in his colour: your daughter-in-death, and that my lord your son was upon his re- law had been alive at this hour; and your son turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak here at home, more advanced by the king, than by in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the mino- that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of. rity of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gra- Count. I would, I had not known him! it was cious remembrance, did first propose: his high the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ness hath promised me to do it: and, to stop up ever nature had praise for creating: if she had par- the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship of a mother, I could not have owed her a more like it? rooted love. Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we wish it happily effected. may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such another herb. Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the salad, or, rather the herb of grace.3 Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are nose-herbs. Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in grass. Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave, or a fool? Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's. Laf. Your distinction? Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. Laf. So you were a knave at his service, in- deed. Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. Laf. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. Clo. At your service. Laf. No, no, no. Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman? Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name: but his phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. Laf. What prince is that? Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of darkness; alias, the devil. Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of; serve him still. Count. With very much content, my lord, and I Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in such intelligence hath seldom failed. Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here to-night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain with me till they meet together. Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what man- ners I might safely be admitted. Count. You need but plead your honourable privilege. Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet. a Re-enter Clown. Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with patch of velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under it, or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so, belike, is that. Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to talk with the young noble soldier. Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Marseilles. A street. Enter Helena, Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always Widow, and Diana, with two attendants. loved a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, the world, let his nobility remain in his court. But, since you have made the days and nights as am for the house with the narrow gate, which I I one, Enter a gentle Astringer." take to be too little for pomp to enter: some, that To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, bumble themselves, may; but the many will be too Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ;- that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall This man may help me to his majesty's ear, out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be If he would spend his power.-God save you, sir. well looked to, without any tricks. Gent. And you. Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 1 End. 2 There was a fashion of using yellow starch for bands and ruffles, to which Lafeu alludes. 4 Seduce. 3 i. e. Rue. Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. Gent. I have been sometimes there. 5 Mischievously unhappy, waggish. 6 Scotched like a piece of meat for the gridiron. 7 A gentleman Falconer. 218 ACT V ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen From the report that goes upon your goodness; And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, Which lay nice manners by, I put you to The use of your own virtues, for the which I shall continue thankful. Gent. What's your will? Hel. That it will please you To give this poor petition to the king; And aid me with that store of power you have, To come into his presence. Gent. The king's not here. Hel. Not here, sir? Gent. Not, indeed; He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 1 han is his use. Wid. too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other busi- ness. Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one sin gle word. Laf. You beg a single penny more: come you shall ha't; save your word.! Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word, then.-Cox' my passion! give me your hand:-How does your drum? Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. Luf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that Lord, how we lose our pains! Hel. All's well that ends well; yet; Though time seem so advérse, and means unfit.-lost thee. I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Whither I am going. Hel. I do beseech you, sir, Since you are like to see the king before me, Commend the paper to his gracious hand; Which, I presume, shall render you no blame, But rather make you thank your pains for it: I will come after you, with what good speed Our means will make us means. Gent. This I'll do for you. Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out. Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets.-Sirrah, inquire further after me I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A room in the Coun- tess's Palace. Flourish. Enter King, Coun tess, Lafeu, Lords, Gentlemen, guards, &c. King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Her estimation home.3 Count. 'Tis past, my liege: Whate'er falls more.-We must to horse again;- Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Rousillon. The inner court of the Countess's Palace. Enter Clown and Parolles. Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu. this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known And I beseech your majesty to make it to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth; clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong O'erbears it, and burns on. displeasure. King. Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, allow the wind. Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; spake but by a metaphor. I I My honour'd lady, have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch'd the time to shoot. Laf This I must say,- But first I beg my pardon,-The young lord' Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, Offence of mighty note; but to himself Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor.-The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife, Pr'ythee, get thee further. Par, Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes;4 whose words all ears took captive, Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away; A paper from Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, Humbly call'd mistress. here he comes himself. Enter Lafeu. King. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear.Well, call him hither; Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the un- All repetition :-Let him not ask our pardon; clean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, The nature of his great offence is dead, is muddied withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as And deeper than oblivion do we bury you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, inge- The incensing relics of it: let him approacn, nius, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his dis- A stranger, no offender; and inform him, tress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to So 'tis our will he should. your lordship. [Exit Clown. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched. Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis 1 You need not ask ;-here it is. 2 Reckoning or estimate. 3 Compietely, in its full extent. Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gentleman. King. What says he to your daughter? have you spoke? and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.' 5 i. e. The first interview shall put an end to 4 So in As you like It:-to have seen much all recollection of the past. SCENE III. 249 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Laf. All that he is hath reference to your high- Of what should stead her most? ness. Ber. My gracious sovereig King. Then shall we have a match. I have Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. Count. letters sent me, That set him high in fame. Laf. Enter Bertram. He looks well on't. King, I am not a day of season,' For thou may'st see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth, The time is fair again. Ber. My high-repented blames,2 All is whole; Not one word more of the consumed time, Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of time Steals ere we can effect them; You remember The daughter of this lord? Dear sovereign, pardon to me. King. Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his scornful perspéctive did lend me, Which warp'd the line of every other favour; Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n; Extended or contracted all proportions, To a most hideous object: Thence it came, That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. King. Well excus'd: That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away From the great compt: But love, that comes too late, Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, To the great sender turns a sour offence, Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults, Make trivial price of serious things we have, Not knowing them, until we know their grave: Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: Our own love waking eries to see what's done, While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: The main consents are had; and here we'll stay To see our widower's second marriage-day. Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease! Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name Must be digested, give a favour from you, To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come.-By my old beard, And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, The last that e'er I took her leave at court, I saw upon her finger. Ber. Hers it was not. King. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, While I was speaking, oft was fastened to't.- This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Necessitied to help, that by this token Son, on my life, I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd'it At her life's rate. Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw i In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought I stood ingag'd:3 but when I had subscrib'd To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that course of honour As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, In heavy satisfaction, and would never Receive the ring again. I would relieve her: Had you that craft, to reave her 1 i. e. Of uninterrupted rain. 2 Faults repented of to the utmost. 3 In the sense of unengaged. 4 The philosopher's stone. King. Plutus himself, That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,* Hath not in nature's mystery more science, Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know That you are well acquainted with yourself," Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enfores ment You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety, That she would never put it from her finger, Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, (Where you have never come,) or sent it us Upon her great disaster. She never saw it. Ber. King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me, Which I would fain shut out: If it should proze That thou art so inhuman,-'twill not prove so :- And yet I know not:-thou didst hate her deadly, And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, More than to see this ring.-Take him away.- [Guards seize Bertrain. My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Having vainly fear'd too little.-Away with him ;- We'll sift this matter further. If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. [Exit Ber. guardea Enter a Gentleman. Ber. King, I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Gent. Gracious sovereign, Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not; Here's a petition from a Florentine, Who hath, for four or five removes, come short To tender it herself. I undertook it, Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, Is here attending: her business looks in her With an importing visage; and she told me, In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern Your highness with herself. King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widow- er; his vows are forfeited to me, and my hon nur's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking 10 leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: 5 i. e. That you have the proper consciousness of your own actions. 6 Post-stages. 250 ACT V. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll hini: for this, I'll none of him. King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, Grant it me, O king; in yu it best lies; otherwise Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife; DIANA CAPULET. That ring's a thousand proofs. King. Methought, you said You saw one here in court could witness it. So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. King. Find him, and bring him hither. Ber. What of him? He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth: Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, That will speak any thing? To bring forth this discovery.-Seek these suitors:- Go, speedily, and bring again the count. [Exeunt Gentleman, and some attendants. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count. Now, justice on the doers! Enter Bertram, guarded. King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry.-What woman's that? Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and Diana. Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capulet; My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease,2 without your remedy. King. Come hither, count. Do you know these women? Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny But that I know them: Do they charge me further? Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife? Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. Dia. If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and that is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours, That she which marries you, must marry me, Either both, or none. Laf. Your reputation [To Bertram.] comes too short for my daughter, you are no husband for her.! Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea ture, Whom sometime I have laughed with; let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, Than for to think that I would sink it here. King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend, Till your deeds gain them: Fairer prove your honour, Than in my thought it lies! Dia. Good my lord, Ask him upon his oath, if he does think He had not my virginity. King. What say'st thou to her? Ber. She's impudent, my lord; And was a common gamester to the camp.3 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, He might have bought me at a common price: Do not believe him: O, behold this ring, Whose high respect, and rich validity,4 Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that, He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, If I be one. Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: Of six preceding ancestors, that gem Pay tol! for him. 2 Decease, die. 5 Gamester, when applied to a female, then meant a common woman. 4 Value. 15 Noted. 6 Debauched. King. She hath that ring of yours Ber. I think, she has: certain it is, I lik'd her And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancy's' course Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, Her insuit coming with her modern graces Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring, And I had that, which any inferior might At market-price have bought. Dia. I must be patient: You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife, May justly diet me. I pray you yet, (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) Send for your ring, I will return it home, And give me mine again. Ber. I have it not. King What ring was yours, I pray you? Dia. Sir, much like The same upon your finger. King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement. Dia. I have spoke the truth. Enter Parolles. Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you.- Is this the man you speak of? Dia. Ay, my lord. King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) By him, and by this woman here, what know you? Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. King. Come, come, to the purpose: Did he love this woman? Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how? King. How, I pray you? Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. King. How is that? Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. King. As thou art a knave, and no knave:-- What an equivocal companion 10 is this? Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command. 7 Love's. 8 Her solicitation concurring with her appear ance of being common. 9 May justly make me fast. 10 Fellow. SCENE III. 251 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty | Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? orator. Is't real, that I see? Hel. No, my good lord; 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, The name, and not the thing. Ber. Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage? Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ? Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go be- Both, both; O, pardon! tween them, as I said; but more than that, he loved Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, her.-for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not And, look you, here's your letter; This it says, what: yet I was in that credit with them at that When from my finger you can get this ring, time, that I knew of their going to bed: and of And are by me with child, &c-This is done: other motions, as promising her marriage, and Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? things that would derive me ill will to speak of, Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this therefore I will not speak what I know. Ay, my good lord. clearly, King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: But thou art too fine¹ in thy evidence: therefore stand aside.- This ring, you say, was yours? Dia. King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?-Good Tom Drum, [To Parolles.] lend me a Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. handkerchief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, King. Who lent it you? I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, Dia. It was not lent me neither. they are scurvy ones. King. Where did you find it then? Dia. I found it not. King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? Dia. I never gave it him. Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you!- O, my dear mother, do I see you living? Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon: King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now: To prison with her: and away with him.- Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring, Thou diest within this hour. Dia. I'll never tell you. King. Take her away. Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer. Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while? Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty; He knows, I am no maid, and he'll swear to't: I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not. Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; King. Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow:- If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana. Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower; For I can guess, that, by the honest aid, Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.- Of that, and all the progress, more and less, Resolvedly more leisure shall express: All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish. Advancing. The king's a beggar, now the play is done. All is well-ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeunt. I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. This play has many delightful scenes, though [Pointing to Lafeu. not sufficiently probable; and some happy charac- King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with ters, though not new, nor produced by any deep knowledge of human nature. Parolles is a boaster Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.-Stay, royal and a coward, such as has always been the sport of the stage, but perhaps never raised more laugh- ter or contempt than in the hands of Shakspeare. her. sir; The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for, [Exit Widow. And he shall surety me. But for this lord, Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself, Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: He knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd; And at that time lie got his wife with child: Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick: And now behold the meaning. King. Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 1 Too artful. 3 Owns. Is there no exorcist4 2 Common woman. 4 Enchanter. I cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram; a man noble without generosity, and young without truth; who marries Helen as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate: when she is dead by his un- kindness, sneaks home to a second marriage, is ac- cused by a woman whom he has wronged, defends himself by falsehood, and is dismissed to happiness. The story of Bertram and Diana had been told before of Mariana and Angelo, and, to confess the truth, scarcely merited to be heard a second time. JOHNSON. 5 i. e. Hear us without interruption, and take our parts, that is, support and defend us. TAMING OF THE SHREW. A Lord. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Christopher Sly, a drunken tinker. Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and other servants attending on the Lord. Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. Vincentio, an old gentleman of Pisa. CHARACTERS IN THE INDUCTION, Persons in To the Original Play of The Taming of a Shrew the Induc- entered on the Stationers' books in 1594, and tion. printed in quarto in 1607. Lucentio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katharina. Gremio, Hortensio, suitors to Bianca. Tranio, servants to Lucentio, Biondello, Grumio, servants to Petruchio. Curtis, S A Lord, &c. Sly. A Tapster. Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Alphonsus, a merchant of Athens. Jerobel, Duke of Cestus. Aurelius, his son, suitors to the daughters of Al- Ferando. Pedant, an old fellow set up to personate Vincentio. Polidor, Katharina, the Shrew, daughters to Baptista. Bianca, her sister, Widow. Valeria, servant to Aurelius. Sander, servant to Ferando. phonsus. Phylotus, a merchant who personates the Duke. Kate, Emelia, Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants, attending on Phylema, Baptista and Petruchio. daughters to Alphonsus. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants to Ferando and Alphonsus. Scene, sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in Pe-Scene, Athens; and sometimes Ferando's Country irachio's House in the Country. House. INDUCTION. Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. SCENE I-Before an Alehouse on a Heath. En- Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my ter Hostess and Sly. Sly. I'LL pheese! you, in faith. hounds: Brach' Merriman,-the poor cur is emboss'd,8 And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? rogues: 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. Richard He cried upon it at the merest loss, let the And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no Look in the chronicles, we came in with Conqueror. Therefore, paucas, pallabris; world slide: Sessa.3 burst ?4 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy;-But sup them well, and look unto them all; Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.5 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 1 Hun. 1 will, my lord. Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the third borough. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- swer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground and falls asleep. 1 Beat or knock. 3 Be quiet. 2 Few words. 4 Broke. 5 This line and the scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from an old play caled Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy. Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord: Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! 6 An officer whose authority equals a constable. 8 Strained. 7 Bitch. ANDUCTION. 253 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.- What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself? 1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd. Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest:- Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balm his foul head with warm, distilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: Procure me music ready when he wakes, To make a dicet and a heavenly, sound; And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, And, with a low submissive reverence, Say,-What is it your honour will command? Let one attend him with a silver bason, Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers; Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,2 And say,-Will't please your lordship cool your hands? Some one be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what apparel he will wear; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that nis lady mourns at his disease: Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic; And, when he says he is-, say, that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty.4 Wherein your coming can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest, over-eving of his odd behaviour (For yet his honour never heard a play,) You break into some merry passion, And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain our selves, Were he the veriest antic in the world. Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.-- [Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber And call him-madam, do him obeisance, Tell him from me (as he will win my love,) He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished: With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy ; Such duty to the drunkard let him do, And say,-What is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, May show her duty, and make known her love? And then-with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom,- Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our And if the boy have not a woman's gift, part, As he shall think, by our true diligence, He is no less than what we say he is. Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; And each one to his office, when he wakes.- [Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds :- [Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.- Re-enter a Servant. How now? who is it? Serv. Players that offer service to your lordship. An it please your honour, Lord. Bid them come near :- Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome. 1 Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with ine to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart.-This fellow I re- member, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ;- Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means. To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift: Which in a napkin being close convey'd, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst, Anon I'll give thee more instructions.- [Exit Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman: I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, When they do homage to this simple peasant.. I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen, Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Bedchamber in the Lord's house Sly is discovered in a rich nightgown, with at- tendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a Servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honour, Lord. 'Tis very true;-thou didst it excellent.-nor lordship: I never drank sack in my life; and Well, you are come to me in happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand, 1 Pitcher. 2 Napkin. 3 Naturally. 17 if you give me any constrves, give me conserves of beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for 4 Moderation 5 Perhaps. 254 SCENE 11. TAMING OF THE SHREW. 1 have to more doublets than backs, no more stock-And not a tanker, nor Christophero Sly.- ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, Well, bring our lady hither to our sight: sometimes, more feet than shoes, or sucn shoes as And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. my toes look through the overleather. 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands? Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit! Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by [Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit restur'd! O, that once more you knew but what you are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream; Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present But did I never speak of all that time? profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat 1 Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words:- ale wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: Here's 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. Ó, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, And banish hence these abject lowly dreams: Look how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, [Music. And twenty caged nightingales do sing: Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt? Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis, painted by a running brook: And Cytherea all in sedges hid; Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord. We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid; And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, As lively painted as the deed was done. 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood; Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds: And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world; And yet she is inferior to none. Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:- Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed; for Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door; And rail upon the hostess of the house; And say, you would present her at the leet,3 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts Sometimes you would call out for Cinely Hacket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid; Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,- As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell; And twenty more such names and men as these, Which never were, nor no man ever saw. Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! All. Amen. Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants. Page. How fares my noble lord? Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife? Page. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me- husband? My men should call me-lord; I am your goodnan. Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and I husband; am your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well:-What must I call her? Lord. Madam. Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord. Madain, and nothing else; so lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and slept Above some fifteen year and more.. Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me: Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Sly. "Tis much;--Servants, leave me and her alone.- Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two; Or, if not so, until the sun be set: For your physicians have expressly charg'd, In peril to incur your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your bed: I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh and the blood. Enter a Servant. Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy, For so your doctors hold it very meet; Distracted. 2 Faith. 3 Court-leet. Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood. ACT I. 255 TAMING OF THE SHREW. And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, And frame your mind te mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it: Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- trick? Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Page. It is a kind of history. Sly. Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be vounger. [They sit down. SCENE I.-Padua. ACT I. A Public Place. Lucentio and Tranio. Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and Hortensio. Lucentio and Tranio stand aside. Bap. Gentlemen, impórtune me no further, That is,--not to bestow my youngest daughter, For how I firmly am resolv'd you know; Before I have a husband for the elder: Because I know you well, and love you well, If either of you both love Katharina, Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. Gre. To cart her rather: She's too rough for me: There, there, Hortensio, will you an wife? Kath. I pray you, sir, [To Bap.] is it your will To make a stale" of me amongst these mates? Hor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? y mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear; I wis, it is not half way to her heart: But, if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, Enter And paint your face, and use you like a fool. Luc. Tranio, since-for the great desire I had fo see fair Padua, nursery of arts,- I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy; And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd With his good will, and thy good company, Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all; Here let us breathe, and happily institute A course of learning, and ingenious2 studies. Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, Gave me my being, and my father first, merchant of great traffic through the world, Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence, It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue, and that part of philosophy Will I apply, that treats of happiness By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. Tell me thy mind: for I have Pisa left, And am to Padua come; as he that leaves A shallow piash, to plunge him in the deep, And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve, To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue, and this moral discipline, Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray: Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd Talk logic with acquaintance that you have, And practice rhetoric in your common talk: Music and poesy use to quickens you; The mathematics, and the metaphysics, Fall to them, as you find your tomach serves you: No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en;- In brief, sir, study what you most affect. Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, We could at once put us in readiness; And take a lodging, fit to entertain Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. But stay awhile: What company is this? Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 1 For comedy. 3 Small piece of water. 5 Harsh rules. 2 Ingenuous. 4 Pardon me. 6 Animate. Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us! Gre. And me too, good Lord! Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime toward; That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. Luc. But in the other's silence I do see Maids' mild behaviour and sobriety. Peace, Tranio. Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What have I said,-Bianca, get you in: And let it not displease thee, good Bianca; For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. Kath. A pretty peat !9 'tis best Put finger in the eye,-an she knew why. Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent.- Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: My books, and instruments, shall be my company: On them to look, and practise by myself. Luc. Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. [Aside. Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? Sorry am I, that our good will effects Bianca's grief. Gre. Why, will you mew 10 her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, And make her bear the penance of her tongue? Bap. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd :-- Go in, Bianca. [Exit Bianca. And for I know, she taketh most delight In music, instruments, and poetry, Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, Fit to instruct her youth.-If you, Hortensio, Or signior Gremio, you.-know any such, Prefer them hither; for to cunning12 men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing-up; And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; For I have more to commune with Bianca. Exit. Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; May not? What, shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I knew not what to take, and what to leave? Ha! [Exit. Gre. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts 13 are so good, here is none will hold you. Their love is not so great, Hertensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell:-Yet, for the love 7 A bait or decoy. 8 Think. 10 Shut. 11 Recommend. 12 Knowing, learned. 9 Pet. 13 Endowments 256 ACT 1. TAMING OF THE SHREW. I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means! light on a fit man, to teach her that where she delights, I will wish him to her father. Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. stands: I pray, awake, sir; If you love the maid, Hor. So will I, signior Gremio: But a word, I Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'a parle, know now, upon advice,' it toucheth Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd, us both,-that we may yet again have access to our That, till the father rid his hands of her, fair mustress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love, Master, your love must live a maid at home; --to labour and effect one thing 'specially. And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, Gre. What's that, I pray? Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors. Hor. Marry, sir, to get a hushand for her sister. Gre. A husband! a devil. Hor. I say, a husband. Gre. I say, a devil: Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell? Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience, and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. Gre. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition,-to be whipped at the high-cross every morning. Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! But art thou not advis'd, he took some care To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? Tra. Ay marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted. Luc. I have it, Tranio. Tra. Master, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. Luc. Tell me thine first. Tra. You will be schoolmaster And undertake the teaching of the maid: That's your device. Luc. It is: May it be done? Tra. Not possible; for who shall bear your part, And be in Padua here Vincentio's son? Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his friends; rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law Visit his countrymen, and banquet them? makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly Luc. Basta; content thee; for I have it full. maintained,-till by helping Baptista's eldest We have not yet been seen in any house; daughter to a husband, we set his youngest. free for Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces, a husband, and then have to't afresh.-Sweet Bi- For man or master: then it follows thus ;- anca!-Happy man be his dole!2 He that runs fast-Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, est, gets the ring. How say you, signior Gremio? Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should: Gre. I am agreed: and 'would I had given him I will some other be; some Florentine, the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, "Tis hatch'd and shall be so:--Tranio, at once and rid the house of her. Come on. [Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. Tra. [Advancing.] I pray, sir, tell me,-Is possible That love should of a sudden take such hold? Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible, or likely; But see! while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness: And now in plainness do confess to thee,- That art to me as secret, and as dear, As Anna to the queen of Carthage was,- Tranio, I burn, I pine I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl: Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now; Affection is not rated³ from the heart: If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so,- Redime et captum quam queas minimo. Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward: this contents; The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Such as the daughters of Agenor had, That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how her sister Began to scold; and raise up such a storm, That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, And with her breath she did perfume the air; Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 1 Consideration. 2 Gain or lot. 2 Driven out by chiding. 4 Longingly. 5 Europa. 6 'Tis enough. Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak; When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habits. In brief then, sir, siths it your pleasure is, And I am tied to be obedient, (For so your father charg'd me at our parting; Be serviceable to my son, quoth he, Although, I think, 'twas in another sense ;) I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid, Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. Enter Biondello. Here comes the rogue.-Sirrah, where have you been? Bron. Where have I been? Nay, how now, where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes? Or you stol'n his? or both? pray, what's the news? Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, Puts my apparel and my countenance on, And I for my escape have put on his; For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried: Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, While I make way from hence to save my life. You understand me? Bion. I, sir? ne'er a whit. Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth, Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. Bion. The better for him; 'Would I were so too 7 Show, appearance. 9 Observed. 8 Since. SCENE II. 257 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Tra. So would I, 'faith, boy, to have the next Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me wish after,- That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind companies: When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; But in all places else, your master Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, let's go:- of soundly? And come you now with-knocking at the gate? Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. Why, this is a heavy chance 'twixt him and you; Hor. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend,-what happy gale Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona? Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the world, One thing more rests, that thyself execute;- To seek their fortunes further than at home, To make one among these wooers: If thou ask me Where small experience grows. But in a few,2 why,- Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:- Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. Anon, my father, is deceas'd; [Exeunt. And I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may: Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, 1 Serv. My lord, you nod: you do not mind the play Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter, And so am come abroad to see the world. surely; Comes there any more of it? Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madum lady; 'Would't were done! SCENE II.-The same. Before Hortensio's house. Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, To see my friends in Padua; but of all, My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio; and, I trew, this is his house: Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. Gru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there any man has rebused your worship? Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. Gru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am sir, that I should knock you here, sir? Hor. Petruchio, shall i then come roundly to thee, And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel: And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, And very rich:-but thou'rt too much my friend, And I'll not wish thee to her. Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we, Few words suffice: and, therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, (As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,). Be she as foul as was Florentius' love," As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse, I, Affection's edge in me; were she as rough She moves me not, or not removes, at least, As are the swelling Adriatic seas: If wealthily, then happily in Padua. I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. Pet. Will it not be? 'Faith, sirrah, and you'll not knock, I'll wring it; I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. [He wrings Grumio by the ears. Gru, Help, masters, help! my master is mad. Pet. Now, knock when I bid you: sirrah! villain! Enter Hortensio. Hor. How now? what's the matter?-My old friend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona ? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Hor. Alla nostra casa bene venuto, Molto honorato signior mio Petruchio. Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel. Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: Why, give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an aglet-baby; or an have as many diseases as two and fifty horses: why, old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far in, I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife I will continue that I broach'd in jest. With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous; Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman: Her only fault (and that is faults enough,) Is,-that she is intolerably curst, And shrewd, and froward; so beyond all measure, That, were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. Pet. Hortensio, peace; thou know'st not gold's effect:- Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges' in Latin Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; if this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his For I will board her, though she chide as loud service,-Look you, sir,—he bid me knock him, and As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. I see,) two and thirty,-a pip out? to use his master so; being, perhaps, (for aught Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. Pet. A senseless villain!-Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, And could not get him for my heart to do it. Gru. Knock at the gate ?-O heavens! Spake you not these words plain, Sirrah, knock me here, 1 Alleges. 2 Few words. 3 See the story, No. 39, of A Thousand No- able Things.' Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman: Her name is Katharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. Pet. I know her father, though I know not her; And he knew my deceased father well:- I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; And therefore let me be thus bold with you, To give you over at this first encounter, Unless you will accompany me thither. Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the hu- mour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little 4 A small image on the tag of lace. 258 ACT. L TAMING OF THE SHREW. good upon him: She may, perhaps, call him half So shall I no whit be behind in duty a score knaves, or so: why, that's nothing; an he To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir,-an she stand² him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat: you know him not, sir. Gre. Belov'd of me,-and that my deeds shall Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee; For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: He hath the jewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; And her withholds from me, and other more Suitors to her, and rivals in my love: Supposing it a thing impossible (For those defects I have before rehears'd,) That ever Katharina will be woo'd, Therefore this order4 hath Baptista ta'en ;- That none shall have access unto Bianca, Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. Gru. Katharine the curst! A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace; And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes, To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca: That so I may by this device, at least, Have leave and leisure to make love to her, And, unsuspected, court her by herself. Enter Gremio; with him Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm. prove. Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside, Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love: Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman, wnom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katharine; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. Gre. So said, so done, is well:- Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? Pet. I know, she is an irksome brawling scold; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What country- man? Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days, and long, to see. Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange: But, if you have a stomach, to't, o' God's name; You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild cat? Pet. Will I live? Gru. Will he woo her? a, or I'll hang her. Aside. Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears? Gru. Here's no knavery! See; to beguile the Have I not in my time heard lions roar? old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to- Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, gether! Master, master, look about you: Who Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat? goes there? ha! Hor. Peace, Grumio; 'tis the rival of my Petruchio, stand by a while. Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, love:-And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous! [They retire. Gre. O, very well; I have perus'd the note. Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound: All books of love, see that at any hand; And see you read no other lectures to her: You understand me:-Over and beside Signior Baptista's liberality, Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang And do you tell me of a woman's tongue; That gives not half so great a blow to the ear, As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire? Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. Gru. Gre. Hortensio, hark! For he fears none. [Aside I'll mend it with a largess: Take your papers too, This gentleman is happily arriv'd, And let me have them very well perfum'd; For she is sweeter than perfume itself, To whom they go. What will you read to her? Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you, As for my patron (stand you so assur'd,) As firmly as yourself were still in place: Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. Gre. O this learning! what a thing it is! Gru. O this woodcock! what an ass it is! Pet, Peace, sirrah. Hor. Graio, mum!-God save you, signior Grer: 6 Gre. And you're well met, signior Hortensio. Trow you, Whither I ar going ?-To Baptista Minola. I promis'd to inquire carefully About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca: And, by good fortune, I have lighted well On this young cran; for learning, and behaviour, Fit for her tura; well read in poetry, And other books,-good ones, I warrant you. Hor. 'Tis well: and I have met a gentleman, Hath promis'd re to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress; 1 Abusive language. 9 Custody. 2 Withstand. 4 These measures. My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. Hor. I promis'd, we would be contributors, And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. Gre. And so we will; provided, that he win her. Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. [Aside. Enter Tranio, bravely apparelled; and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of signior Baptista Minola? Gre. He that has the two fair daughters-is't [Aside to Tranio.] he you mean? Tra. Even he. Biondello! Gre. Hark you, sir; You mean not her to- Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir; What have you to do? Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. Tra. I love no chiders, sir:-Biondella, let's away. Luc. Well begun, Tranio. Hor. Sir, a word ere you go:- [Aside Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yes of no? Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence? 5 Versed. 6 Rate. 7 Present. 8 Fright boys with bug-bears. SCENE I. 259 TAMING OF THE SHIEW. Gre. No; if, without more words, you will get you hence. Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me, as for you? Gre. But so is not she. Tra. For what reason, I beseech you? Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. Tra. Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen, Do me this right,-hear me with patience.. Baptista is a noble gentieman, To whom my father is not all unknown; And, were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have, and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have: And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. Gre. What! this gentleman will out-talk us all. Luc. Sir, give him head; I know, he'll prove a jade. Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? Hor. Sir, let me be so bold, as to ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? Tra. No, sir; but hear I do, that he hath two; The one as famous for a scolding tongue, As is the other for beauteous modesty. Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; And let it be more than Alcides twelve. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth;- The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors; And will not promise her to any man, Until the elder sister first be wed: The younger then is free, and not before. Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me among the rest; An if you break the ice, and do this feat,- Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access,-whose hap shall be to have her, Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate.' Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not. Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. Kath. Minion, thou liest; Is not Hortensio? Bian. If you alicet him, sister, here I swear, I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. Kath. O, then, belike, you fancy riches more; You will have Gremio to keep you fair. Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay, then you jest; and now I will perceive, You have but jested with me all this while; I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. [Strikes her. Enter Baptista. Bap. Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?- Bianca, stand aside;-poor girl! she weeps:- For shame, thou hildings of a devilish spirit, Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.- Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word? Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. [Flies after Bianca, Bap. What, in my sight?-Bianca, get thee in. [Exit Bianca. Kath. Will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see, I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, She is your treasure, she must have a husband? And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell." Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep, Till I can find occasion of revenge. Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as 1? But who comes here? (Exit Kath. Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with Hortensio as a mu- sician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and books. Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio: God save you, gentlemen! Pel. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous? Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholden. Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; And do as adversaries do in law,- Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. Gru. Bion. Oexcellent motion?-Fellows, let's! I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, begone. Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio; give me leave.-- That, hearing of her beauty, and her wit, Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so;- Her affability, and bashful modesty, Petruchio. I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour,-- ACT II. SCENE 1-The same. A room in Baptista's house. Enter Katharina and Bianca. Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; That I disdain: but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Year, all my raiment, to my petticoat: Or, what you will command me, will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders. 1 Ungrateful. 3 Trifling ornaments. 2 Companions. Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to iny entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine, [Presenting Hortensio. To instruct her fully in those sciences, Cunning in music, and the mathematics, Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant: Accept of him, or else you do me wrong; His name is Licio, born in Mantua. Bap. You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake: But for my daughter Katharine,-this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. Pet. I see, you do not mean to part with her; 4 Love. 5 A worthless woman. 260 ACT II. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Or else you like not of my company. Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name? Pet. Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy.. Bap. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward. Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I would fain be doing. Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing.- Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness myself, that have been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give unto you this young scholar, [Presenting Lu- centio. that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray, accept his service. Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- come, good Cambio.-But, gentle sir, [To Tranio.] methinks you walk like a stranger; May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own; That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister: This liberty is all that I request,- That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, And free access and favour as the rest. And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great. Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, pray? Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. Bap. A mighty man of Pisa; by report I know him well: you are very welcome, sir.- Take you [To Hor.] the lute, and you [To Luc.] the set of books, You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within! Sirrah, lead Enter a Servant. I Her widowhood,-be it that she survive me,- In all my lands and leases whatsoever : Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd This is, her love; for that is all in all. Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her, and so she yields to me: For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken. Bap. How now, my friend? why dost thou look so pale? Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- sician? Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? Hor. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her, she mistook her frets,? And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, Frets, call you these ? quoth she: I'll fume with them: And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute: While she did call me,-rascal fiddler, And-twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As she had studied to misuse me so. Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her! Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited: Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.- Signior Petruchio, will you go with us; Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? Pet. I pray you do; I will attend her here,- [Exe. Bap. Gre. Tra. and Hor. And woo her with some spirit when she comes. [Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio, and Say, that she rail; Why, then I'll tell her plain, These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both, These are their tutors: bid them use them well. Biondello. We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner: You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well; and in him, me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd: Then tell me,-if I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife? Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands: And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 1 A proverbial exclamation then in use. 2 A fret in music is the stop which causes or regulates the vibration of the string. She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say-she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week; If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married:- But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter Katharina. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing; 3 Paltry musician. SCENE L 261 TAMING OF THE SHREW. They call me-Katharine, that do talk of me. Pet. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all cates: and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;- Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. Kaln. Mov'd! in good time: let him that mov'd you hither, Remove you hence: I knew you at the first, You were a moveable. Pet. Kath. A joint-stool. Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. Pet. Alas, good Kate! I will not burden thee: For, knowing thee to be but young and light,- Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy a my weight should be. Pet. Should be? should buz. Kath. Why, what's a moveable? Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee? Kath. Ay, for a turtle; as he takes a buzzard. Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too angry. Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out. Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his sting? In his tail. Kath. In his tongue. Pet. Whose tongue? Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so fare- well. Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. Kath. That I'll try. [Striking hi Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Kath. So may you lose your arms. If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books. Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomt? Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like craven.' a Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look So sour. Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. Kath. There is, there is. Pet. Then show it me. Kath. Had I a glass, I would. Pet. What, you mean my face? Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. Kath. Yet you are wither'd. I care not. Pet. "Tis with cares. Kath. 1 degenerate cock. 2 By. Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so. Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing coun teous; But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will; Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp? O slanderous world! Kate, like the hazle-twig, Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue As hazle nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 0, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt. Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove, As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. Kath. A witty mother! witless else her son. Pet. Am I not wise? Kath. Yes; keep you warm. Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed: And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms:--Your father hath consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, (Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,) Thou must be married to no man but me: For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate; And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate Conformable, as other household Kates. Here comes your father: never make denial, I must and will have Katharine to my wife. Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio: How speed you with My daughter? Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your dumps? Kath. Call you me daughter? now I promise you, You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. Pet. Father, 'tis thus,-yourself and all the world, That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her; If she be curst, it is for policy: For she's not frowar!, but modest as the dove: She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel; And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: And to conclude,-we have 'greed so well toge- ther, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. Gre. Hark, Petruchio! she says she'll see thee hangid frst. Tra. Is this your speadir night our part! nay, then, good 262 ACT. III. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself; Tra. That only came well in-Sir, list to me. I am my father's heir, and only son: If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four as good, Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old signior Gremio has in Padua ; !-Besides two thousand ducats by the year, Of fruitful land, all which slut! be her jointure. What, have I pinch'd you, si nior Gremio? Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land My land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall have; besides an argosy, That now is lying in Marseilles' road:- What, have I chok'd you with an argosy? If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see,2 How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock³ wretch can make the curstest shrew.- Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day :- Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine. Bap. I know not what to say: but give me your hands; God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match. Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace:- We will have rings, and things, and fine array; And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday. [Exeunt Petruchio and Katharine, severally. Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart. Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: "Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. Bap. The gain I seek is-quiet in the match. Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter;- Now is the day we long have looked for; Im your neighbour, and was suitor first. I. 1. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as Tra. Grey beard! thy love doth freeze. Gre. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth. Tra. But youth, in ladies eyes that flourisheth. Bap. Content you, ger lemen; I'll compound this strife: 'Tis deeds, must win th prize; and he, of both, That can assure my daughter greatest dower, Shall have Bianca's love.- Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her? Gre. First, as vou know, my house within the city, Is richly furnish'd with plate and gold; Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry: In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints,4 Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linn, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, Pewter and brass, and all things that belong To use, or housekeeping: then, at my farm, I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, ?x score fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers, If, whilst I live, she will be only mine. 1 To vie and revie were terms at cards now superseded by the word brag. 2 It is well worth seeing. 3 A dastardly creature. 4 Coverings for beds; now called counterpanes. I 5 Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no les Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses," And twelve tight gallies: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have ;-- If you like me, she shall have me and mine. Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me: If you should dic before him, where's her dower? Tra. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old Bap. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd:-On Sunday next you know, My daughter Katharine is to be married: Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you make this assurance; If not, to signior Gremio: And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Ex. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour.-Now I fear thee not; Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and, in his waning age, Set foot under thy table: Tut! a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten." 'Tis in my head to do my master good:- I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd-suppos'd Vincentio; And that's a wonder: fathers, commonly, Do get their children; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I-A room in Baptista's house. Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far To know the cause why music was ordain'd! 5 A large merchant-ship. 6 A vessel ot burthen worked both with sails and oars. 7 The highest card. SCENE II. 263 TAMING OF THE SHREW, Was it not, to refresh the mind of man, After his studies, or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. Hor. Sirrah, I will not hear these braves of thine. Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholar' in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours, nor pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:- Take you your instrument, play you the w! iles; His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? [To Bianca.-Hortensio retires. Luc. That will be never;-tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Here, madam:- Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeic tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. Bian. Construc them. Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before,-Simois, I am Lucentio,-hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, -Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love; Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a woo- ing,-Priami, is my man Tranio,-regia, bearing my port,-celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.2 Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. Bian. Let's hear;- [Returning. [Hortensio plays. A re, to plead Hortensio's passion; B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, C faut, that loves with all affection; D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I; E la mi, show pity, or I die. Call you this-gamut? tut! I like it not. Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,* To change true rules for odd inventions. Enter Servant. Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. And help to dress your sister's chamber up; Bian. Farewell, sweet inasters, both; I must begone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit. Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; Methinks he locks as though he were in love:- Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, Seize thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging, To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,s Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. Exit. SCENE 11.-The same. Before Baptista's house, Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina, Bi- anca, Lucentio, and attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, [To Tranio.] this is the 'pointed day O fie! the treble jars. Laic. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac And yet we hear not of our son-in-law: bat Simois, I know you not; hic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not,-Hic steteral Priami, take heed he hear us not;-regia, presume not;-celsa senis, despair not. All but the base. What will be said? what mockery will it be. To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage? What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, De fore'd jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. Mistrust it not for, sure, acides Was Ajax,-call'd so from his grandfather. Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you :- Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. Hor. You may go walk, [To Lucentio.] give me leave a while; and My lessons make no music in three parts. Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, 0.ir fine musician groweth amorous. Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, [Aside. To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art; To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, 1 No schoolboy, liable to be whipped. 2 The old cully ir. Italian farces. Unto a mad-brain'd rudesby, full of spleen; Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: And, to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns, Now must the world point at poor Katharine, Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. And say,-Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her. Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptis:& too; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though! [Exit, weeping, followed by Bianca, and others. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep For such an injury would vex a saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of! Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchic's coming? Bap. Is he come? 3 Pedant. 5 Bait, decoy. 4 Fantastical. 6 Caprice, inconstancy 264 Аст III. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Bion. Why, no, sir. Bap. What then? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there. Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival. Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself? robes; Tra. But, say, what:-To thine old news. Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice Though in some part enforced to digress:" turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword As you shall weil be satisfied withal. ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, But, where is Kate? I stay too long from her; and chapeless; with two broken points: His horse The morning wears, "is time we were at church. hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no Tra. Sce not your bride in these unrevereni kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives,2 stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots; swayed in the back, and shoulder- shotten; ne'er-legged before, and with a half- To me she's married, not unto my clothes: checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather: Could I repair what she will wear in me, which, being restrained to keep him from stum- As I can change these poor accoutrements, bling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. knots: one girt six times pieced, and a woman's But what a fool am I, to chat with you, crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there And seal the title with a lovely kiss? pieced with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capa- risoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list: an old hat, and The hu- mour of forty fancies pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel; and not like a Christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;- Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Pet. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore have done with words; [Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio, and Biondello. Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire: We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church. Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. [Eat Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add Her father's liking: Which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to your worship, am to get a man,-whate'er he be, I It skills not much: we'll fit him to our turn,- And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; Bap. I am glad he is come, nowsoe'er he And make assurance, here in Padua, comes. Bion. Why, sir, he comes not." Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes? Bion. Who? that Petruchio came? Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent. Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him "Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage, on his back. Bap. Why, that's all one. Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and irumio. Pet. Come, where he these gallants? who is at home? Bap. You are welcome, sir. Pet. And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. As I wish you were. Not so well apparell'd Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? How does my father?-Gentles, methinks you frown: And wherefore gaze this goodly company; As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy? Which once perform'd, let all the world say-no, I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business: We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola; The quaint' musician, amorous Licio; All for my master's sake, Lucentio.- Re-enter Gremio. Signior Gremio, came you from the church? Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? Gre. A bridegroom, say you? 'tis a groom, deed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. wed-I'll tell you, sir Lucentio; When the priest Should ask-if Katharine should be his wife, Ay by gogs-wouns, quoth he; and swore so loud, 4 Stocking. Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your ding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; 1 Farcy. 2 Vives; a distemper in horses little differing from the strangles. 3 Velvet. 5 2. e. To deviate from my promise. Matters. 6 7 Strange. SCENE 1. 265 TAMING OF THE SHREW. That all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book: And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff, That down fell priest and book, and book and priest; Now take them up, quoth he, if any list. Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again? Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd, and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine:-A health, quoth he; as if He had been aboard carousing to his mates After a storm:-Quaff'd off the muscadel,¹ And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; Having no other reason,- But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, And seem'd to ask him sops as ne was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck; And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack, That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 1, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming: Such a mad marriage never was before; Hark, hark! I hear the n.instrels play. Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio, and train. Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank your pains: [Music. you for I know, you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave. Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night? Pet. I must away to-day, before night come :- Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife: Dine with my father, drink a health to me; For I must hence, and farewell to you all. Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. Pet. It may not be. Gre. Pet. It cannot be. Kath. Let me entreat you. Let me entreat you. Pet. I am content. Kath. Are you content to stay? Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. Pet. Grumio, my horses. Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses. Kath. Nay, then, If she had not a spirit to resist. Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, ai thy com mand:-- Obey the bride, you that attend or her: Go to the feast, revel and domincer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry,--or go hang yourselves; But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, or stare, nor fret: I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household-stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; i'll bring my action on the proudest he That stops my way in Pada.--Grumio, Draw orth thy weapon, we.. beset with thieves Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man:-- Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate; Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. The door is open, sir, there lies your way. You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green; For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself:- Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, That take it on you at the first so roundly. Pel. O, Kate, content thee; pr'ythee, be not angry. Kath. I will be angry; What hast thou to do?- Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. I'll buckler thee against a million. [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharine, and Grumio. Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like! Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? Bian. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. Bup. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants G For to supply the places at the table, You know, there wants no junkets2 at the feast ;- Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; And let Bianca take her sister's room. Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? Bap. She shall, Lucentio.-Come, gentlemer. let's go. [Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I-A hall in Petruchio's country houss. Enter Grumio. Gru. Fie, fie, on all tired jades! on all mad masters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever man so rayed?3 was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me:-But I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold.-Holla, hoa! Curtis! Enter Curtis. Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly? Gru. A piece of ice: If thou doubt it, thou may'st slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, see Curtis. Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire, cast on no water. Gre. Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work. Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:-but, 1 sce a woman may be made a fool, Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost: beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my It was the custom for the company present new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. to drink wine immediately after the marriage- ceremony. 2 Delicacies. 3 Bewrayed, dirty. 266 ACT. IV. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Curt. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is foot; and so long am I, at the least. But wiltiter, thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou snalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office. Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How goes the world? Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and, therefore, fire: Do thy duty, and have thy duty; for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. Curt. There's fire ready; And therefore, good Grumio, the news? Gru. Why, Jack boy! ho boy! and as much news as thou wilt. Gru. Call them forth. Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my mas. to countenance my mistress. Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. Curt. Who brows not that? Gru. Thot, it seems; that callest for company to countenance her. Curt. I call them forth to credit her. Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them, Enter several Servants. Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. Phil. How now, Grumio? Jos. What, Grumio! Nich. Fellow Grumio! Nath. How now, old lad? Gru. Welcome, you;-how now, you;-what, Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching:-you;-fellow, you; and thus much for greeting. Gru. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, things neat? the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; Nath. All things is ready: How near is our the serving-men in their new fustian, their white master? stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment Gru. E'en at hand, alighted ere this; and there- on? Be the jacks iair within, the jills fair without, fore, be not,Cock's passion, silence!I hear the carpets laid, and every thing in order? my master. Curt. All ready; And therefore, I pray thee, news? Gru. First, know, my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out. Curt. How? Enter Petruchio and Katharina. Pet. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door, To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse? Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt; And Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? thereby hangs a tale. Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine ear. Curt. Here. Gru. There. [Striking him. Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. Gru. And therefore 'tis called, a sensible tale: and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and be- seech listening. Now i begin: Imprimis, we came down a feul hill, my master riding behind my mis- ess:- Chrt. Both on one horse? Gru. What's that to thee? Curt. Why, a horse. All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir. Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, su!- You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! What, no attendance? no regard? no duty ?- Where is the foolish knave I sent before? Gru. Here, sir; as foolish: as I was before, Pet. You peasant swain! you whoreson malt- horse drudge Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i'the heel; There was no link4 to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing. Gru. Tell thou the tale:But hadst thou not There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and G: crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse gory; fell, and she under her horse; thou should'st have The rest were ragged, old, and beggar y; heard, in how miry a place: how she was bemoil-Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. ed; how he left her with the horse upon her; how Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetchy surer in.- he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she [Exeunt some f the Servante. waded through the dirt to pluck him off me; how Where is the life that late 1 led- he swore; how she prayed-that never prayed be- Where are those-Sit down, Kate, and welcome. fore; how I cried; how the horses ran away; how, Soud, soud, soud, soud ! her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper ;- Re-enter Servants with supper. with many things of worthy memory; which now! shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced Why, when, I say?-Nay, goud sweet Kate, be to thy grave. merry. When? [Sings. [Strikes ham. Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than Off with: my boots, you rogues, you villains; she. It was the friar of orders grey, Gru. Ay, and that, thou and the proudest of As he forth walked on his way:- you all shall find, when he comes home. But what Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry; talk I of this?-call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nich- Take that, and mend the plucking of the other. olas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats Be merry, Kate:-Some water, here, wh, ao!- brushed, and their garters of an indifferent knit: Where's my spaniel Troilus?-Sirrah, you let them curtsey with their left legs; and not pre- sume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? Curt. They are. 1 Bemired. 2 Broken. 3 Not different one from the other. 4 A torch of pitch. hence, [Ft Servant. One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.- 5 A word coined by Shakspeare, to express the noise made by a person tated fatigued. SCENE II. 267 TAMING OF THE SHREW. mour: Where are my slippers ?-Shall I have some water? This is the way to kill a wife with kindness; A bason is presented to him. And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily:- Servant lets the ewer fall. He tnat knows better how to tame a snrew, You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show. [Exil. [Strikes him. Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault un-SCENE II.-Padua. Before Baptista's house. Enter Tranio and Hortensio. willing. Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I ?-I What is this? mutton? 1 Serv. Pet. 1 Serv. Ay. Who brought it? I. Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat: What dogs are these ?-Where is the rascal cooi:? How durst you, villains, bring it from the div And serve it thus to me that love it not? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all: [Throws the meat, &c. about the stage. You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves? What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; The meat was well, if you were so contented. Pet. I tell tice, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away; And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choler, planteth anger; And better 'twere, that both of us did fast,- Sie, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,- hn feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be atient; to-morrow it shall be mended, A 1, for this night, we'll fast for company: ( ne, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Curtis. Nath. [Advancing.] Peter, didst ever see the like? Peter. He kills her in her own humour. Re-enter Curtis. Gru. Where is he? Curt. In her chamber, Making a sermon of continency to her: And rails, and swears, and rates; that she, poor soul, Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak; And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither. Re-enter Petruchio. [Exeunt. Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully: My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty; And till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard,2 To make her come, and know her keeper's call, That is,-to watch her, as we watch these kites, That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'll find about the making of the bed; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. [They stand aside. Enter Bianca and Lucentio. Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? Bran. What, master, read you? first resolve me that. Luc. I read that I profess, the art to love. Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art! Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. [They retire. Hor. Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me I pray, You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. Tra. O despiteful love! unconstant woman- kind!- I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. Hor. Mistake no more: I am not Licio, Nor a musician, as I seem to be; But one that scorn to live in this disguise, For such a one as leaves a gentleman, And makes a god of such a cullion: Know, sir, that I am call'd-Hortensio. Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca; And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, I will with you,-if you be so contented,- Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. Hor. See, how they kiss and court!-Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow- Never to woo her more; but do forswear her, As one unworthy all the former favours That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,- Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat: Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him. Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow, Ere three days pass; which hath as long lov'd me, As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard: And so farewell, signior Lucentio.- Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love :-and so I take my leave, In resolution as I swore before. [Exit Hortensio.-Luc. and Bian advance. Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! This way the coverlet, another way the sheets:-Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love; Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend,4 That all is done in reverent care of her; And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night; And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail, and brawl, And with the clamour keep her still awake. A thing stuffed to look like the game which Dawk was to pursue. To tame my wild hawk. And have forsworn you, with Hortensio. Bian. Tranio, you jest; But have you botn for- sworn me? Tra. Mistress, we have. Luc. Then we are rid of Lic Tra. I'faith, he'll have a lusty widow now, 3 Flutter. 5 Despicable fellow. 4 Pretend. 268. ACT IV. TAMING OF THE SHREW. That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. Bian. God give him joy! Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. Bian. He says so, Tranio. Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. Bian. The taming-school! what, is there such a place? Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master; That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,- To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. Enter Biondello running. Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long, That I'm dog-weary; but at last I spied An ancient angel' coming down the hill, Will serve the turn. Tra. What is he, Biondello? Bion. Master, a mercatanté, or a pedant,2 I know not what; but formal in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father. Luc. And what of him, Tranio? Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio ; And give assurance to Baptista Minola, As if he were the right Vincentio. Take in your love, and then let me alone. [Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. Enter a Pedant. Ped. God save you, sir! Tra. And you, sir! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest? Ped. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two: But then up further, and as far as Rome; And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. Tra. What countryman, I pray? Ped. Of Mantua. Tra. Of Mantua, sir?-marry, God forbid! And come to Padua, careless of your life? Ped. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard. Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua; Know you not the cause? Your ships are staid at Venice; and the duke (For private quarrel 'trixt your duke and him,) Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'Tis marvel; but that you're but newly come, You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Ped. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence, and must here deliver them. Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, This will I do, and this will I advise you ;- First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio : Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him; A merchant of incomparable wealth. Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. Ped. O, sir, I ao; and will repute vou ever The patron of my life and liberty. Tra Then go with me, to make the matter good This, by the way, I let you understand ;- My father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance of a dower in marriage "Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here: In all these circumstances I'll instruct you: Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A room in Petruchio's house. Enter Katharina and Grumio. Gru. No, no; forsooth; I dare not, for my life. Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears: What, did he marry me to famish me? Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty, have a present alms; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: But I,-who never knew how to entreat,- Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed: And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say,-If I should sleep, or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.-- I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. Gru. What say you to a neat's foot? Kath. 'Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have it. Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat :- How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd? Kath. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. Gru. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. Gru. Av, but the mustard is too hot a little. Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. slave, Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beet. Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding [Beats him. That feed'st me with the very name of meat: Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, That triumph thus upon my misery! Go, get thee gone, I say. Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hor- tensio. Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort ?* Hor. Mistress, what cheer? Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. [Aside. Here, love; thou see'st how diligent I am, To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee: Tra. To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake; And think it not the worst of all your fortunes, That your are like to sir Vincentio. His name and credit shall you undertake, And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;- Look, that you take upon you as you should; You understand me, sir ;-so shall you stay Till you have done your business in the city: If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 1 Messenger. 2 A merchant or a schoolmaster. [Sets the dish on a table. I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word? Nay, then, thou lov'st it not; And all my pains is sorted to no proof:-- Here, take away this dish. Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. Kath. I thank you, sir. 3 Dispirited: a gallicism. SCENE III. 269 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame! Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me.- [Aside. Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! Kate, eat apace:-And now, my honey love, Will we return unto thy father's house; And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things; With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bra- very,' With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. What, hast thou dined? The tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his ruffling2 treasure. Enter Tailor. Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments. Enter Haberdasher. Lay forth the gown.-What news with you, sir? Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer; A velvet dish;-fe, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy: Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnut shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap; Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then. Hor. That will not be in haste. Aside, Kath. Why, si, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will; I am no child, no babe: Your betters have endur'd me say my mind; And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the auger of my heart; Or else my heart, concealing it, will break: And, rather than it shall, I will be free Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. Pet. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie: I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none. Pet. Thy gown? why, ay:-Coa, tailor, let us see't. O merey, Ged! what masking stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: What! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart? Here's snip, and nip, and cut, rl slish, and slash, Like to a censer4 in a barber's shop:- Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor gown. [Aside. Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion, and the time. Pet. Marry, and did; but if you be remembered, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you shall hop without my custom, sir: I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it. Kath. I never saw a better-fashioned gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commend- able: Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. Pet. Why, true; he means to make a puppet thee. 1 Finery. 2 Rustling. of A coffin was the culinary term for raised crust. 4 These censers resembled our brasiers in shape. Tai. She says, your worship means to make a puppet of her. Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, Thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou:- Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread' Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made Just as my master had direction: I Grumio gave order how it should be done. Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. Tai. But how did you desire it should be made? Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? Gru. Thou hast faced many things." Tai. I have. Gru. Face not me: thou hast brav'd many men, brave not me; I will neither be faced nor braved. I say unto thee,-I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest. Tai. Why, here is the note of the fanion to testify. Pet. Read it. Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say I said so. Tai. Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown: Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown. sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: I said, a gown. Pet. Proceed. Tai. With a small compassed cape: Gru. I confess the cape. Tai. With a trunk sleeve;- Gru. I confess two sleeves. Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. Pet. Ay, there's the villany. Gru. Error i'the bill, sir; error i'the bill. 1 commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon the. though thy little finger be arm'd in a thimble. Tai. This is true, that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou should'st know it. Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds. Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. Gru. You are the right, sir; 'tis for my mistress. Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. Gru. Villain, not for thy life: Take up my mis- tress' gown for thy master's use ! Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for: Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use! O, fie, fie, fie! Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tail. paid:- [Aside. Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more. Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-mor row. Take no unkindness of his lasty words: Away, I say; commend me to thy master. (Exit Tailor. Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's, 5 Curious. 6 Be-measure. 7 Turned up many garments with facings. 8 A round cape. 9 Measuring-yard.. 270 ACT. IV. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Even in these honest mean habiliments; Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth' in the meanest habit. What, is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his feathers are more beautifui? Or is the adder better than the eel, Because his painted skin contents the eye? O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse For this poor furniture, and mean array. If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me: And therefore, frolic; we will hence forthwith, To feast and sport us at thy father's house.- Go, call my men, and let us straight him; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.- Let's see; I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock, And well we may come there by dinner-time. Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; And 'twill be supper-time, ere you come there. Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse: Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are still crossing it.-Sirs, let't alone: I will not go to-day; and ere I do, It shall be what o'clock I say it is. Hor. Why so! this gallant will command the sun. [Exeunt. To have him match'd; and,-if you please to like No worse than I, sir,-upon some agreement, Me shall you find most ready and most willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd; For curious3 I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of who: 1 hear so well. Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ;- Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well Right true it is, your son. Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or both dissemble deeply their affections: And, therefore, if you say no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him, And pass4 my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is fully made, and all is done: Your son shall have my daughter with consent. Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best, We be affied; and such assurance ta'en, As shall with either part's agreement stand? Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants: Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still; And, happily, we might be interrupted. Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir: There doth my father lie; and there, this night, We'll pass the business privately and well: Send for your daughter by your servant here, My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. SCENE IV.-Padua.-Before Baptista's house. The worst is this,-that, at so slender warning, Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like Vin-You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. centio. T-a. Sir, this is the house; Please it you, that call? Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, Signior Baptista may remember me, Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where We were lodgers at the Pegasus. Tra. 'Tis well; And hold your own, in any case, with such Austerity as 'longeth to a father. Enter Biordcilo. I Ped. I warrant you: But, sir, here comes your boy; 'Twere good he were school'd. Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, Now do your duty thoroughly, I advise you; Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. Bion. Tut! fear not me. Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice; And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. Bap. It likes me well:-Cambio, hie you home. And bid Bianca make her ready straight; And, if you will, tell what hath happened:- Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart! Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: Come, sir; we'll better it in Pisa. Bap. I follow you. [Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. Bion. Cambio.- Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Bion. 'Faith, nothing; but he has left me here behind, to expound the meaning or moral" of his signs and tokens. Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. Tra. Thou'rt a tall fellow; hold thee that to the deceiving father of a deceitful son. drink. Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with Here comes Baptista:-set your countenance, sir.- Enter Baptista and Lucentio. Signior Baptista, you are haply met:- Sir, [To the Pedant.] This is the gentleman I told you of; I pray you, stand good father to me now, Give me Bianca for my patrimony. Ped. Soft, son !-- Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a weighty cause Of love between your daughter and himself. And,--for the good report I hear of you; And for the love he beareth to your daughter, And she to him,-to stay him not too long, I am content, in a good father's care, 1 Appeareth. 2 Brave. 3 Scrupulous. 4 Assure or convey. 5 Betrothed. - Luc. And what of him? Bion. His daghter is to be brought by you to the supper. Luc. And then?- Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. Luc. And what of all this? Bion. I cannot tell; except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance: Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum: to the church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for, I have rore to say, But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. Going. Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? Rion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married 6 Accidentally. 7 Secret purpose. SCENE L 271 TAMING OF THE SHREW. me; in an afternoon as she went to the garden for pars-Which way thou travellest: if along with us, ley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir, and so We shall be joyful of thy company. adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Vin. Fair sir,-and you my merry mistress, Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come That with your strange encounter much amaz'd against you come with your appendix. [Exit. Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented: She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; It shall go hard if Cambia go without her. [Exit. SCENE V-A public road. Enter Petruchio, Katharina and Hortensio. Pet. Come on, o' God's name; once more to-I ward our father's. Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! Kath. The moon! the sun; it is not moonlight now. Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house:- Go on, and fetch our horses back again.- Evermore cross'd, and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: And if you please to call it a rush candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. Pet. I say, it is the moon. Kath. I know it i. Pet. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sn. Kath. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun:- But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes, even as your mind. What you will have it nam'd, even that it is; And so it shall be so, for Katharine. Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. Pet. Well, forward, forward; thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias.- But soft; what company is coming here? Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. Good-morrow, gentle mistress: Where away?- [To Vincentio. Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with so much beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face?.. Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee:- Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. Hur. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and sweet, Whither away; or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child: Happier the man, whom favourable stars A.lot thee for his lovely bed-fellow! Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not, mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd; And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun, That every thing I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make known My name is call'd-Vincentio; my dwelling-Pisa; And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. Pet. What is his name? Vin. Lucentio, gentie sir. Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son And now by law, as well as reverend age, may entitle thee-my loving father; The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, Thy son by this hath married: Wonder not, Nor be not griev'd; she is of good esteem, Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio: And wander we to see thy honest son, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, Like pleasant traveliers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake? Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. [Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Vincentio. Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. Have my widow; and if she be forward, 7 hen hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. [Exit. ACT V. SCL-Padua. Before Lucentio's house, Ente, one side Biondello, Lucentio, and Bi- anca; Gremio walking on the other side. Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready. Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore leave us. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and then come back to my master as soon as I can. [Exeunt Luc. Bian, and Bion. Gre. I marvel Cambio come not all this while. Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and at- tendants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house. My father's bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go; I think, I shall command your welcome here, And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. Knocks Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock louder. Enter Pedant above at a window. Ped. What's he, that knocks as ne would beat jdown the gate? l'in. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to make merry withal? Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none, so long as I live. Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in 272 ACT V. TAMING OF THE SHREW. Padua.-Do you hear, sir?-to leave frivolous cir- cumstances,I pray you tell signior Lucentio, that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Ped. Thou liest: his father is come from Pisa, and here looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father? Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may be- lieve her. Pet. Why, how now, gentlemen! [To Vincen.] why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name. Ped. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a meansj to cozen somebody in this city under my counte- nance. Re-enter Biondello. Bion. I have seen them in the church together; God send 'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old master, Vincentio? now we are undone, and brought to nothing, Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. Seeing Biondello. Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. Vin. Come, hither, you rogue; What, have you forgot me? Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in, ll my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? name:-0, my son, my son!-tell me, thou villain. where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer: [Enter one with an officer.] carry this mad knave to the gaol:-Father Baptista, I charge you see, that he be forth-coming. Vin. Carry me to the gaol! Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio; I say, he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be conycatched2 in this business; I dare swear, this the right Vincentio. i Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lucentio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him. Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd:- O monstrous villain! Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of the win-Where is Lucentio ? dow. Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio, and Bianca. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and-Yonder he is; deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling, Vin. Lives my sweetest son? [Biondello, Tranio, and Fedant, run out. Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. Bap. How hast thou offended?-- Luc. Here's Lucentio, Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beats Biondello. Right son unto the right Vincentio ; Bion. Help, help, help! here's a mailman will That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, murder me. [Exit. While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.3 Gre. Here's packing,4 with a witness, to deceive Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! [Exit from the window. us all! Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the end of this controversy. [They retire. Re-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Tranio, and servants. Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir?- O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat -0. I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. Tra. How now! what's the matter? Bap. What, is the man lunatic? Fin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arriv'd at last Unto the wished haven of my bliss:- What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have se: t me to the gaol. Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.] Have you married my daughter without asking my good- will? Tra Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a mad- Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, man: Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear go to: But I will in, to be revenged for this villany. pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Vin. Thy father? O, villain! he is a sail-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Pray, what do you think is his name? Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name! 1 [Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. Gre. My cake is dough: But I'll in among the rest; have brought him up ever since he was three years Out of hope of all,-but my share of the feast. old, and his name is-Tranio. Ped. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucen- Petruchio and Katharina advance. [Exiv. tio!-and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of of me, signior Vincentio. Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his mas- ter!-Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's 1 A hat with a conical crown. 2 Cheated. 3 Deceived thy eves. 4 Tricking, unde-hand contrivances. this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. Kath. What, in the midst of the street? Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me? 5 A proverbial expression, repeated after a disappoitment. SCENE II. 273 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Kath. No, sır; God forbid :-but asham'd to kiss. Pet. Why, then let's home again :-Come, sir- rah, let's away. kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay. Pet. is not this well?-Come, my sweet Kate; Better once than never, for never too late. [Exe. SCENE II-A room in Lucentio's house. A banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two. Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow:- You are welcome all. [Exeunt Bianca, Katharina and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me.-Here, signior Tranio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petruchio, This bird you aira'd at, though you hit her not; Katharina, Hortensio, and Widow. Tranio, Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. Biondello, Grumio, and others attending. Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey- Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And time it is, when raging war is done, To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown.- My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine:- Brother Petruchio,-sister Katharina,- And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,- Feast with the best, and welcome to my house; My banquet' is to close our stomachs up, After our great good cheer: Pray you sit down; For now we sit to chat, as well as at. [They sit at table. Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, arid eat and eat! Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were true. Pet. Now for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss sense; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. hound, Which runs himself, and catches for his maater. Pet. A good swifts simile, but something currish. Tra. "Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Trani.. Hor. Contess, confess, hath he not hit you here? Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; And as the jest did glance away from me, "Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Pet. Well, I say--no: and therefore for assurance, Let's each one send unto his wife; And he, whose wife is most obedient Shall win the wager which we will propose. To come at first, when he doth send for her, Hor. Content:What is the wager? Luc. Twenty crowns. y'il venture so much. ch may hawk, or hound, Pe. Twenty crowns! But twenty times so much upon my wife. Luc. A hundred, then. Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? Wid. Thus I conceive by him. Pet. Conceives by me?-How likes Hortensio that? Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good widow. Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:- I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his wo: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Pet. To her, Kate! Hor. To her, widow! Pet. A hundred marks my Kate does put her down. Hor. That's my office. Pet. Spoke like an officer:-Ha to thee, lad. [Drinks to Hortensio. Hor. Pet. Content. A match; 'tis done. Hor. Who shall begin? Luc. That will I. Go, Bion. 1 go. Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. [Exit. Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Re-enter Biond llo. How now! what news! Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word, That she is busy, and she cannot come. Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come! Is that an answer? Gre. Ay, and a kind one, too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. Pet. I hope better. To come to me forthwith. Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and entreat my wife [Exit Biondello. O, ho! entreat her! Pet. Nay, then she must needs come. Hor. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Re-enter Biondello. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? Now, where's my wife? Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come; she bids you come to her. Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt togethe well. Bian. Head, and butt? a hasty-witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. Fin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come! O Bran. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. 1 A banquet was a refection consisting of fruit, cakes, &c. vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd! Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; 2 Dreads. 3 Witty. 4 Sarcasm. 274 ACT. V. TAMING OF THE SHREW Say, I comman her come to me. [Exit Grumio. Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee Hor. I know her answer. And for thy maintenance: commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cola. While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience, Katha-Too little payment for so great a debt. Pet. What? Hor. She will not come. Pet. The fouler tortune mine, and there an end. Enter Katharina. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes rina! Kath. What is your will, sir, that you sad for me? Fet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come, Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. [Exit Katharina. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Her. And so it is: I wonder what it bodes. Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, An awful rule, and right supremacy; And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio! The wager thou hast won; and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; Another dowry to another daughter, For she is chang'd, as she had never been. Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca, and Widow. See, where she comes; and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.- Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not; Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. [Katharina pulls off her cap, and throws it down. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time. Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- strong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say, she shall ;-and first begin with her. Kath. Fie, fie! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow; Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such, a woman oweth to her husband: And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And, not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am asham'd, that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smootli, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world; Bat that our soft conditions,' and our hearts, Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great; my reason, haply, more, To bandy word for word, and frown for frown: But now, I see our lances are but straws; Our strength as weak, our weakness past com- pare,- That seeming to be most, which we least are. Then vail your stomachs, 2 for it is no boot; And place your hands below your husband's foot: My hand is ready, may it do him ease. In token of which duty, if he please, Pet. Why, there's a wench!-Come on, and kiss me, Kate. Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lal; for thou shalt ha't. Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed :- We three are married, but you two are spcd. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; [To Lucentia. And, being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt Petruchio and Katharine. Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Luc. "Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt Of this play the two plots are so well united, that they can hardly be called two, without injury to the art with which they are interwoven. The attention is entertained with all the variety of a double plot, yet is not distracted by unconnected. And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds; incidents. And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 1 Gentle temper. The part between Katharine and Petruchio s eminently sprightly and diverting. At the marriage of Bianca, the arrival of the real father, perhars produces more perplexity than pleasure. The whole play is very popular and diverting. JOHNSON. 2 Abate your spirits. WINTER'S TALE. Geontes, king of Sicilia. Mamillius, his son. Camillo, Antigonus, Cleomenes, Dion, Sicilian lords. Another Siciliun lord. Rogero, a Sicilian gentleman. PERSONS REPRESENTED. An attendant on the young prince Mamillius. Officers of a court of judicature. Polixenes, king of Bohemia. Florizel, his son. Archidamus, a Bohemian lord. A mariner. Gaoler. An old shepherd, reputed father of Perdita. ACT I. SCENE I-Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leon- tes' palace. Enter Camillo and Archidamus. Archidamus. IF you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference oetwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which e justly owes him. Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame ns we will be justified in our loves: for, indeed,- Cam. 'Beseech you,- Clown, his son. Servant to the old shepherd. Autolycus, a rogue. Time, as chorus. Hermione, queen to Leontes. Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. Paulina, wife to Antigonus. Emilia, a lady, Two other ladies, attending the queen. Mopsa, Shepherdesses. Dorcas, Lords, ladies, and attendants: satyrs for a dance, shepherds, shepherdesses, guards, &c. Scene, sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un- speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever came into my note. Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it is a gallant child; one that, indeed, phy- sics the subject,3 makes old hearts fresh: they, that sent on cruche's ere he was born, desire yet their life, to see him a man. Arch. Would they else be content to die? they should desire to live. Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. SCENE 11.-The same. A room of state in the palate. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo, and attendants. Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence- Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been in so rare-I know not what to say.--We will The shepherd's not, since we have left our throne give you sleepy drinks; that your senses, unintelli- Without a burden: time as long again gent of our insufficience, may, though they can- Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks: not praise us, as little accuse us. And yet we should, for perpetuity, Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher, given freely. Yet standing in rich place, I multiply, With one we-thank-you, many thousands more That go before it. Arch. Believe ine, I speak as my understanding instructs ine, and as mine honesty puts it to utter- ance. Leon. And pay them when you part. Stay your thanks awhile; Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance, such an affection, which cannot choose but branch Or breed upon our absence: That may blow now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal No sneaping4 winds at home, to make us say, necessities, made separation of their society, their This is put forth too truly! Besides, I have stay'd encounters, though not personal, have been royally To tire your royalty. attornied' with interchange of gifts, letters, loving Leon. Pol. Leon. One seven-night Pol. embassies; that they have seemed to be together. Than you can put us to't. though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; 2 and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! Arch. I think, there is not in the world either 1 Nobly supplied by substitution of embassies. 2 Wide waste of country. We are tougher, brother: No longer stay. longer. Very sooth, to-morrow Leon. We'll part the time between's then; and in that 3 Affords a cordial to the state. 4 Nipping. 276 Acr.L. WINTER'S TALE. I'll no gainsaying. Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so; There is no tongue that moves, none, none 'i the world, So soon as yours could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although "Twere needful I denied it. My affairs, Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder, Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay, To you a charge, and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother. Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure, All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd; say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. Leon. Well said, Hermione. Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong: But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.- Yet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll ad- verture The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, To let him there a month, behind the gest¹ Prefix'd for his parting yet, good deed,2 Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind What lady she her lord.-You'll stay? Pol. No, madam. Her. Nay, but you will? Pol. I may not, verily. Her. Verily! You put me off with limber4 vows: But I, With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly, Not guilty; the imposition clear'd, Hereditary ours." Her. By this we gather, You have tripp'd since. Pol. O my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to us: fox In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow. Her. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion; lest you say, Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on; The offences we have made you do, we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. Leon. Is he won yet? Her. He'll stay, my lord. Leon. At my request, he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st To better purpose. I Her. Leon. Never? Never, but once. Her. What? have I twice said well? wher. was't before? pr'ythee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueless, Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: You may ride us, With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal;- My last good was, to entreat his stay; What was my first? it has an elder sister, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with Or I mistake you: 0, would her name were Grace! oaths, Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, You shall not go; a lady's verily is As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees, But once before I spoke to the purpose. When? Nay, let me have't; I long. Leon. Why, that was wher Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves t death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, When you depart, and save your thanks. How eay And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, you? My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily, One of them you shall be. Pol. Your guest then, madam: To be your prisoner, should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit, Than you to punish. Her. Not your gaoler then, But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys; You were pretty lordings then. Pol. We were, fair queen, Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd, Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd That any did: Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 1 Gests were the names of the stages where the king appointed to lie, during a royal progress. 2 Indeed. 3 Tick. 4 Flimsy. 5 A diminutive of lords. I am yours for ever. Her. It is Grace, indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; The other, for some while a friend. [Giving her hand to Polixenes. Leon. Too hot, too hot: [Aside. To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances; But not for joy,-not joy.-This entertainment May a free face put on; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent: it may, I grant: But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, As now they are; and making practis'd smiles, As in a looking-glass;-and then to sigh, as 'twere The mort o'the deer; 0, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows.-Mamillius, Art thou my boy? Mam. Leon. Ay, my good lord. I'feeks? Why, that's my bawcock." What, hast smutch'd thy nose ?- They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain 6 Setting aside original sin. 7 Trembling of the heart. 8 The tune played at the death of the deer. 9 Hearty fellow. SCENE II. 277 WINTER'S TALE. there? We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: We are yours i'the garden: Shall's attend you And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd, neat.-Still virginalling! [Observing Polixenes and Hermione. Upon his palm ?-How now, you wanton calf? Art thou my calf? Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have,2 To be full like me :-yet, they say, we are Almost as like as eggs; women say so, That will say any thing: But were they false As o'er-died blacks, as wind, as waters; false As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes No bourn³ twixt his and mine; yet were it true To say this boy were like me.-Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin' eye: Sweet villain! Most dear'st! my collop!-Can thy dam ?-nay't be? Affection! thy infection stabs the centre: Thou dost make possible, things not so held, Communicat'st with dreams;--(How can this With what's unreal thou coactive art, Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky :-I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! [Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hermione. How she holds up the neb, 10 the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Gone already; Inch-thick, knee-deep; o'er head and ears a fork'd one. 12 [Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and attendants. Go, play, boy, play ;-thy mother plays, and I Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour Will be my knell.-Go, play, boy, play;-There have been, Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, be?)-Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence, And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates; and those gates open'd, And fellow'st nothing: Then, 'tis very credent,5 Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost; (And that beyond commission; and I find it,) And that to the infection of my brains, And hardening of my brows. Pol. What means Sicilia Her. He something seems unsettled. Pol. ? How, my lord? What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? Her. You look, As if you held a brow of much distraction: Are you mov'd, my lord? Leon. No, in good earnest.- How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Ot my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman :-mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money?" Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. Leon. You will? why, happy man be his dole!- My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince, as we Do seem to be of ours? Pol. If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all; He makes a July's day short as December; And, with his varying childness, cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. Leon. Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord, So stands this quire And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione, How thou fov'st us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap: Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. Her. If you would seek us, 1 i. e. Playing with her fingers as if on a spinnet. 2 Thou wantest a rough head, and the budding horns that I have. 3 Boundary. 6 Tea-cod. 4 Blue. 5 Credible. 7 Will you be cajoled? As mine, against their will: Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east, west, north, and south: Be it concluded, No barricado for a belly; know it; It will let in and out the enemy, With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us Have the disease, and feel't not.-How now, boy? Mam. I am like you, they say. Leon. Why, that's some comfort.- What! Camillo there? Cam. Ay, my good lord. man.- Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest [Exit Mamillius. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: When you cast out, it still came home. Leon. Didst note it? Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business more material. Leon. Didst perceive it?- They're here with me already; whispering round- ing,13 Sicilia is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone, When I shall gust' it last.-How cam't, Camille, That he did stay? Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. Leon. At the queen's be't: good, should be per- tinent; But so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks:-Not noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals, Of head-piece extraordinary lower messes, 15 Perchance, are to this business purblind: say. Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most under- stand Bohemia stays here longer. 8 May his share of life be a happy one! 9 Heir apparent, next claimant. 10 Mouth. 11 Approving. 12 A horned one, a cuckcld. 13 To round in the ear was to tell secretly. 15 Inferiors in rank. 14 Taste. 278 ACT I. WINTER'S TALE. Leon. Cam. Ha? Stays here longer. Leon. Ay, but why? Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. Leon. Satisfy The entreaties of your mistress?-satisfy ?- Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-counsels: wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleans'd my bosom; I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd in that which seems so. Cam. Be it forbid, my lord! Leon. To bide upon't;-Thou art not honest: or, If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes' honesty behind, restraining From course requir'd: Or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust, And therein negligent; or else a fool, That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings If this be nothing. Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. Leon. Cam. No, no, my lord. Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true. It is; you lie, you lie : I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave; Or else a hovering temporizer, that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass.3 Cam. Who does infect her? Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hanging That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake About his neck, Bohemia: Who-if I drawn, And tak'st it all for jest. Cam. My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; In every one of these no man is free, But that his negligence, nis folly, fear, Amongst the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilful-negligent, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord, Are such a'low'd infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage: if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, (But that's past doubt: you have; or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard (For, to a vison so apparent, ruinour Cannot be mute,) or thought (for cogitation Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, (Or else be impudently negative, Had servants true about me; that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as 'heir profits, Their own particular thrifts,--they would do that Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou His cup-bearer,-whom a meaner form Have bench'd, and rear' to worship; who may'st see Plainly, as heaven sess earth, and earth sees heaven, How I am galle-might'st bespice a cup, To give mine enelay a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. Cam. Sir, my lord, I could do this; and that with no rash4 potion, But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work Maliciously like poison: But I cannot Believe this c k to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly seing honourable. I have lov'd thee,- Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot, Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve is sleep; which being spotted, Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps? Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine; Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? Could man so blench ?6 Cam. I must believe you, sir; To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say, do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't: My wife's a hobby-horse; deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it. Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken: 'Shrew my heart, You never spoke what did become you less Than this: which to reiterate, were sin As deep as that, though true. Leon. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind With the pin and web, but theirs, the irs only, 1 To hox is to hamstring. 2 Disorders of the eye. 3 Hour-glass. 4 Hasty. Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness Will take agai? your queen, as yours at first; Even for your son's sake; and, thereby, for sealing The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. Leon. Thou dost advise me. Even so as I mine own course have set down: I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. Cam. My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, And with your queen: I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. Leon. This is all: Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou splitt'st thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my lor'. 5 Maliciously, with effects openly hurtful. 6 i. e. Could any man so start off from pro priety? SCENE II. 279 WINTER'S TALE. Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd Since 1 am charg'd in honour, and by him me. [Exit. Cam. O miserable lady!-But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master; one, Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his, so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows: If I could find example Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings, And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! Here comes Bohemia. Pol. Cam. Enter Polixenes. This is strange! methinks, My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?- Good-day, Camillo. Hail, most royal sir! Pol. What is the news i'the court? Cam. None rare, my lord. Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, As he had lost some province, and a region, Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment; when he, Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; and So leaves me to consider what is breeding, That changes thus his manners. Cam. I dare not know, my lord. Pol. How! dare not? do not. Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me? "Tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must; And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror Which shows the mine chang'd too: for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with it. Cam. There is a sickness Which puts some of us in distemper; but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. Pol. How! caught of me? Make me not sighted like the basilisk: I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,-- As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns Our gentry, than our parents' noble names, In whose success' we are gentle, 2-I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my know- ledge Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not In ignorant concealment. Cam. I may not answer. Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! I must be answer'd.-Dost thou hear, Camillo, f conjure thee, by all the parts of man, Which honour does acknowledge,-whereof the least Is not this suit of mine,-that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. Cam. 1 For succession. Sir, I'll tell you; 2 Gentle was opposed to simple; well born. That I think honourable: Therefore, mark mv counsel; Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so good-night. Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed Him to murder you. Pol. By whom, Camillo ? Cam. Pol. By the king.. For what i Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, As he had seen't, or been an instrument To vice you to't,-that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly. Pol. O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly; and my name Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive; and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard, or read! Cam. Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven, and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake The fabric of his folly; whose foundation Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue The standing of his body. 5 Pol. How should this grow? Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty,- That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you Shall bear along impawn'd,-away to-night. Your followers I will whisper to the business; And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns, Clear them o' the city: For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; For, by the honour of my parents, I Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove. I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn. Pol. I do believe thee: I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand; Be pilot to me, and thy places shall Still neighbour mine: My ships are ready, and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago.-This jealousy Is for a precious creature: as she's rare, Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty, Must it be violent; and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me. Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo ; I will respect thee as a father, if Thou bear'st my life off hence: Let us avoid. Cam. It is in mine authority, to command The keys of all the posterns: Please your highness To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. [Erennt 3 i. e. I am the person appointed, &c. 4 Draw, 5 Settled belief. 280 ACT II. WINTER'S TALE. ACT II. SCENE 1.-The same. Enter Hermione, Ma- millius, and Ladies. Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, "Tis past enduring. 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your play-fellow? Mam. No, I'll none of you. 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord? Mam. You'll kiss me hard; and speak to me as I were a baby still.-I love you better. 2 Lady. And why so, my good lord? Mam. Not for because if Your brows are blacker: yet black brows, they say, Become some women best; so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle, Or half-moon made with a pen. 2 Lady. Who taught you this? Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces.-Pray now What colour are your eye-brows? Blue, my lord. 1 Lady. Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 2 Lady. Hark ye: The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall Present our services to a fine new prince, One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us, If we would have you. 1 Lady. She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her! Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now I am for you again: Pray you sit by us, And tell 's a tale. Mam. Merry, or sad, shall't be 2 Her. As merry as you will. Mam. A sad tale's best for winter: I have one of sprites and goblins. Her. Let's have that, sir. Come on, sit down :-Come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful at it. Mam. There was a man,- Her. Nay, come, sit down: then on. Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard;-1 will tell it softly; Yon crickets shall not hear it. Her. And give't me in mine ear. Come on, then, Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others. Leon. Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him? 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way: I ey'd them Even to their ships. Leon. How bless'd am I In my just censure?' in my true opinion?- Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd, In being so blest!-There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink; depart, And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge Is not infected: but if one present The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 1 Judgment. 2 O that my knowledge were less! I 3 Spiders were esteemed poisonous in our au- thor's time. With violent hefts:4-I have drank, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander :- There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted:-that false villain, Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him: He has discover'd my design, and I Remain a pinch'd thing: yea, a very trick For them to play at will:-How came the posterns So easily open? By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, On your command. 1 Lord. Leon. I know't too well.- Give me the boy; I am glad, you did not nurse i im Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in hi.. Her. What is this? sport? Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about her; Away with him :-and let her sport herself With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. Her. But I'd say, he had not, And, I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. Leon. You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well; be but about To say, she is a goodly lady, and The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable: Praise her but for this her without-door form, (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and straight The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands, That calumny doua use:-0, I am out, That mercy does, for calumny will sear Virtue itself:-These shrugs, these hums and ha's, When you have sain, she's goodly, come between, Ere you can say she's honest: But be it known, From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adultress. Her. Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. Leon. You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes: O the thing, Which I'll not call a creatue of thy place, Lest barbarism, taking me the precedent, Should a like language use to all degrees, And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar!--I have said, She's an adultress; I have said with whom : More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is A federary with her; and one that knows What she should shame to know herself, Buts with her most vile principal, that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold titles; ay, and privy To this their late escape. Her. No, by my life, Privy to none of this: How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me? Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then, to say You did mistake. Leon. No, no; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, 4 Heavings. 5 A thing pinched out of clouts, a puppet. 6 Brand as infamous. 7 Confederate. 8 Only. SCENE II. 281 WINTER'S TALE. The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top.-Away with her to prison: He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty,' But that he speaks.2 Her. There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient, till the heavens look With an aspéct more favourable.--Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are: the want of which vain dew, Perchance, shall dry your pities: but I have That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns Worse than tears drown: 'Beseech you all, lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me ;-and so The king's will be perform'd! Leon. my Shall I be heard? [To the guards. Her. Who is't, that goes with me ?-Beseech your highness, My women may be with me; for, you see, My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause: when you shall know, your mistress Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears, As I come out: this action, I now go on, Is for my better grace.-Adieu, my lord: I never wish'd to see you sorry; now, Ant. If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty ; There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. Leon. What! lack I credit? 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, Upon this ground: and more it would content me To have her hon our true, than your suspicion; Be blam'd for't how you might. Leon. Why, what need we Commune with you of this? but rather follow Our forceful instigation. Our prerogative Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness Imparts this: which,-if you (or stupified, Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not, Relish as truth, like us; inform yourselves, We need no more of your advice: the matter, The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly ours. And I wish, my liege, You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, Added to their familiarity, Ant. Leon. (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture. That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation,' I trust, I shall.--My women, come; you have But only seeing, all other circumstances leave. Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 1 Lorl. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen again. Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. 1 Lord. For her, my lord,- I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless I'the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean, In this which you accuse her. Ant. If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her; For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, If she be. Leon. Hold your peaces. 1 Lord. Good my lord,- Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: You are abus'd, and by some putter-on, That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain, I would land-damn him: Be she honour-flaw'd, I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; The second, and the third, nine, and some five;, If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine honour, I'll geld them all; fourteen they shall not see, To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; And I had rather glib myself, than they Should not produce fair issue. Leon. Cease; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose: I see't, and feel't, As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel. 1 Remotely guilty. 3 Take my station. 2 In merely speaking. 4 Instigator. Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding; Yet, for a greater confirmation, (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post, To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuff'd sufficiency; Now, from the oracle They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well? 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to the minds of others; such as he, Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to the truth: So have we thought it good, From our free person she should be confin'd; Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence, Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public: for this business Will raise us all. Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it, If the good truth were known. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. The outer room of a prison. Enter Paulina and attendants. Paul. The keeper of the prison.-call to him; [Exit an attendant. Let him have knowledge who I am.-Good lady! No court in Europe is too good for thee, What dost thou, then, in prison?--Now, good sir, Re-enter attendant, with the Keeper. You know me, do you not? Keep. And one whom much I honour. Paul. Conduct me to the queen. Keep. I may not, madam, to I have express commandment. Paul. For a worthy lady, Pray you, then, the contrary Here's ado, To lock up honesty and honour from The access of gentle visitors!Is it lawful, 5 Proof. 6 Of abilities more than sufficient 282 AoT 11 WINTER'S TALE. Pray you, to see her women? any of them? Emilia? Keep. So please you, madam, to put Apart these your attendants, I shall bring Emilia forth. [Exeunt attend. Paul. I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Keep. And, madam, (Exit Keeper. I must be present at your conference. Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. Here's such ado to make no stain a stain, As passes colouring. Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady? Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, May hold together: On her frights, and griefs, (Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) She is, something before her time, deliver'd. Paul. A boy? Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe, Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives Much comfort in't: says, My poor prisoner, I am innocent as you. Paul. I dare be sworn: These dangerous unsafe lunes' o'the king! be- shrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall: the office Becomes a woman best; I'll take it upon me: If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister; And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more:-Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the queen; If she dares trust me with her little babé, I'll show't the king, and undertake to be Her advocate to th' loudest: We do not know How he may soften at the sight o'the child; The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. Emil. Most worthy madam, Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident, That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue; there is no lady living, So meet for this great errand: Please your ship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design; But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. Paul. SCENE III.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other attendants. Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weakness To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if The cause were not in being;-part o'the cause, She, the adultress ;-for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she I can hook to me: Say, that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again.- Who's there? 1 Atten. Leon. How does the boy? 1 Atten. My lord? Advancing He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. Leon. To see, His nobleness! He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply; Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself; Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd.-Leave me solely: -20, See how he fares. [Exit attend.]-Fie, fie! no thought of him ;- The very thought of my revenges that way And in his parties, his alliance,-Let him be, Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty; Until a time may serve for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow: They should not laugh, if I could teach them; nor Shall she, within my power. Enter Paulina, with a child. You must not enter. 1 Lord. Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, lady-More free, than he is jealous. Tell her, Emilia, I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it, As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do goud. Emil. Now be you blest for it! I'll to the queen: Please you, come something nearer. Keep Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur, to pass it, Having no warrant. Paul. You need not fear it, sir: The child was prisoner to the womb; and is, By law and process of great nature, thence Free'd and enfranchis'd: not a party to The anger of the king; nor guilty of, if any be, the trespass of the queen. Kep. I do believe it. Pau. Mine honour I will stand 'twixt you and danger. Do not you fear: upon [Exeunt. 1 Frenzies. 2 Mark and aim. 3 Alone. Ant. That's enough. 1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded None should come at him. Paul. Not so hot, good sir, I come to bring him sleep. "Tis such as you,- That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh At each his needless heavings,--such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as med'cinal as true; Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour, That presses him from sleep. Leon. What noise there, ho? Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference, About some gossips for your highness. Leon. How?- Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus, I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me, I knew she would. Ant. I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, She should not visit you. Leon. What, canst not rule her? Paul. From all dishonesty, he can in this, Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, (Unless he take the course that you have done, He shall not rule me. Ant. Lo, you now; you hear. When she will take the rein, I let her run; SCENE III. 283 WINTER'S TALE. But she'll not stumble. Paul. Good my liege, I come,- And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare Less appear so, in comforting your evils,¹ Than such as most seem yours:-I say, I come From your good queen. Leon. Good queen! Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen, And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst² about you. Leon. Force her hence. Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do my errand.-The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [Laying down the child. Leon. Out! A mankind' witch! Hence with her, out o'door: A most intelligencing bawd! Paul Not so: I am as ignorant in that, as you In so entitling me: and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. Leon. Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard :- Thou dotard, [To Antigonus.] thou art woman- tir'd, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here,-take up the bastard; Tak't up, I say; giv't to thy crone." Paul. Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou For ever Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't! Leon. He dreads his wife. Paul. So I would you did; then, 'twere past all doubt, You'd call your children yours. Leon. A nest of traitors! Ant. I am none, by this good light. Paul. Nor I; nor any, But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten, As ever oak, or stone, was sound. Leon. A callat, Of boundless tongue: who late hath beat her hus- band, And now baits me!-This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes: Hence with it; and, together with the dam, Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours; The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger :- And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse.-Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip, The trick of his frown, his forehead'; nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his smiles; 1 Abetting your ill courses. 3 Masculine. 2 Lowest. 4 Fecked by a woman; hen-pecked. 5 Worn-out old woman. The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours' No yellow in't; lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! Leon. A gross hag !--- And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. Ant. Hang all the husband. That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. Leon. Once more, take her hence. Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. Leon. Paul. I'll have thee burn'd. I care not: It is a heretic, that makes the fire, Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant But this most cruel usage of your queen (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something savours Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. Leon. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her. Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit!-What need these hands?- You that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so:-Farewell; we are gone. [Exit. Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.- My child? away with't!-even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with f.re; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight: Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, (And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life, With what thou else call'st thine: If thou refuse, And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou sett'st on thy wife. Ant. I did not, sir: These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. 1 Lord. We can; my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. Leon. You are liars all. 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better credit: We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech So to esteem of us: And on our knees we beg (As recompense of our dear services, Past and to come,) that you do change this pur- pose; Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneel. Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows. Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel Than curse it then. But be it; let it live: And call me father? Better burn it now, It shall not neither.-You, sir, come you hither, [To Antigonus You, that have been so tenderly officious 6 Forced is false; uttered with violence to truth 7 Trull. 8 The colour of jealousy. 9 Worthless fellow. 284 Аст Ш. WINTER'S TALE. With lady Margery, your midwife, there, To save this bastard's life :-for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey,-what will you ad- venture To save this brat's life? Ant. Any thing, my lord, That my ability may undergo, And nobleness impose: at least, thus much; Pll pawn the little blood which I have left, To save the innocent: any thing possible. Leon. It shall be possible: Swear by this sword, Thou wilt perform my bidding. Ant. I will, my lord. Leon. Mark, and perform it; (seest thou?) for the fail Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly It was i'the offering! Cleo. But, of all, the burst And the ear-deafening voice o'the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense, That I was nothing. Dion. If the event o'the journey Prove as successful to the queen,-O, be't so!- As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 'The time is worth the use on't," Cleo. Great Apollo, Turn all to the best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife; Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place, quite out Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to its own protection, And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,- On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture,- That thou commend it strangely to some place,2 Where chance may nurse, or end it: Take it up. Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful.-Come on, poor babe: Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens, To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say, Casting their savageness aside, have done Like offices of pity.-Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed doth require! and blessing, Against this cruelty, fight on thy side.- Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! [Ex. with the child. Leon. No, I'll not rear Another's issue. 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts, From those you sent to the oracle, are come An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to the court. 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. Leon. They have been absent: 'Tis good speed; foretels, Twenty-three days The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady: for, as she hath Been publicly accus'd, so shail she have A just and open trial. While she lives, My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I-The same. A street in some Town. Enter Cleomenes and Dion. Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most sweet; Fertile the isle; the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. Dion. I shall report. For most it caught me, the celestial habits, Dion. The violent carriage of it Will clear, or end the business: When the oracle, (Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) Shall the contents discover, something rare, Even then will rush to knowledge.Go, fresh horses;- And gracious be the issue! SCENE II.-The same. A court of justice. Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly seated. Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- nounce,) Even pushes 'gainst our heart: The party tried, The daughter of a king; our wife; and one Of us too much belov'd.-Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice; which shall have due course, Even to the guilt, or the purgation.-- Produce the prisoner. Offi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen Appear in person here in court.-Silence! Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina and Ladies, attending. Leon. Read the indictment. king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and ar- Offi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, with Polixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring raigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Camillo, to take away the life of our sovereign whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, lord the king, thy royal husband; the pretence thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and alle- giance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night. Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that Which contradicts my accusation; and The testimony on my part, no other But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me To say, Not guilty: mine integrity, Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, Be so receiv'd. But thus,-If powers divine Behold our human actions (as they do,) I doubt not then, but innocence shall make False accusation blush, and tyranny (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life Tremble at patience.-You, my lord, best know Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devis'd, And play'd, to take spectators; For behold me,- (Methinks, I so should term them,) and the rever- A fellow of the royal bed, which owe" ence 3 i. e. Our journey has recompensed us the 1 It was anciently a practice to swear by the time we spent in it. oross at the hilt of a sword. 2 i. e. Commit it to some place as a stranger. 4 Equal. 5 Scheme laid. 6 Treachery. 7 Own, possess. SCENE II. 285 WINTER'S TALE. it A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince,-here standing To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd, to appear thus: if one jot beyond The bound of honour; or, in act, or will, That way inclining; harden'd be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry, Fie upon my grave! Leon. I ne'er heard yet, That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did, Than to perform it first. Her. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. Leon. You will not own it. Her. More than mistress of, Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, (With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd; With such a kind of love, as might become A lady like me; with a love, even such, So, and no other, as yourself commanded: Which not to have done, I think, had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude, To you, and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd For me to try how: all I know of it Is, that Camillo was an honest man; And, why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. (The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, Haled out to murder: Myself on every post Proclaim'd a strumpet; With immodest hatred To child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion:-Lastly, hurried Here to this place, i'the open air, before Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in his absence. Her. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. Leon. Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it:-As you were past all shame, (Those of your fact? are so,) so past all truth: Which to deny, concerns more than avails: For as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it, (which is, indeed, More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage, Look for no less than death. Sir, spare your threats: Her. The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity: The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went: My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence, I am barr'd, like one infectious: My third com- fort, Starr'd most unluckily,' is from my breast, 1 Is within the reach. 2 They who have done like you. I 3 Ill-starred; born under an inauspicious planet have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. But yet hear this; mistake me not;No! life I prize it not a straw :-but for mine honour, (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises; all proofs sleeping else, But what your jealousies awake; I tell you, 'Tis rigcur, and not law.-Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle; Apollo be my judge. 1 Lord. This your request Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth, And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt certain Officers. Her. The emperor of Russia was my father: O, that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion. Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, You have not dar'd to break the holy seal, Nor read the secrets in't. Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. Leon. Break up the seals, and read, Offi. [Reads.] Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jea- lous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost, be not found. Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! Her. Leon. Hast thou read truth? Offi. As it is here set down. Praised! Ay, my lord; even so Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle: The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily. Serv. My lord the king, the king! Leon. What is the business? Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed, is gone. Leon. Serv. How! gone? Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens them- selves Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there? Paul. This news is mortal to the queen :-Look down, And see what death is doing. Leon. Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.- 4 i. e. The degree of strength which it is cus- tomary to acquire before women are suffered to go abroad after child-bearing. 5 Of the event of the queen's trial. 286 ACT III. WINTER'S TALE. I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion :- 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Her. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!- I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo; Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy: For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes; which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death, and with Reward, did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane, And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard Of all incertainties himself commended,¹ No richer than his honour:-How he glisters Thorough my rust! and how his piety deeds make the blacker! Does my Re-enter Paulina. Paul. Wo the while! O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling, In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture Must I receive; whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies,- Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine !-0, think, what they have done, And then run mad, indeed; stark mad! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ungrateful: nor was't much, Thou would'st have noison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, To be or none, or little; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire,2 ere done't: Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts (Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: But the last,-O, lords, When I have said, cry, wo!-the queen, the queen, The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and ven- geance for't Not dropp'd down yet. 1 Lond. The higher powers forbid! Paul. I say, she's dead; I'll swear't: if word, nor oath, Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods.-But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir: therefore, betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 1 Committed. 2 i. e. A devil would have shed tears of pity, ere he would have perpetrated sucn an action. In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. Leon. Go on, go on: Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd All tongues to talk their bitterest. Say no more; 1 Lord. Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I'the boldness of your speech. Paul. I am sorry for❜t; All faults I make, when I shall come to know them I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd To the noble heart.-What's gone, and what's pas- help, Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction At my petition, I beseech you; rather Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: The love I bore your queen,-lo, fool again!- I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too: Take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. Leon. Thou didst speak but well, When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen, and son: One grave shall be for both; upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual: Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there, Shall be my recreation: So long as Nature will bear up with this exercise, So long I daily vow to use it. Come, And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt SCENE III.-Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. Enter Antigonus, with the child; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfects then, our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia ? Mar. Ay, my lord: and fear We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon us. Ant. Their sacred wills be done!-Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark; I'll not be long, before I call upon thee. Mar. Make your best haste; and go not Too far i'the land: 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. Go thou away: Ant. I'll follow instantly. Mar. I am glad at heart To he so rid o'the business. Ant. [Exit. Come, poor babe:- I have heard (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me: And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon 3 Well-assured. SCENE III. 287 WINTER'S TALE. Did this break from her Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,- Places remote enough are in Bohemia, the sky; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. Shep. Why, boy, how is it? Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe to the point: 0, the most piteous cry of the poor Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, I prythee, callit; for this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shall see Thy wife Paulina more:-and so, with shrieks, She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself; and thought This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys: Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, Hermione hath suffer'd death; and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life, or death, upon the earth Of its right father.--Blossom, speed thee well! [Laying down the child. There lie; and there thy character: there these; [Laying down a bundle. Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine.- -The storm begins:-Poor wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd To loss, and what may follow!-Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I, To be by oath enjoin'd to this.-Farewell! The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have A lullaby too rough: I never saw souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em : now the ship boring the moon with her main mast; and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service,-To see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman:-But to make an end of the ship:-to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it:-but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ;-and how the poor gentleman roar'd, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now. Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man! Clo. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have helped her; there your charity would have lacked footing. [Aside. Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloths for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see; It was told me, 1 ling:-open't: What's within, boy? The heavens so dim by day.-A savage clamour?-should be rich by the fairies: this is some change- Well may I get aboard!This is the chace; I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. Enter an old Shepherd. Clo. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! Shep. I would, there were no age between ten Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: and three-and-twenty; or that youth would sleep up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next out the rest: for there is nothing in the between way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still re- but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- quires nothing but secrecy.-Let my sheep go:- cientry, stealing, fighting.Hark you now!-Come, good boy, the next way home. Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and Clo. Go you the next way with your finding; two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, scared away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, the wolf will sooner find, than the master: if any but when they are hungry: if there be any of him where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing left, I'll bury it. on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we Shep. That's a good deed: If thou may'st dis. here? [Taking up the child.] Mercy on's, a cern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch barne; a very pretty barne! A boy, or a child, I me to the sight of him. wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: Sure, Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can him i' the ground. read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has Shep. "Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some be- deeds on't. hind-door-work: they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hollaed but'even now. Whoa, ho hoa! Enter Clown. Clo. Hilloa, loa! Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing Time. ACT IV. Enter Time, as Chorus. [Exeunt. I,-that please some, try all; both joy and terror, to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come Of good and bad; that make, and unfold terror,- hither. What ailest thou, man? Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, land;-but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now dita. 1 The writing afterward discovered with Per- 2 Child. 3 Female infant. 4 Swallowed. 5 The mantle in which a child was carried to! ae baptized. To me, or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 6 Some child left behind by the fairies, in the room of one which they had stolen. 7 Nearest. 8 Mischievous. 288 ACT IV. WINTER'S TALE. Of that wide gap; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, Or what is now receiv'd: I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale The glistening of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing, As you had slept between. Leontes leaving The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving, That he shuts up himself; imagine me,2 Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia; and remember well, I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues, I list not prophesy; but let Time's news Be known, when 'tis brought forth :-a shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is the argument3 of Time: Of this allow,4. If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never yet, that Time himself doth say, He wishes earnestly, you never may. SCENE 1.-The same. A room in the palace [Exit. of Polixenes. Enter Polixenes and Camillo. Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- portunate; 'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing; a death, to grant this. Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country; though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness: from whom I have this intelligence; That he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more, than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But, I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place: where we will, not appearing what we are, have some ques tions with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. Cam. I willingly obey your command. Pol. My best Camillo !-We must disguise our selves. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A road near the Shep- herd's cottage. Enter Autolycus, singing. When daffodils begin to peer, - With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,- Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,- With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!- Doth set my pugging10 tooth on edge; The lark, that tirra-lirra chaunts,- For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the joy :- While we lie tumbling in the hay. I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni-Are summer-songs for me and my aunts,"1 tent king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er- weens to think so; which is another spur to my departure. I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore three-pile; 12 but now I am out of service: But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sou skin budget; Then my account I well may give, And in the stocks avouch it. Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee: thou, having made me businesses, which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done: which if I have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee, shall be my My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to study; and my profit therein, the heaping friend- lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus; ships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was no more: whose very naming punishes me with the likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, die, and drab, I purchased this caparison; and my and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his revenue is the silly cheat: 13 Gallows, and knock, most precious queen, and children, are even now are too powerful on the highway: beating, and to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to come, I thou the prince Florizel my son? Kings are no less sleep out the thought of it.-A prize! a prize unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them, when they have approved their virtues. Enter Clown. Clo. Let me see:-Every 'leven wether-tods: 14 Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince: every tod yields-pound and odd shilling: fifteen What his happier affairs may be, are to me un-hundred shorn,-What comes the wool to? known: but I have, missingly, noted," he is of late Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside. much retired from court; and is less frequent to his princely exercises, than formerly he hath appeared. Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo; and 1 2. e. Leave unexamined the progress of the intermediate time which filled the up gap in Per- dita's story. 2 Imagine for me. 3 Subject. 4 Approve. 5 Think too highly. 6 Friendly offices. 7 Observed at interva s. 8 Talk. Clo. I cannot do't without counters. 15-Let me 9 i. e. The spring blood reigns over the parts lately under the dominion of winter. 10 Thievish. 11 Doxies. 12 Rich velvet. 13 Picking pockets. 14 Every eleven sheep will produce a tod or twenty-eight pounds of wool. 15 Circular pieces of base metal, anciently lused by the illiterate, to adjust their reckonings. SCENE III. 289 WINTER'S TALE. see; what I am to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Aut. Very true, sir; he, air, he; that's the rogue, Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants; that put me into this apparel. rice- Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: am false of heart that way; and that he knew, warrant him. I What will this sister of mine do with rice? Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd and she lays it on. She hath made me four-and- have run. twenty nosegays for the shearers: three man song- men' all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases: but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron, to colour the warden³ pies; mace,- dates,-none; that's out of my note: nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger; but that I may beg;-four pound of prunes, and as many of rai- sins o' the sun. Aut. O, that ever I was born! [Grovelling on the ground. Clo. I' the name of me,- Aut. O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! Clo. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received; which are mighty ones and millions. Clo. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money Clo. How do you now? Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand, and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir!-[Exit Clown.j Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put in the book of virtue! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit. and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable SCENE III.-The same. A shepherd's cottage. things put upon me. Enter Florizel and Perdita. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horse- man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up. Per. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me; O, pardon, that I name them: your high self, Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. Aut. O! good sir, tenderly, oh! Clo. Alas, poor soul. Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd my shoulder-blade is out. Clo. How now! canst stand? Aut. Softly, dear sir: [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly: you ha' done me a charitable office. Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feast In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush, To see you so attired; sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. Flo. Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I bless the time, I have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile When my good falcon made her flight across hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have Thy father's ground. money, or any thing I want: Offer me no money, Per. I pray you; that kills my heart. Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with trol-my-dames:4 I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. Now Jove afford you cause: To me, the difference 12 forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble, To think, your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did: O, the fates! How would he look, to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? Flo. Apprehend Clo. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. Humbling their deities to love, have taken Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a mo- A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, tion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, wife within a mile where my land and living lies; As I seem now: Their transformations and, having flown over many knavish professions, Were never for a piece of beauty rarer; he settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus. Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Burn hotter than my faith. 1 Singers of catches in three parts. 2 Tenors. 3 A species of pears. 4 The machine used in the game of pigeon- holes. 5 Sojourn. 6 Puppet-show. Take hold of. 9 Excesses. 8 10 Object of all men's notice. 11 Dressed with ostentation. 7. Thief. 12 i. e. Of station 290 ACT IV. WINTER'S TALE. Per. O but, dear sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd' thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not The mirth o' the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's: for I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine: to this I am most constant, Though destiny say, No. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance; as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial, which We two have sworn shall come. Per. Stand you auspicious! Say, there be; Pol. Yet nature is made bette by no mean, But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art, Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock; And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race; This is an art Which does mend nature,-change it rather: but The art itself is nature. Per. So it is. Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers And do not call them bastards. I'll not put Per. The dibble in earth to set one slip of them: No more than, were I painted, I would wish This youth should say, 'twere well; and only therefore Desire to breed by me.-Here's flowers for you! Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; O lady fortune, The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flowers Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given To men of middle age: You are very welcome. Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes, and Camillo, dis- guised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. Flo. See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all: Would sing her song, and dance her turn: now here, At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle; On his shoulder, and his: her face o'fire Per. Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through.-Now, my fairest friend, I would I had some flowers o'the spring, that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours; That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing:-O Proserpina, For that flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall With labour; and the thing she took to quench it, From Dis's wagon! daffodils, She would to each one sip: You are retir'd, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes: and present yourself That which you are, mistress o' the feast: Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. Per. Welcome, sir! [To Pol. It is my father's will, I should take on me The hostess-ship o'the day :-You're welcome, sir! [To Camillo. Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.-Reverend sirs, 2 For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep Seeming, and savour, all the winter long: Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, And welcome to our shearing! Pol. Shepherdess, (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages With flowers of winter. Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter,-the fairest flowers o'the season Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. Pol. Do you neglect them? Per. Wherefore, gentle maiden, For I have heard it said, There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares With great creating nature. 1 Far-fetched. 3 Because that. 2 Likeness and smell. 4 A tool to set plants. That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er. Flo. What? like a corse? Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse: or if,-not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers: Methinks, I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. Flo. What you do, Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own No other function: Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds That all your acts are queens. Per. O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd: With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 5 Pluto's. & Living. SCENE III. 291 WINTER'S TALE. You woo'd me the false way. Flo. I think you have As little skill to fear, as I have purpose To put you to't.But, come; our dance, I pray: Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, That never mean to part. Per. I'll swear for 'em. Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or seems, But smacks of something greater than herself; Too noble for this place. Cam. He tells her something, That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clo. Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with.- Mop. Come on, strike up. Now, in good time! Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.- Come, strike up. Here a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses. Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself To have a worthy feeding: but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it; He looks like sooth:3 He says, he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose, Who loves another best. She dances featly." Pol. Shep. So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a Servant. Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?' Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bo- hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddises," cambrics, lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't." Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him ap- proach singing. Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes. Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 'em than you'd think, sister. Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter Autolycus, singing. Lawn, as white as driven snow; Cyprus, black as e'er was crow; Gloves, as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces, and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber: 10 Golden quoifs, and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy, Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry; Come, buy, &c. Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands and gloves. Mop. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.. Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may be he has paid you more; which will shame you to give him again. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets, where they should bear Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you at the door, you would never dance again after a are going to-bed, or kiln-hole," to whistle off these tabor and pipe: no, the bagpipe could not move secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all you: he sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering: Cla- money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, mour your tongues, 12 and not a word more. and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clo. He could never come better: he shall come in: I love a ballad but even too well: if it be dole- Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, 13 and a pair of sweet gloves. Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant by the way, and lost all my money? thing indeed, and sung lamentably. Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad: therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. Serv. He hath songs, for man or woman, of all sizes: no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such de- Aut. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many licate burdens of dildos and fadings; jump her parcels of change. and thump her; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, good man. Pol. This is a brave fellow. 1 Green turf. 2 A valuable tract of pasturage. 4 Neatly. 3 Truth. 5 Plain goods. 6. Worsted galloon. 7 A kind of tape. 8 The cuffs. 9 The work about the bosom. Clo. What hast here? ballads? Mop. Pray now buy some: I love a ballad in print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true. Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's wife was brought to-bed of twenty money- bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat ad- ders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. 10 Amber, of which necklaces were made fit to perfume a lady's chamber. 11 Fire-place for drying malt; still a noted gossiping-place. 12 Ring a dumb peal. 13 A lace to wear about the head or waist. 292 ACT IV. WINTER'S TALE, themselves saltiers:4 and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, be- cause they are not in't; but they themselves are mis-o'the mind (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but bowling,) it will please plentifully, Mop. Is it true, think you? Att. Very true; and but a month old. Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one tress Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that were present: Why should I carry lies abroad? Mop. Pray you now, buy it. Clo. Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. Shep. Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much humble foolery already :-I know, sir, we weary you. Pol. You weary those that refresh, us: Pray let's Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that ap- see these four threes of herdsmen. peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore Serv. One three of them, by their own report, of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by it was thought she was a woman, and was turned the squire." into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh Shep. Leave your prating; since these good men with one that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful, are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. and as true. Dor. Is it true too, think you? [Exit. Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, Re-enter Servant, with twelve rustics, habited like more than my pack will hold. Clo. Lay it by too: Another. Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. Mop. Let's have some merry ones. Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here- after.- Is it not too far gone?-'Tis time to part them.- He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]-How now, fair shepherd? Aut. Why this is a passing merry one; and goes to the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's Your heart is full of something, that does take scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young, request, I can tell you. And handed love, as you do, I was wont Mop. We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, To load my she with knacks: I would have ran- thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. sack'd The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis To her acceptance; you have let him go, my occupation: have at it with you. SONG. A. Get you hence, for I must Where, it fits not you to know. go; And nothing marted with him: if your lass Interpretation should abuse; and call this Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited ** For a reply, at least, if you make a care Of happy holding her. D. Whither? M. O, whither? D. Whither? Flo. M. It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell: D. Me too, let me go thither. M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill: D. If to either, thou dost ill. A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. D. Thou hast sworn my love to be; M. Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then, whither go'st? say, whither? Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd.-O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand, As soft as dove's down, and as white as it; Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, That's bolted' by the northern blasts twice o'er. Pol. What follows this?- Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: How prettily the young swain seems to wash My father and the gentlemen are in sad¹ talk, and The hand, was fair before!-1 have put you out:- we'll not trouble them: Come, bring away thy But to your protestation; let me hear pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:-What you profess. Pedler, let's have the first choice.-Follow me, girls. Flo. Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedler; Money's a medler, That doth utter2 all men's ware-a. [Aside. Do, and be witness to't. Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. And he, and more Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all: That,-were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve; had force, and know- ledge, More than was ever man's,-I would not prize them, Without her love: for her, employ them all; Commend them, and condemn them, to her service, [Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Or to their own perdition. Mopsa. Enter a Servant. Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call 1 Serious. 2 Vend. 3 Dressed themselves in habits imitating hair. 4 Satyrs. 5 Medley. 6 Foot-rule. Pol. Fairly offer'd. Cam. This shows a sound affection. Shep. Say you the like to him? Per. So well, nothing so well; But, my daughter, I cannot speak no, nor mean better: 7 Bought, trafficked. 8 Put to difficulties. 9 The sieve used to separate flour from bran is called a bolting-cloth. SCENE III. 293 WINTER'S TALE By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shep. Take hands, a bargain;- And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. Ho. O, that must be I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder: But, come on, Contract us 'fore these witnesses. Shep. Come, your hand;-- Soft, swain, a while, 'beseech you; And, daughter, yours. Pol. Have you a father? Flo. Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too, That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee,-if ever, henceforth, thou These rural latches³ to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee, As thou art tender to't. Per. [Exit. Even here undone ! I was not much afeard: for once, or twice, I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone? [To Florizel. I told you, what would come of this: 'Beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, He neither does, nor shall. But milk my ewes, and weep. I have: But what of him? Pol. Knows he of this? Flo. Pol. Methinks, a father Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more; Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate?¹ Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing, But what he did being childish? Flo. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, Than most have of his age. Pol. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: Reason, my son, Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason, The father (all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel In such a business. Flo. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. Pol. Let him know't. Flo. He shall not. Pr'ythee, let him. Pol. Flo. No, he must not. Come, come, he must not :- Mark your divorce, young sir, [Discovering himself. Why, how now, father? Cam. Speak, ere thou diest. Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir, [To Florizel. You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones: but now Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me Where no priest shovels-in dust.-O cursed wretch! [To Perdita. That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure To mingle faith with him.-Undone ! undone ! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Flo. [Exit. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am : More straining on, for plucking back; not following My leash4 unwillingly. Cam. Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess, You do not purpose to him ;-and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. Flo. I think, Camillo. Cam. I not purpose it. Even he, my lord. Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. Flo. Mark our contract. Pol. Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affect'st a sheep-hook?-Thou old traitor, I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but Let Nature crush the sides o'the earth together, Shorten thy life one week.-And thou, fresh piece And mar the seeds within!-Lift up thy looks:- Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force, must know From my succession wipe me, father! I The royal fool thou cop'st with;- Am heir to my affection. Shep. Cam. Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus? How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known? O, my heart! Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made Flo. It cannot fail, but by The violation of my faith; And then Be advis'd. Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; More homely than thy state.-For thee, fond boy,-If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. Cam. This is desperate, sir. Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh, That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Far than Deucalion off:-Mark thou my words; Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Follow us to the court.-Thou churl, for this time, Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide From the dread blow of it.-And you, enchant ment- 1 Talk over his affairs. 2 Further. In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you, 3 Drs. 4 A leading string. 5 Love 294 ACT IV. WINTER'S TALE. As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,) cast your good counsels Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver,-I am put to sea With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore; And, most opportune to our need, I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold, Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. Cam. O, my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. Flo. Hark, Perdita.-[Takes her aside. I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo. Cam. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn; Save him from danger, do him love and honour; Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. Flo. Now, good Camillo, Sir, I think, I am so fraught with curious business, that I leave out ceremony. Cam. [Going. You have heard of my poor services, i'the love That I have borne your father? Flo. Very nobly Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music, To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. Cam. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king; And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, (If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration,) on mine honour I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, (from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by, As heavens forefend! your ruin :) marry her; And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,) Your discontenting¹ father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. Flo. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And, after that, trust to thee. Cam. A place whereto you'll go? Flo. "Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow, Faster than thought, or time. Flo. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? Cam. Sent by the king, your father, To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you, as from your father, shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down The which shall point you forth at every sitting," What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there, And speak his very heart. I am bound to you: Flo. There is some sap in this. Cam. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most cer- tain, To miseries enough: no hope to help you; But, as you shake off one, to take another: Nothing so certain as your anchors: who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know, Prosperity's the very bond of love; Whose fresh complexion and whose heart togethe Affliction alters. Per. I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. Cam. One of these is true: Yea, say you so? There shall not, at your father's house, these sever years, Be born another such. Flo. My good Camillo, I cannot say, 'tis pity She is as forward of her breeding, as I'the rear of birth. Cam. She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress To most that teach. Per. Your pardon, sir, for this; I'll blush you thanks. Flo. My prettiest Perdita.- But, O, the thorns we stand upon!-Camillo,- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house!-how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicily-- Cam. My lord, Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes Have you thought on Do all lie there: it shall be so my care Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident2 is guilty To what we wildly do; so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows. Cam. Then list to me: This follows,-if you will not change your purpose, But undergo this flight;-Make for Sicilia; And there present yourself, and your fair princess, (For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes; She shall be habited, as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son, forgiveness, As 'twere i'the father's person: kisses the hands Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him 1 For discontented. 2 This unthought-on accident is the unexpect- ed discovery made by Polixenes. To have you royally appointed, as if The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want,-one word. [They talk aside. Enter Autolycus. Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool honesty is! and trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn- ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been by which means, I saw whose purse was best in hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: picture; and, what I saw, to my good use, I re- S The council-days were called the sittings. 4 Conquer. 5 A little ball made of perfumes, and worn to prevent infection in times of plague. SCENE III. 295 WINTER'S TALE. Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king [Aside membered. My clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, Of this escape, and whither they are bound; till he had both tune and words; which so drew the Wherein my hope is, I shall so prevail, rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses To force him after: in whose company stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight it was senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a cod-piece I have a woman's longing. of a purse; I would have filed keys off, that hung Flo. Fortune speed us!- Cam. The swifter speed, the better. in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their festival [Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo, purses: and had not the old man come in with a Aut. I understand the business, I hear it: To whoobub against his daughter and the king's son, have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requi- left a purse alive in the whole army. site also, to smell out work for the other senses. [Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita, come forward. I see, this is the time that the unjust man doth Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being thrive. What an exchange had this been without there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. Flo. And those that you'll procure from Leontes,- Cam. Sall satisfy your father. Per. Happy be you! boot? what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we king may do any thing extempore. The prince himselt is about a piece of iniquity; stealing away from his father, with his clog at his heels: If I thought it were not a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it: and therein am I constant to my pro- fession. Enter Clown and Shepherd. Aside, aside;-here is more matter for a hot brain: Aut. If they have overheard me now,--why Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- hanging. [Aside. ing, yields a careful man work. All that you speak, shows fair. Cam. Who have we here? [Seeing Autolycus. We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. Cam. How now, good fellow? Why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. Cam. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee: Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, we must make an exchange: therefore, discase thee Clo. See, see; what a man you are now! there is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change ling, and none of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, but hear me. Clo. Nay, but hear me. Shep. Go to then.. Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, instantly (thou must think there's necessity in't,) your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and change garments with this gentleman: Though and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold by him. Show those things you found about her; thee, there's some boot.2 those secret things, all but what she has with her: Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir:-I know ye well This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant enough. Aside. you. Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch: the gentleman Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, is half flayed already. and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. Aut. Are you in earnest, sir?--I smell the trick [Aside. of it.- Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. Aut. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle.- [Flo. and Aut. exchange garments. Fortunate mistress,-let my prophecy Come home to you!-You must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat, And pluck it o'er your brows: muffle your face; Dismantle you: and as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard Get undescried. P. se: the play so lies, That I must bear part. Cam. Have you done there? Flo. No remedy.- Should I now meet my ther, He would not call me son. Cam. Nay, you shall have No hat:-Come, lady, come.-Farewell, my friend. Aut. Adieu, sir. Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? Pray you, a word. [They converse apart. 1 Birds. 2 Something over and above. S Stripped 4 Bundio, parcel. Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. Aut. Very wisely; puppies! [Aside. Shep. Well; let us to the king; there is that in this fardel,4 will make him scratch his beard. Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance:-Let me pocket up my ped- ler's excrement. [Takes off his false beard.] How now, rustics? wnither are you bound? Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. Aut. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy: Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; there fore they do not give us the lie. 5 His false beard. 6 Estate, property. 296 ACT V. WINTER'S TALE if Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, me (for you seem to be onest plain men, what you had not taken yourself with the manner.¹ you have to the king: being something gently cor Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? sidered 'll bring you where he is aboard, tender Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. your crs ns to his presence, whisper him in your See'st thou not the air of the court, in these enfold- behalfs, and, if it be in man, besides the king t: ings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the effect your suits, here is man shall do it. court ?2 receives not thy nose court-odour from Clo. He seems to be of great authority; close me? reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt? with him, give him gold; and though authority be Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze? from a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside courtier, cap-a-pé; and one that will either push of his hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned, on, or pluck back, thy business there: whereupon and flayed alive. I command thee to open thy affair. Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? Shep. I know not, an't like you. Clo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say, you have none. Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. Aut. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I'll not disdain. Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical; a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. Aut. The fardel. there? what's i'the fardel? Wherefore that box? Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shep. Why, sir?- Aut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself: For, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know, the king is full of grief. Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the bi- siness for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much more; and leave this young man in pawn, till I bring it you. Aut. After I have done what I promised? Shep. Ay, sir. Aut. Well, give me the moiety:-Are you a party in this business? Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son:- Hang him, he'll be made an example. Clo. Comfort, good comfort: we must to the king, and show our strange sights; he must know, 'tis none of your daughter, nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and re- main, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say, even blessed. Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was pro- vided to do us good. [Exeunt Shep. and Clown. Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion; gold, and a means to do the prince my master good; which, who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he them again, and that the complaint they have to the shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue, Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. monster. Clo. Think you so, sir? for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what else shame belongs to't: Tc him will I present them, there may be matter in it. ACT V. [Exit. Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whis- iling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daugh- SCENE I-Sicilia. A room in the palace of ter come into grace! Some say, he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I: Draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? Leontes. Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Par- lina, and others. Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of More penitence than done trespass: At the last, a wasp's nest; then stand, till he be three-quarters Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil; and a dram dead: then recovered again with aqua- With them, forgive yourself. vitæ, or some other hot infusion: then, raw as he Leon. Whilst I remember is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, Her, and her virtues, cannot forget shall be set against a brick wall, the sun looking My blemishes in them; and so still think of with a southward eye upon him; where he is to be- The wrong I did myself: which was so much, hold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to Destroy'd the sweet'st comparion, that e'er man be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell Bred his hopes out of. 1 In the fact. 2 The stately tread of courtiers. 3 Cajole or force. 4 Related. 5 The hottest day day foretold in the almanac. 6 Being handsomely bribed. SCENE 1. 297 WINTER'S TALE. Paul. True, too true, my lord: (And all eyes else dead coals!-fear thou no wife, I'll have no wife, Paulina. Paul. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or, from the all that are, took something good, To make a perfect woman; she, you kill'd, Would be unparallel'd. I think so. Kill'd? Leon. She I kill'd? I did so: but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good now, Say so but seldom. Cleo. Not at all, good lady: You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. Paul. You are one of those, Would have him wed again. Dion. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign dame; consider little, What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom, and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy, Than to rejoice, the former queen is well ?1 What holier, than,-for royalty's repair, For present comfort and for future good,- To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? Paul. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes: For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenor of his oracle, That king Leontes shall not have an heir, Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall, is all as monstrous to our human reason, As my Antigonus to break his grave, And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. "Tis your counsel, My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their will.-Care not for issue; [To Leontes. The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander Left his to the worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. Leon. Good Paulina,- Who has the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour,-0, that ever 1 Had squar'd me to thy counsel !-then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes; Have taken treasure from her lips,- Paul. And left them Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd, Begin, And why to me? Paul. More rich, for what they yielded. Leon. She had just cause. Leon. Had she such power, I should so: She had; and would incense2 me To murder her I married. Paul. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye; and tell me, for what dull part in't You chose her: then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be, Remember mine. Leon, 1 At rest, dead. 3 Split. Stars, very stars, 2 Instigate. 4 Meet. Will your svear Never to marry, but by my free leave? Leon. Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my spirit! Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. Cleo. You tempt him over-much. Paul. As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront4 his eye. Cleo. Paul. Good madam,- Unless another, I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry,-if you will, sir, No remedy, but you will; give me the office To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such, As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. Leon. My true Paulina, We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us. Paul. That Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath: Never till then. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access To your high presence. Leon. What with him? he comes not Like to his father's greatness: his approach, So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need, and accident. What train? Gent. And those but mean. Leon. But few, His princess, say you, with him? Gent. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. Paul. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better, gone; so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now Is colder than that theme,) She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd;-thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say, you have seen a better. Gent. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot; (your pardon,) The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is such a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else; make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. Paul. How? not women? Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. Leon. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement.-Still 'tis strange [Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentlemen. He thus should steal upon us. Had our prince (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. Paul. 5 i. e. Than the corse of Hermione, the sub- ject of your writing, hint 298 ACT V WINTER'S TALE. Leon. Pr'ythee, no more; thou know'st! He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that, which may Unfurnish me of reason.-They are come.- Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita, attendants. Enter a Lord. Lord. Most noble si. That, which I shall report, will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great si Bohemia greets you from himself, by me: and Desires you to attach his son; who has (His dignity and duty both cast off,) Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. Where's Bohemia? spee., Lord. Here in the city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel, and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning (in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady, and Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you: Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you, His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him; and speak of something, wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess, goddess!-O, alas! I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as You, gracious couple, do! and then I lost (All mine own folly,) the society, Amity too, of your brave father; whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life" Once more to look upon. Flo. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia; and from him Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, Can send his brother: and, but infirmity (Which waits upon worn time,) hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves (He bade me say so,) more than all the sceptres, And those that bear them, living. Leon. O, my brother, (Good gentleman!) the wrongs I have done thee, stir A fresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness !-Welcome hither, As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage (At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man, not worth her pains; much less The adventure of her person? Flo. Good my lord. She came from Libya. Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd? Flo. Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence (A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me, For visiting your highness: My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety Here, where we are. The blessed gods Leon. Purge all infection from our air, whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful' gentleman; against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin: For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's bless'd (As he from heaven merits it,) with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you? 1 Full of grace and virtue. 2 Seize, arrest 3 Conversation. Leon. Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. Flo. Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, Endur'd all weathers. Camillo has betray'd me; Lord. Lay't so, to his charge, He's with the king your father. Leon. Who? Camillo ? Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak: Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. Per. O, my poor father!-- The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. Leon. You are married? Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:-- The odds for high and low's alike." Leon. Is this the daughter of a king? Flo. When once she is my wife. My lord, She is, Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, Where you were tied in duty: and as sorry, Your choice is not so rich in worth' as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. Flo. Dear, look up: Though fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us, with my father; power no jot Hath she, to change our loves.-Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now: with thought of your affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request, My father will grant precious things, as trifles. Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. Paul. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. Leon. I thought of her, Even in these looks I made.-But your petition [To Florizel. Is yet unanswer'd: I will to your father; Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am a friend to them, and you: upon which errand 1 now go toward him; therefore, follow me, 4 A quibble on the false dice so called. 5 Descent or wealth. SCENE II. 299 WINTER'S TALE. And mark what way I make. Come, good my encounter, which lames report to follow it, and un [Exeunt. does description to do it. lcrd. 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, SCENE II.-The same. Before the palace. En- that carried hence the child? ter Autolycus and a Gentleman. Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? 3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an ear open: He was torn to pieces with a 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, not only his innocence (which seems much,) to us- bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who ha heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we tity him, but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, t Paulina knows. were all commanded out of the chamber; only 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his this, methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. lowers? Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. master's death; and in the view of the shepherd: 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business; so that all the instruments, which aided to expose -But the changes I perceived in the king, and the child, were even then lost, when it was found. Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sor- the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their clined for the loss of her husband; another elevated row, was fought in Paulina! She had one eye de- dumbness, language in their very gesture; they that the oracle was fulfilled: She lifted the prin- looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or cess from the earth; and so locks her in embracing, one destroyed: A notable passion of wonder ap- as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might peared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance no more be in danger of losing. were joy, or sorrow: but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more: The news, Rogero? 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is ful- to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) filled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from of wonder is broken out within this hour, that bal-one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an lad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter a third Gentleman. alas! I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: it Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can all the world could have seen it, the wo had been deliver you more.-How goes it now, sir? this universal. news, which is called true, is so like an old tale,| 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? that the verity of it is in strong suspicion: Has 3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,-a piece the king found his heir? 3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant many years in doing, and now newly performed by by circumstance: that, which you hear, you'll that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. he himself eternity, and could put breath into his The mantle of queen Hermione:-her jewel about work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so per- the neck of it-the letters of Antigonus, found fectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath with it, which they know to be his character:-the done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the her, and stand in hope of answer: thither, with all mother; the affection of nobleness, which nature greediness of affection, are they gone; and there shows above her breeding,-and many other evi- they intend to sup. dences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? 2 Gent. No. 2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was with our company piece the rejoicing? to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the bene have beheld one joy crown another; so, and in fit of access? every wink of an eye, some new such manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There to our knowledge. Let's along. was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with [Exeunt Gentlemen countenance of such distraction, that they were to Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, in me, would preferment drop on my head. being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; found daughter; as if that joy were now become told him, I heard him talk of a fardel, and I know a loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother! then asks not what: but he at that time, over-fond of the Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) law; then again worries he his daughter, with who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys- which stands by, like a weather-beaten conduit of tery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another me: for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it 1 The thing im Sorted. 2 Disposition or quality. 3 Countenance, features. 4 Embracing. 5 Most petrified with wonder. 6 Remote. I 300 ACT V. WINTER'S TALE. would not have relished among my other discredits. It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. Enter Shepherd and Clown. Leon. O Paulina, Here come those. I have done good to against my We honour you with trouble: But we came will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their To see the statue of our queen: your gallery fortune. Have we pass'd through, not without much content Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but In many singularities; but we saw not thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. That which my daughter came to look upon, Clo. You are well met, sir: You denied to fight The statue of her mother. with me this other day, because I was no gentle- Paul. As she liv'd peerless, man born: See you these clothes? say, you see So her dead likeness, I do well believe, them not, and think me still no gentleman born: Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, you were best say, these robes are not gertlemen Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it born. Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare not now a gentleman born. To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well. [Paulina undraws a curtain, and dis- covers a statue. Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Shep. And so have I, boy. I like your silence, it the more shows off Clo. So you have:--but I was a gentleman born Your wonder: But yet speak ;-first, you, my liege before my father: for the king's son took me by the Comes it not something near? hand, and called me, brother; and then the two Leon. Her natural posture !-- kings called my father, brother; and then the Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed, prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she, called my father, father; and so we wept: and In thy not chiding; for she was as tender, there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever As infancy, and grace.-But yet, Paulina, we shed. Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing So aged, as this seems. Pol. Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my master. Shep. 'Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. O, not by much. Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes het As she liv'd now. Leon. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me, For being more stone than it ?-O, royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty; which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let Standing like stone with thee! boors and franklins' say it, I'll swear it. Shep. How if it be false, son? Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince, thou art as honest a true fellow as any Bohemia. is in I Per. And give me leave; And do not say, 'tis superstition, that kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. O, patience, The statue is but newly fixed, the colour's Not dry. Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend :-And I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I Paul. know, thou art no tall-fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I would, thou would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands. I Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on: Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers, dry: scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow, But kill'd itself much sooner. Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.-Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going Pol. to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll Let him, that was the cause of this, have power De thy good masters. [Exeunt. To take off so much grief from you, as he Will piece up in himself. SCENE III.-The same. A room in Paulina's house. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Per- dita, Camillo, Pauiina, Lords, and Attendants. Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great com- fort That I have had of thee! Paul. What, sovereign sir, Paul. Dear my brother, Indeed, my lord, If I had thought, the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone it mine,) I'd not have show'd it. Leon. Do not draw the curtain, Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest you fancy I did not well, I meant well: All my services, You have paid home: but that vou have vouchsaf'd May think anon, it moves. With your crown'd brother, and these your ccn- tracted Heir of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 2 Stout. 1 Yeomen. Leon. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he, that did make it?-See, my lord, 3 Worked, agitated. SCENE III. 301 WINTER'S TALE. Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins Did verily bear blood? Pol. Masterly done: The very life seems warm upon her lip. Leon. The fixture of her eye has motion in't,¹ As we are mock'd with art, Paul. I'll draw the curtain; My lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon, it lives. Leon. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together; No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but I could afflict you further. Leon. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: What ine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. Paul. Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain? Leon. No, not these twenty years. Per. Stand by, a looker on. Paul. So long could 1 Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you For more amazement: If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed; descend, And take you by the hand: but then you'll think (Which I protest against,) I am assisted By wicked powers. Leon. What you can make her do, I am content to look on: what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak, as move. Paul. It is requir'd, You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still; Or those, that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. Leon. No foot shall stir. Paul. Proceed; Music: awake her: strike- [Music. 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you.-You perceive, she stirs: [Hermione comes down from the pedestal. Start not: her actions shall be holy, as, You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her, Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double: Nay, present your hand: When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age, Is she become the suitor. Leon. O, she's warm? [Embracing her. If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. Pol. She embraces him. Cam. She hangs about his neck; If she pertain to life, let her speak too. Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, Or, how stol'n from the dead. Paul. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.- Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel, And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. [Presenting Per. who kneels to Her. You gods, look down, Her. And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I,- Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being,-have preserv'd Myself, to see the issue. Paul There's time enough for that, Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation.--Go together, You precious winners³ all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. Leon. O peace, Paulina; Thou should'st a husband take by my consent, As I by thine, a wife: this is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far (For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee An honourable husband:-Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand: whose worth, and honesty, Is richly noted; and here justified By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.- What?-Look upon my brother :-both your p: r- dons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion.-This your son-in-law, And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,) Is troth-plight to your daughter.-Good Paulina, Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely Each one demand, and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first We were dissever'd: Hastily lead away. [Exe. This play, as Dr. Warburton justly observes, 18, with all its absurdities, very entertaining. The character of Autolycus is naturally conceived, and strongly represented. JOHNSON. 1 ie. Though her eye be fixed, it seems to 3 You who by this discovery have gained what have motion in it. 2 As if. you desired. 4 Participate. 20 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Solinus, duke of Ephesus. Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse. Antipholus of Ephesus, Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse, Balthazar, a merchant. Angelo, a goldsmith. PERSONS REPRESENTED. twin brothers, and sons A merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. Pinch, a schoolmaster, and a conjurer. to Egeon and mi- Emilia, wife to Egeon, an abbess at Ephesus. lia, but unknown to Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus Luciana, her sister. Luce, her servant. A courtezan. each other. twin brothers, and atten- dants on the two Anti- pholus's. Goaler, officers, and other attendants. Scene, Ephesus. ACT L SCENE I-A hall in the Duke's Palace. Duke, Ageon, Gaoler, officer, and other ants. Egeon. Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me too, had not our hap been bad. Enter] With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd, attend-By prosperous voyages I often made PROCEED, Solinus, to procure my fall, And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; I am not partial, to infringe our laws: The enmity and discord, which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,- Who, wanting guilders' to redeem their lives, Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. For, since the mortal and intestine jars "Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed, Both by the Syracusans and ourselves, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns: Nay, more, If any, born at Ephesus, be seen At any Syracusan marts2 and fairs; Again, If any Syracusan born Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, To Epidamnum, till my factor's death; And he (great care of goods at random left) Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse From whoin my absence was not six months old, Before herself (almost at fainting, under The pleasing punishment that women bear,) Had made provision for her following me, And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. There she had not been long, but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons; And, which was strange, the one so like the other As could not be distinguish'd but by names. very hour, and in the self-same inn, A poor mean woman was delivered Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: Those, for their parents were exceeding poor I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return. Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon. We came aboard: bloods,-That His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose: Unless a thousand marks be levied, To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are done, A league from Epidamnum had we sau d, Before the always-wind-obeying deep Gave any tragic instance of our harm: But longer did we not retain much hope; For what obscured light the heavens did grant Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd. Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was,-for other means was none.- The sailors sought for safety by our boat, im-And left the ship, then sinking ripe, to us: My wife, more careful for the latter born, Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms, To him one of the other twins was bound, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause Why thou departedst from thy native home; And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. Ege. A heavier task could not have been pos'd, Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable: Yet, that the world may witness, that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. In Syracusa was I born; and wed 1 Name of a coin. 2 Markets. 2 Natural affection. SCENE II. 303 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; And floating straight, obedient to the stream, Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; And, by the benefit of his wish'd light, The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us, Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: But ere they came,-0, let me say no more! Gather the sequel by that went before. Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die :- Gaoler, take him to thy custody. Gaol. I will, my lord. ge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Egeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A public place. Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and a Merchant. Mer. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off This very day, a Syracusan merchant so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee. Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encounter'd by a mighty rock; Which being violently borne upon, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened With lesser weight, but not with lesser wo, Was carried with more speed before the wind; And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length, another ship had seized on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd And would have reft¹ the fishers of their prey, Had not their bark been very slow of sail, And therefore homeward did they bend their course. Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss; That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. guests; Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Do me the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother; and impórtun'd me, That his attendant, (for his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,) Might bear him company in the quest of him: Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, Roaming clean2 through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought, Or that, or any place that harbours men. But here must end the story of my life; And happy were I in my timely death, Could all my travels warrant me they live. Duke. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark'd To bear the extremity of dire mishap! Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, Which princes, would they, may not disannul, My soul should sue an advocate for thee. But, though thou art adjudged to the death, And passed sentence may not be recall'd, But to our honour's great disparagement, Yet will I favour thee in what I can: Iherefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day, To seek thy help by beneficial help: 1 Deprived. > Go. 2 Clear, completely. 4 The sign of their hotel. Is apprehended for arrival here; (And, not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, 4 where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return, and sleep within mine inn; For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away. Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit Dro. S. Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft, When I am dull with care and melancholy, Lightens my humour with his merry jests. What, will you walk with me about the town, And then go to my inn, and dine with me? Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. 3oon, at five o'clock, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart," And afterwards conscrt you till bed-time; My present business calls me from you now. Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself, And wander up and down, to view the city. Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit Merchant. Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water, That in the ocean seeks another drop; Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.. Here comes the almanac of my true date,- What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soor? Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late: The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell, My mistress made it one upon my cheek: She is so hot because the meat is cold; The meat is cold, because you come not home, You come not home, because you have no stomach, You have no stomach, having broke your fast; But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default to-day. Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray; Where have you left the money that I gave you? 5 i. e. Servant. 6. Exchange, market-place. 304 ACT II. COMEDY OF ERRORS. Dro. E. 0,-six-pence, that I had o' Wednesday last, To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ;- The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed: or she will score your fault upon my pate. lethinks, your maw, like mine, should be clock, And strike you home without a messenger. Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests out of season; your Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: A man is master of his liberty: Time is their master; and, when they see time, They'll go, or come: If so, be patient, sister. Ad. Why should their liberty than ours be more? Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so. Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with wo. There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, But hath. his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, are Are their males' subjects, and at their controls Men, more divine, and masters of all these, Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords: Then let your will attend on their accords. Reserve them till a merrier hour than this: Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; Or I shall break that merry sconce¹ of yours, That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both.- If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou? Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner, And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands; Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit Dromio E. Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say, this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such like liberties of sin: If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave; I greatly fear, my money is not safe. ACT II. [Exit. SCENE I-A public place. Enter Adriana, and Luciana. Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd, That in such haste I sent to seek his master! Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 1 Head. .2 Over-reached. Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other- where? Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel though she pause; They can be meek, that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me: But, if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try;- Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind? Iro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Lic. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning? Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I co ild scarce understand them." Ar. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn- mad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain? Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's stark mad: When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold: Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Where is the thousand marks' I gave thee, villain? The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold, quoth he: My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress! 3 i. e. Scarce stand under them. SCENE II. 305 COMEDY OF ERRORS. I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress! Luc. Quoth who? Dro. E. Quoth my master: I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ;- So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating: Between you, I shall have a holy head. Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master home. Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a football you do spurn me thus ? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fie, how impatience low'reth in your face! Adr. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it: Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. Do their gay vestments his affections bait? That's not my fault, he's master of my state: What ruins are in me that can be found By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground Of my defeatures: My decayed fair? A sunny look of his would soon repair: But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.3 Luc. Self-arming jealousy !-fie, beat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis- pense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain;- Would that alone, alone he would detain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see, the jewel, best enamelled, Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still, That others touch, yet often touching will Wear gold: and so no man, that hath a name, But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me? Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's re- ceipt: And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth? Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is earnest: Upon what bargain do you give it me? Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest upon my love, And make a common of my serious hours." When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams. If you will jest with me, know my aspect, And fashion your demeanour to my looks, Or I will beat this method in your sconce. Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten? Ant. S. Dost thou not know? Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first,--for flouting me; and then, wherefore,-- For urging it the second time to me. Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason?- Well, sir, I thank you. Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what? Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing. Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you Exeunt. nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner- Dro. S. No, sir; I think the meat wants that I time? SCENE 11-The same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. By computation and mine host's report, I could not speak with Dromio since at first I sent him from the mart; See, here he comes. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold? 1 Alteration of features. 2 Fair, for fairness. 3 Stalking-horse. 4 Hinders. 5 i. e. Intrude on them when you please. have. Ant. S. In good time, sir; what's that? Dro. S. Basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason? Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time. There's a time for all things. Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Ant. S. By what rule, sir? 6 Study my countenance. 7 A sconce was a fortification. 306 ACT II. COMEDY OF ERRORS. Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the And tear the stain❜d skin off my harlot brow, plain bald pate of father Time himself. Ant. S. Let's hear it. Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and re- cover the lost hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit. Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit. Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair. Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: he loseth it in a kind of jollity. Ant. S. For what reason? Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too. Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. Dro. S. Sure ones then. Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dro. S. Certain ones then. Ant. S. Name them. Yet Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature. Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover. Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts' us yonder? Enter Adriana and Luciana. And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it, I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: For, if we two be one, and thou play false, do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. I Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; live dis-stained, thou undishonored. I Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not: In Ephesus I am but two hours old, As strange unto your town, as to your talk; Who every word by all my wit being scann'd, Want wit in all one word to understand. Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd with you! When were you wont to use my sister thus? She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant. S. By Dromio ? Dro. S. By me? Adr. By thee: and this tnou did'st return from him,- That he did buffet thee, and. in his blows, Deny'd my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- woman? What is the course and dilft of your compact? Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, Unless it be by inspiration" Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity, To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart nie in my mood! Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; frown; Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st VOW, That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, That never touch well-welcome to thy hand, That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, That thou art then estranged from thyself? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled thence that drop again, Without addition, or diminishing, As take from me thyself, and not me too. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Should'st thou but hear I were licentious; And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate! Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face, 2 Unfertile. 1 Beckons. Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate. If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme: What, was I married to her in my dream? Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for din- ner. Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land;-0, spite of spites!- We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not? Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! Dro. S. I am transform'd, master, am not I? Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am I. Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape. Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. Dro. S. No, I am an ape. SCENE I. 307 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass. Dro. S. "Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. "Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be, But I should know her as well as she knows me. Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, To put the finger in the eye and weep, Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.- Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate:- Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day, And shrive¹ you of a thousand idle pranks: Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.- Come sister:-Dromio, play the porter well. Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping, or waking? mad, or well-advis'd? Known unto these, and to myself disguised! I'll say as they say, and persever so, And in this mist at all adventures go. Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1-The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Bal- thazar. Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all; My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours: Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop, To see the making of her carcanet, And that to-morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villain that would face me down He met me on the mart; and that I beat him, And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold; And that I did deny my wife and house :-- Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know: That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show: If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own hand-writing would tell you what I think. Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. Ishould kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an 1 ass. Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray God, our cheer May answer my good will, and your good welcome here. Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. 1 Absolve. 3 Dishes of meat. 2 A necklace strung with pearls. 4 Blockhead. 5 Fool. Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes t merry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and mors sparing guest: But though my cates³ be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have but not with better heart. But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them,et us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, lian, Jen'. Dro. S. [Within.] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!5 Either get ther from the door, or sit down at the hatch: Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door. Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, n you'll tell me wherefore. Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day. Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again, when you may. Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe ?6 Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there Dromio, or thy name for an ass. who are those at the gate? Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. Faith, no; he comes too late; And so tell your master. Dro. E. O lord, I must laugh:- Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's-When? can you tell? Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. Dro. S. And you said, no. Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow for blow. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. Can you tell for whose sake? Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. Luce. Let him knock till it ache. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. 6 I own, am owner of. 7 Bustle, tumult 308 ACT III. COMEDY OF ERRORS. Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have| Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle; come before. Adr. Your wife, the door. Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either. There will we dine: this woman that I mean, sir knave? go, get you from My wife (but, I protest, without desert,) Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; To her will we to dinner.-Get you home, And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made: Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine; For there's the house; that chain will I bestow (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,) Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste: Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold: It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.2 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir: and words are but wind; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon thee, hind! Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee! pray thee, let me in. I Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a crow. Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather: If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, sir; 0, let it not be so; Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this,-Your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; And doubt not, sir, that she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you. Be rul'd by me; depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner: And, about evening, come yourself alone, To know the reason of this strange restraint. If by strong hand you offer to break in, Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made on it; And that suppos'd by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation, That may with foul intrusion enter in, And dwell upon your grave when you are dead: For slander lives upon succession; For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevailed; I will depart in quiet, And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. I know a wench of excellent discourse,- 1 Have part. 3 i. e. Made fast. 2 A proverbial phrase. 4 By this time. 5 Love-springs are young plants or shoots of love. hence. expense. Ant. E. Do so: This jest shall cost me some [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus, hate, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kindness: Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your false love with some show of blind- ness: Let not my sister read it in your eye; Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted? What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, And let her read it in thy looks at board: Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe, Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain," When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress (what your name is 'else, I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show not, Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your word's deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you, To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe; Far more, far more, to you do I decline. O, train me not, sweet. mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: 6 i. e. Being made altogether of credulity. 7 Vain, is light of tongue. (8) Mermaid for siren. SCENE II. 309 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden airs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie; And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die :- Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so ? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Late. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Luc. Ant. S. That's my sister. No; It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee: Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: Give me thy hand. Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luciana. Enter, from the house of Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where runn'st thou so fast? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself? to Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood rould not do it. Ant. S. What's her name? Dro. S. Nell, sir;-but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. Ant. S. Then she hears some breadth? Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her. Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it. out by the bogs. Ant. S. Where Scotland? Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand. Ant. S. Where France? Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her hair. Ant. S. Where England? Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. Ant. S. Where Spain? Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her breath. Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To con- clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assur'd4 to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; And if the wind blow any way from shore, will not harbour in this town to-night. I If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? Where I will walk, till thou return to me. Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay If every one know us, and we know none, to your horse; and she would have me as a beast'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim So fly I from her that would be my wife. to me. Ant. S. What is she? [Exit. Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here: And therefore, 'tis high time that I were hence. Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one She, that doth call me husband, even my soul as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister, reverence: I have but lean luck in the match, and Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? Hath almost made me traitor to myself; Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow Enter Angelo. in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world. Ant. S. What complexion is she of? Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face no- 'hing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, an may go over shoes in the grime of it. Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. 1 i. e. Confounded. 3 Large ships. 2 Swarthy. 4 Affianced. a Ang. Master Antipholus? Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. Ang. I know it well, sir Lo, here is the cnain; thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine: The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. I Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with this? Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you. 5 A turn-spit. 310 ACT IV. COMEDY OF ERRORS. Ant. S. Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have: Go home with it, and please your wife withal; And soon at supper-time I'll visit you, And then receive my money for the chain. Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now; For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. [Exit. Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell; But this I think, there's no man is so vain, That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; If any ship put out, then straight away. ACT IV. [Exit. SCENE I.-The same. Enter a Merchant, An- gelo, and an Officer. Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, And since I have not much impórtun'd you; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Persia, and want guilders' for my voyage: Therefore make present satisfaction, Or I'll attach you by this officer. Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her vour- self? Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about you? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have; Or else you may return without your money. Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain: Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to excuse Your breach of promise to the Porcupine: I should have chid you for not bringing it, But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, des. patch. Ang. You hear, how he impórtunes me; the chain- Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even now; Either send the chain, or send me by some token. Ant. E. Fie! now you run this humour out of breath: Come, where's the chain? I pray you let me see it. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance; Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no; Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, If not, I'll leave him to the officer. Is growing2 to me by Antipholus: And, in the instant that I met with you, He had of me a chain; at five o'clock, I shall receive the money for the same: Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of Ephesus. Off. That labour may you save; see where he comes. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day.- But soft, I see the goldsmith:-get thee gone; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! [Exit Dromio. Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you: I promised your presence, and the chain; But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me: Belike, you thought our love would last too long, If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat; The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion; Which doth amount to three odd ducats more Than I stand debted to this gentleman; I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money; Besides, I have some business in the town: Good signior, take the stranger to my house, And with you take the chain, and bid my wife Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. 1 A coin. 2 Accruing. 3 I shall. Ant. E. I answer you! What should I answer you? Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me much to say so. Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: Consider, how it stands upon my credit. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Off. I do; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me. Ang. This touches me in reputation:- Either consent to pay this sum for me, Or I attach you by this officer. Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had! Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer; would not spare my brother in this case, If he should scorn me so apparently. I Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail:- But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear As all the metal in your shop will answer. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,. T'o your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 4 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, bears away: our fraughtage, sir, I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitæ. The ship is in her trim; the merry wind Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all But for their owner, master, and yourself. Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why thou peevish' sheep, What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 4 Freight, cargo. 5 Silly. 6 Carriage. SCENE II, III. 311 COMEDY OF ERRORS. One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough rope; And told thee to what purpose and what end. Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as soon; You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, And teach your ears to listen with more heed. To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, There is a purse of ducats: let her send it; Tell her, I am arrested in the street, And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; be gone. On, officer, to prison till it come. [Exeunt Mer. Ang. Off. and Ant. E. Dro. S. To Adriana! that is where he din'd, Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. Thither I must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfill. [Exe. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee sc? Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye That he did plead in earnest, yea or no? Look'd he or red, or pale; or sad, or merrily? What observation mad'st thou in this case, Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?¹ Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right. Adr. He meant, he did me none; the more my spite. Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. Adr. And what said he? Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might move. First he did praise my beauty; then, my speech. Adr. Did'st speak him fair? Luc. Have patience, I beseech. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,2 Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where; Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse: Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;4 My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;' A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun- termands The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well; One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.6 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can tell: Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the mo ney in the desk? Adr. Go fetch it, sister.-This I wonder at, [Exit Luciana. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt: Tell me, was he arrested on a band?" Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing. A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring? Adr. What, the chain? Dro. S. No, no, the bell: 'tis time, that I were gone. It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adr. The hours come back! that did I never hear. Dro. S. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, a'turns back for very fear. Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason! Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: Have you not heard men say, That time comes stealing on by night and day? If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Enter Luciana. Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it straight; And bring thy master home immediately.- Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth salute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend; And every one doth call me by my name. Some tender money to me, some invite me; Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; Some offer me commodities to buy: Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse; sweet And, therewithal, took measure of my body. now, make haste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? Dro. S. By running fast. Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? Dro. S. No, he's in tartar limbo, worse than hell: A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, 1 An allusion to the redness of the northern lignts likened to the appearance of armies. 2 Dry, withered. 3 Marked by nature with deformity. 4 Who crieth most where her nest is not. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, And Lapland sorcerers inhal it here. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for: What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell'd? 5 The officers in those days were clad in buff which is also a cant expression for a man's skin. 6 Hell was the cant term for prison. 7 i. e. Bond. 8 Fanciful conception. 312 ACT IV COMEDY OF ERRORS. Ant. S. What gold is this? what Adam dost thcu mean? Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, but that Adam, that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. Ant. Š. I understand thee not. Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock: Mistress, that you know. [Excunt Ant. and Dro. Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, Else would he never so demean himself: A ring he hath of mine, worth forty ducats, And for the same he promis'd me a chain! Both one, and other, he denies me now. The reason that I gather he is mad, Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went (Besides this present instance of his rage,) like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. and 'rests them: he, sir, that takes pity on decayed Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits, men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike. Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer? Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he, that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band: one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, God give you good rest. On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now, to hie home to his house, And tell his wife, that, being lunatic, He rush'd into my house, and took perforce My ring away: This course I fittest choose; For forty ducats is too much to lose. SCENE IV.-The same. Enter Antipholus o Ephesus, and an Officer. Exit. Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone? Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away; Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to My wife is in a wayward mood to-day; tarry for the hoy, Delay: Here are the angels that And will not lightly trust the messenger, you sent for, to deliver you. That I should be attach'd in Ephesus: Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I; And here we wander in illusions; Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtezan. Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now; Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day? Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not! Dro.. S. Master, is this mistress Satan! Ant. S. It is the devil. I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.- Enter Dromio of Ephesus, with a rope's end. Here comes my man; I think, he brings the money. How now, sir? have you that I sent you for? Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.¹ Ant. E. But where's the money? Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I return'd. Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; and thereof comes, that the wenches say God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light wench. It is written, they appear to men like an-you. gels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; Come not near her. Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here. Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, bespeak a long spoon. Ant. S. Why, Dromio? Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that must eat with the devil. Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping? Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had dinner, Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome [Beating him. Off. Good sir, be patient. Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity. Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass. Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have serv'd him from the hour of nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service, but blows: when I am cold, at he heats me with beating: when I am warm, he cools me with beating: I am waked with it, when I sleep; raised with it, when I sit; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home; welcomed home with it, when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd; and I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of one's nail, A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, & nut, a cherry-stone: but she, more covetous, Would have a chain. Master, be wise; and if you give it her, The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch Come, Dromio, let us go. Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtezan, with Pinch, and others. Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. 1 Correct them all. SCENE IV. 313 COMEDY OF ERRORS. Dro. E. Mistress, respice finem, respect your I know it by their pale and deadly looks: end, or rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Be- They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. care the rope's end. Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. Cour. How say you now? is not your husband mad? Adr. His incivility confirms no less.- Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; Establish him in his true sense again, And I will please you what you will demand. Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy! Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man, To yield possession to my holy prayers, And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not mad. Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! Ant. E. You minion you, are these your cus- tomers? Did this companion' with a saffron face Revel and feast it at my house to-day, Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, And I denied to enter in my house? Adr. O, husband, God doth know, you din'd at home, Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, Free from these slanders, and this open shame! Ant. E. I din'd at home! Thou villain, what say'st thou ? Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and shut out? I Dro. E. Perdy, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out. Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me? Dro. E. Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you. Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence? Dro. E. In verity you did;-my bones bear witness, That since have felt the vigour of his rage. Adr. Is't good to sooth him in these contraries? Pinch. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein, And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. Dro. E. Money by me? heart and good-will you might, But, surely, master, not a rag of money. to-day, And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold; But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both. Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all; And art confederate with a damned pack, To make a loathsome abject scorn of me: But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes, That would behold in me this shameful sport. [Pinch and his assistants bind Ant. and Dro, Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near me. Pinch. More company;-the fiend is strong within him. Luc. Ah me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou, I am thy prisoner; wilt thou suffer them To make a rescue? Off. Masters, let him go; He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? Hast thou delight to see a wretched man Do outrage and displeasure to himself? Off. He is my prisoner; if I let him go, The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee: Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd Home to my house.- O most unhappy day! Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet! Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for you. Ant. E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me? Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, Good master; cry, the devil.- Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk. Adr. Go, bear him hence.-Sister, go you with - me.- [Exe. Pinch and assistants, with Ant. and Dro. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith; Do you know him? Adr. I know the man: What is the sum he owes? Off. Two hundred ducats. Adr. Say, how grows it due? Off. Due for a chain, your husband had of him. Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day Came to my house, and took away my ring, (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of Straight after, did I meet him with a chain. ducats? Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness, That I was sent for nothing out a rope! Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- sess'd; 1 Fellow. 2 A corruption of the French oath-par dieu. 3 Without a fable. 4 Certainly. Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it :- Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is, I long to know the truth hereof at large. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of Syracuse. Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again. Adr. And come with naked swords; let's call more help, 5 Foolish. 6 Unhappy for unlucky, i. e. mischievous, 314 ACT V COMEDY OF ERRORS. To have them bound again. Off. Away, they'll kill us. [Exeunt Off. Adr. and Luc. Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran from you. Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff¹ from thence: 1 long, that we were safe and sound aboard. Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely do is no harm; you saw, they speak us fair, Enter the Abbess. Abb. Be quiet, people; wherefore throng you hither? Adr. To fetch my poor, distracted husband hence. Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, And bear him home for his recovery. Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. Abb. How long hath this possession held the man? Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, give us gold: methinks, they are such a gentle And much, much different from the man he was; nation, that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that But, till this afternoon, his passion, claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. stay here still, and turn witch. Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town: Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. [Exe. Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea? Bury'd some dear friend? Hath not else his eye Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? A sin, prevailing much in youthful men, Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Which of these sorrows is he subject to? Adr. To none of these, except it be the last: Enter Merchant and Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. Adr. Why, so I did. Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me. Abb. Haply, in private. Adr. Angelo. Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you; But, I protest, he had the chain of me, Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city? Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, Second to none that lives here in the city; His word might bear my wealth at any time. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse. Ang. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck, Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. Signior Antipholus, I wonder much That you would put me to this shame and trouble; And not without some scandal to yourself, With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny This chain, which now you wear so openly: Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, You have done wrong to this my honest friend; Who, but for staying on our controversy, Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day: This chain you had of me, can you deny it? Ant. S. I think, I had; I never did deny it. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir; and forswore it too. Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it? Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear thee: Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st To walk where any honest men resort. Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus: I'll prove mine honour, and mine honesty, Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. [They draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and others. Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad:- Some get within him,2 take his sword away: Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house. This is some priory:-In, or we are spoil'd. Exeunt Ant. and Dro. to the priory. 2 1. e. Close, grapple with him. Baggage. And in assemblies too. Abb. Ay, but not enough. Adr. It was the copy4 of our conference: In bed, he slept not for my urging it: At board, he fed not for my urging it: Alone, it was the subject of my theme; In company, I often glanced it; Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad: The venom clamours of a jealous woman Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing; And thereof comes it that his head is light. Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraid- ings: Unquiet meals make ill digestions, Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; And what's a fever but a fit of madness? Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls' Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, But moody and dull melancholy, (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;) And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life? In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest, To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast; The consequence is then, thy jealous fits Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, When he demeaned himself rough, rude, and wildly.- Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.-- Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband forth. Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary. And it shall privilege him from your hands, Till I have brought him to his wits again, Or lose my labour in assaying it. Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, Diet his sickness, for it is my office, And will have no attorney but myself; 3 i. e. Go into a house. 4 Theme. SCENE 1. 315 COMEDY OF ERRORS. And therefore let me have him home with me. Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir, Till I have us'd the approved means I have, With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, To make of him a formal man again :¹ It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, A charitable duty of my order; Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. Adr. I will not hence and leave my husband here; him. Ar 1 ill doth it beseem your holiness, To separate the husband and the wife. Abb. Be quiet and depart, thou shalt not have [Exit Abbess. Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. Adr. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet, And never rise until my tears and prayers Have won his grace to come in person hither, And take perforce my husband from the abbess. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five: Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person Comes this way to the melancholy vale, The place of death and sorry execution, Behind the ditches of the abbey here. Ang. Upon what cause? Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, Who put unluckily into this bay Against the laws and statutes of this town, Beheaded publicly for his offence. Ang. See, where they come; we will behold his death. Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. Enter Duke attended; Egeon bare-headed; with the Headsman and other officers. Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, If any friend will pay the sum for him, He shall not die, so much we tender him. Adr. Justice, 1 ost sacred dake, against the abbess! Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, husband,- Whom I made lord of me and all I had, At your important letters,-this ill day A most outrageous fit of madness took him; That desperately he hurried through the street (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) Doing displeasure to the citizens my Duke. Long since, thy husbana serv'd me in my wars; And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, When thou didst make him master of thy bed, To do him all the grace and good I could.- Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate, And bid the lady abbess come to me; I will determine this, before I stir. Enter a Servant. Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! My master and his man are both broken loose, Beaten the maids a-row," and bound the doctor, Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire; And ever as it blazed, they threw on him Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair; My master preaches patience to him, while His man with scissars nicks him like a fool: And, sure, unless you send some present help, Between them they will kill the conjure. Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here; And that is false thou dost report to us. Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it. He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, To scorch your face, and to disfigure you : Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone. [Cry within. Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard with halberds. By rushing in their houses, bearing thence Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, Whilst to take orders for the wrongs I went, That here and there his fury had committed. Anon, I wote not by what strong escape, He broke from those that had the guard of him; And, with his mad attendant and himself, Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, Met us again, and, madly bent on us, Chas'd us away; till raising of more aid, We came again to bind them: then they fled Into this abbey, whither we pursued them; And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, And will not suffer us to fetch him out, Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command, Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help. 2 Part. 1. e. To bring him back to his senses. 3 Sad. 4 Importunate. 5 i. e. To take measures. 5 Know 7 i. e. Successively, one after another. That he is borne about invisible: Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you, Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here; And now he's there, past thought of human reason. Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. Ant. E. Justice, .nost gracious duke, oh, grant me justice! Even for the service that long since I did thee, When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. ge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dot, I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there. She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife; That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Even in the strength and height of injury! Beyond imagination is the wrong, That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me, While she with harlots feasted in my house. Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so? Adr. No, my good lord ;-myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together: So befall my soul, As this is false, he burdens me withal! Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth! Ang. O perjur'd woman! They are both for, sworn, In this the madman justly chargeth them. Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; 8 i. e. Cuts his hair close. 9 Harlot was a term of reproach applied te cheats among men as well as to wantons among iwomen. 316 ACT V. COMEDY OF ERRORS. Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him: in the street I met him; And in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear down, Duke. Why, this is strange :-Go call the abbess hither; I think you are all mated,' or stark mad. {Exit an attendant. Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word; Haply I see a friend will save my life, And pay the sum that will deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. ge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus ? And is not that your bondman Dromio? Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, me But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords; Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which, He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey; and sent my peasant home For certain ducats: he with none return'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer, To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates; along with them They brought one Pinch; a hungry lean-fac'd lain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, Ege. I am sure, you both of you remember me.. Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last; And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand, vil-Have written strange defeature's in my face: But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? Ant. E. Neither. Ege. A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man: this pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjuror; And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, Cries out, I was possess'd: then all together They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence; And in a dark and dankish vault at home There left me and my man, both bound together; Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom, and immediately Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames and great indignities. Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him; That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no? Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine Heard you confess you had the chain of him, After you first forswore it on the mart, And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you; And then, you fled into this abbey here, From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls, Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! And this is false, you burden me withal. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. If here you hous'd him, here he would have been; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:- You say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying:-Sirrah, what say you? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porcupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. : Confounded. 2 Alteration of features. Dromio, nor thou? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. Ege. I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. Ege. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so; I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus. During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and Dromio Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; And so of these: Which is the natural man, And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay, Ant. S. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him here? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonda 3 Furrowed, lined. THE TWO DROMIOS. DROMID OF EPHESUS.-"Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth." "Comedy of Errors," Act V., Scene I. INI OF ICH SCENE I. 317 COMEDY OF ERRORS. And gain a husband by his liberty:- Speak, old geon, if thou be'st the man That had'st a wife once call'd Emilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons: O, if thou be'st the same geon, speak, And speak unto the same Æmilia! Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia! If thou art she, tell me, where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft? Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; But, by and by rude fishermen of Corinth By force took Dromio and my son from them, And me they left with those of Epidamnum; What then became of them, I cannot tell: I, to this fortune that you see me in. Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right;" These two Antipholus's, these two so like, And these two Dromio's, one in semblance,- Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,- These are the parents to these children. Which accidentally are met together. Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart! I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Dro. E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town witl. that most famous warrior Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to day? Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Adr. And are not you my husband? Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so; And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother:-What I told you then, I hope, I shall have leisure to make good; If this be not a dream, I see, and hear. Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me. And all that are assembled in this place, That by this sympathized one day's error Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction.- Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; nor, till this present hour, My heavy burdens are deliver'd:- The duke, my husband, and my children both, And you the calendars of their nativity, Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me; After so long grief, such nativity! Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast. [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, geon, Courtezan, Merchant, Angelo, and attendants. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd? Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio: Come, go with us: we'll look to that anon: Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. [Exeunt Antipholus S. and E. Adr. and Luc. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; She now shall be my sister, not my wife. Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my brother: I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. Will you walk in to see their gossiping? Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it? Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till then, lead thou first. Dro. E. Nay, then thus: We came into the world, like brother and brother; And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. [Exeunt. On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesitate to pronounce them the composition of two very unequal writers. Shakspeare had un- doubtedly a share in them; but that the entire play Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you, was no work of his, is an opinion which (as Bene And Dromio my man did bring them me: I see, we still did meet each other's man, And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, And thereupon these Errors are arose. Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life. Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here, And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:- 1 The morning story is what Egeor. tells the duke in the first scene of this play. 21 dict says) 'fire cannot melt out of me; I will die in it at the stake.' Thus, as we are informed by Aulus Gellius, Lib. III. Cap. 3. some plays were abso- lutely ascribed to Plautus, which in truth had only been (retractata et expolita) retouched and polish- ed by him. In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinction of character; and our attention is less forcibly engaged, because we can guess in great measure how the denouement will be brought about. Yet the subject appears to have been reluctantly dismissed, even in this last and unne. cessary scene; where the same mistakes are con- tinued, till the power of affording entertainment lie entirely lost STEEVENS. MACBETH. Duncan, king of Scotland. Malcolm, his sons. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Donalbain, Macbeth, generals of the king's army. Banquo, Macduff, Lenox, Rosse, Menteth, noblemen of Scotland. Angus, Cathness, Fleance, son to Banquo. Siward, earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces. Young Siward, his son. Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. Son to Macduff. ACT I. SCENE I-An open place. Thunder and ning. Enter three Witches. 1 Witch. WHEN shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 2 Witch, When the hurlyburly's' done, When the battle's lost and won. 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 1 Witch. Where the place? 2 Witch. An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. Lady Macbeth. Lady Macduff. Gentlewoman attending on lady Macbeth. Hecate, and three Witches. Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants, and Messengers. The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Appari- tions. Scene, in the end of the fourth act, lies in Eng land; through the rest of the play, in Scotland, and, chiefly, at Macbeth's castle. Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles Light-And fortune, on his damned quarrels smiling, Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied;2 Upon the heath. 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin! All. Paddock calls:-Anon.- Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish. SCENE II-A Camp near Fores. Alarum with- in. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, with attendants, meeting a bleeding Sol- dier. Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report, As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt The newest state. Mal. This is the sergeant, Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 'Gainst my captivity:Hail, brave friend! Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, As thou didst leave it. Sold. Doubtfully it stood; As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald (Worthy to be a rebel; for, to that, The multiplying villanies of nature 1 Tumult. 2 i. e. Supplied with light and heavy-armed troops. 3 Cause 4 The opposite to comfort. Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all's too weak: For brave Macbeth. (well he deserves that name,) Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, Which smok'd with bloody execution, Like valour's minion, Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave, And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps, And fix'd his head upon our battlements. Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break; So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels: With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, Began a fresh assault. Dun. Dismay'd not this Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo? Sold. Yes; As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion. If I say sooth, I must report they were As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; So they Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, Or memorize another Golgotha,6 I cannot tell : But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds; They smack of honour both :-Go, get him sur- [Exit Soldier, attended. geons. 5 Truth. 6 Make another Golgotha as memorable as the first. SCENE III. 319 MACBETH. Enter Rosse. Who comes here? Mal. The worthy thane of Rosse. Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! should he look, That seems to speak things strange. Rosse. So God save the king! Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? Rosse. From Fife, great king, Where the Norweyan banners flout¹ the sky, And fan our people cold. Norway himself, with terrible numbers, Assisted by that most disloyal traitor The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: Till that Bellona's bridegroom,2 lapp'd in proof, Confronted him with self-comparisons, Point againt point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, The victory fell on us ;- Dun. Rosse. That now Great happiness! Swenc, the Norways' king, craves composition; Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch, Ten thousand dollars to our general use. Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall de- ceive Our bosom interest:-Go, pronounce his death, And with his former title greet Macbeth. Rosse. I'll see it done. 8 All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the sea and land, Thus do go about, about; Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine: Peace!-the charm's wound up. Enter Macbeth and Banquo. Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores ?-What are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire; That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth, And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught That man may question? You seem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying Upon her skinny lips :-You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. Macb. Speak, if you can;-What are you? 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis ! 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Cawdor! 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king hereafter. Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear, Things that do sound so fair?-I'the name of truth, Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath Are ye fantastical, or that indeed won. SCENE III-A Heath. Thunder. three Witches. [Exeunt. Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner You greet with present grace, and great prediction Enter the Of noble having, 10 and of royal hope, 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 2 Witch. Killing swine. 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd:- Give me, quoth I: Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyons cries. Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger: But in a sieve I'll thither sail, And, like a rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 3 Witch. And I another. 1 Witch. I myself have all the other; And the very ports they blow, All the quarters that they know I'the shipman's card. I will drain him dry as hay: Sleep shall, neither night nor day, Hang upon his pent-house lid; He shall live a man forbid:" Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: Though his bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. Look what I have. 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. 3 Witch. A drum, a drum; Macbeth doth come. That he seems rapt¹¹ withal; to me you speak not: If you can look into the seeds of time, And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, Your favours, nor your hate. 1 Witch. Hail! 2 Witch. Hail! 3 Witch. Hail! 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo! 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis; But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, A prosperous gentleman; and to be king, Stands not within the prospect of belief, No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence You owe this strange intelligence? or why Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting-Speak, I charge [Witches vanish. you. Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, And these are of them:-Whither are they vanish'd? Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, melted As breath into the wind.-'Would they had staid! Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? [Drum within. Or have we eaten of the insane root,12 That takes the reason prisoner? Macb. Your children shall be kings. 1 Mock. 2 Shakspeare means Mars. 3 Defended by armour of proof. 4 Avaunt, begone. 5 A scurvy woman fed on offals. 6 Sailor's chart. 7 Accursed. Ban. 8 Prophetic sisters. You shall be king 9 Supernatural, spiritual. 10 Estate 11 Rapturously affected. 12 The root which makes insane 320 ACT I. MACBETH. 24. 2 - Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? Without my stir. Ban. To the self-same tune, and words. Who's Ban. here? Enter Rosse and Angus. Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, The news of thy success: and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, In viewing o'er the rest o'the self-same day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale,¹ Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And pour'd them down before him. We are sent, Ang. To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: In which addition,2 hail, most worthy thane! For it is thine. Ban. What, can the devil speak true? Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you dress me In borrow'd robes ? Ang. Who was the thane, lives yet; But under heavy judgment bears that life Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was Combin'd with Norway; or did line the rebel With hidden help and vantage; or that with both He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not; But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, Have overthrown him. Glamis, the thane of Cawdor: The greatest is behind.-Thanks for your pains. Do you not hope your children shall be kings, When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, Promis'd no less to them? Macb. Ban. That, trusted home, Might yet enkindle³ you unto the crown, Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths; Win us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence.- Cousins, a word, I pray you. Macb. Two truths are told, As happy prologues to the swelling act Of the imperial theme.-I thank you, gentlemen. This supernatural soliciting4 Cannot be ill; cannot be good: If ill, Why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a truth? I am thane of Cawdor: If good, why do I yield to that suggestion' Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings: My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is, But what is not. Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, 1 As fast as they could be counted. 2 Title. 3 Stimulate. New honours come upon him Like our strange garments; cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Macb. Time and the hour runs through the roughest day Come what come may; Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your lei sure. Macb. Give me your favour: 9-my dull brain was wrought With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains Are register'd where every day I turn The leaf to read them.-Let us toward the king.-. Think upon what hath chanc'd: and, at more time, The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak Our free hearts each to other. Ban. Very gladly. Macb. Till then, enough.-Come, friends. [Exe. SCENE IV.-Fores. A room in the Palace. Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, and attendants. Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not Those in commission yet return'd? Mal. My liege, They are not yet come back. But I have spoke With one that saw him die: who did report, That very frankly he confess'd his treasons; Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth A deep repentance: nothing in his life Became him, like the leaving it: he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,10 As 'twere a careless trifle. Dun. There's no art, To find the mind's construction in the face:"1 He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.-O worthiest cousin! Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before, That swiftest wing of recompense is slow To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd. That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine! only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay. Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part Is to receive our duties: and our duties Are to your throne and state, children, and servants; Which do but what they should, by doing every thing Safe toward your love and honour. Dun. Welcome hither. I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. 12-Noble Banquo, That last no less deserv'd, nor must be known No less to have done so, let me infold thee, And hold thee to my heart. Ban. The harvest is your own. Dun. There if I grow, My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow.-Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know, We will establish our estate upon 8 Time and opportunity. 4 Encitement. 10 Owned, possessed. 6 Firmly fixed. 9 Pardon. 11 We cannot construe the disposition of the 7 The powers of action are oppressed by con- mind by the lineaments of the face. 5 Temptation. jecture. 12 Exuberant. SCENE V, VI. 321 MACBETH. Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter, The prince of Cumberland: which honour must Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, But sign of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers.-From hence to Inverness, And bind us further to you. Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you: I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful The hearing of my wife with your approach; So, humbly take my leave. Dun. My worthy Cawdor! Attend. So please you, it is true; our thane is coming: One of my fellows had the speed of him; Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more Than would make up his message. Lady M. Give him tending, He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse Exit Attendant. That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortals thoughts, unsex me here; Macb. The prince of Cumberland!-That is a And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full step, On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap, (Aside. Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse;" That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect, and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And palls thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry, Hold, Hold !-Great Glamis, worthy Caw dor! Enter Macbeth. For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! Let not light see my black and deep desires: The eye wink at the hand! yet let that be, Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Ex. Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant; And in his commendations I am fed ; It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome: It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE V.-Inverness. A room in Macbeth's castle. Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. Lady M. They met me in the day of success; Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! and I have learned by the perfectest report, they Thy letters have transported me beyond have more in them than mortal knowledge. When This ignorant present, 10 and I feel now I burned in desire to question them further, they The future in the instant. made themselves-air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came Duncan comes here to-night. missives from the king, who all-hailed me, Thane of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be! This Shall sun that morrow see! have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men partner of greatness; that thou mightest not lose May read strange matters:-To beguile the time, the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent and farewell. Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promis'd:-Yet 'do I fear thy nature; It is too full o'the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great; Art not without ambition; but without The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly, That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win: thou'd'st have, great Glamis, That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it; And that which rather thou dost fear to do, Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; And chastise with the valour of my tongue All that impedes thee from the golden round;4 Which fate and metaphysical' aid doth seem To have thee crown'd withal.-What is your tidings? My dearest love, And when goes hence! Macb. Lady M. Macb. To-morrow, -as he purposes. Lady M. flower, O, never, But be the serpent under it. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This night's great business into my despatch; Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. Which shall to all our nights and days to come Macb. We will speak further. Lady M. Only look up clear; Leave all the rest to me. To alter favour¹¹ ever is to fear: [Exeur.t SCENE VI.-The same. Before the castle. Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and attendants. Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Ban. The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, This guest of summer, By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze, buttress, Nor coigne of vantage, 12 but this bird hath made Thou'rt mad to say it: His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air Is delicate. Enter an Attendant. Attend. The king comes here to-night. Lady M. Is not thy master with him? who, were't so, Would have inform'd for preparation. Full as valiant as described. 3 Messengers. 2 The best intelligence.. 4 Diadem. 5 Supernatural. 6 Murderous. 7 Pity. 8 Wrap as in a mantle. 9 Knife anciently meant a sword or dagger. 10 i. e. Beyond the present time, which is, ac- cording to the process of nature, ignorant of the future. 11 Look, countenance. 12 Convenient corner 322 ACT IL MACBETH. LA Enter Lady Macbeth. See, see! our honour'd hostess! The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you, How you shall bid God yield' us for your pains, And thank us for your trouble. All our service Lady M. In every point twice done, and then done double, Were poor and single business, to contend Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith Your majesty loads our house: For those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your hermits.2 Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us: Fair and noble hostess, We are your guest to-night. Lady M. Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, Still to return your own. He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, Not cast aside so soon. Lady M. Was the hope drunk, Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale At what it did so freely? From this time, Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem; Letting I dare not wait upon I would, Like the poor cat i'the adage? Macb. Pr'ythee, peace: I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none. Lady M. What beast was it then, That made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; And, to be more than what you were, you would Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: They have made themselves, and that their fitness Does unmake you. I have given suck; and know [Exeunt. How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, A room in the castle. Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, Enter, and pass over And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as you Dun. Give me your hand: Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave, hostess. SCENE VII.-The same. Hautboys and torches. now the stage, a Sewer, and divers Servants with Have done to this. dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth. Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,- We'd jump the life to come.-But, in these cases, We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips. He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself.. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off: And pity, like a naked new-born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, Macb. If we should fail,- We fail! Lady M. But screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains Will I with wine and wassel" so convince, That memory, the warders of the brain, Shal! be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only: When in swinish sleep Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, What cannot you and I perform upon The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt Of our great quell?10 Macb. Bring forth men children only 1 For thy undaunted mettle should compose Nothing but males. Will it not be received," When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, That they have done't? Lady M. Who dares receive it other, As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar Upon his death? Macb. I am settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. That tears shall drown the wind.-I have no spur Away, and mock the time with fairest show; To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself, And falls on the other.-How now, what news? Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. He has almost supp'd; Why have you left the chamber? Macb. Hath he ask'd for me? Lady M. Know you not, he has ? Macb. We will proceed no further in this business: 1 Reward. 2 i. e. We as hermits shall ever pray for you. 3 Subject to account. 4 An officer so called from his placing the dishes on the table. False face must hide what the false heart doth knew. ACT II. Exeunt, SCENE I.-The same. Court within the castle Enter Banquo and Fleance, and a servant, with a torch before them. Ban. How goes the night, boy? 5 Winds; sightless is invisible. 6 In the same sense as cohere. 7 Intemperance. 8 Overpower. 9 Sentinel. 10 Murder. 11 Apprehended. SCENE 11 323 MACBETH. Fle. The moon is down; I have not heard the Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear clock. Ban. And she goes down at twelve. Fle. I take't, 'tis later, sir. Ban, Hold, take my sword:-There's husbandry' in heaven, Their candles are all out.-Take thee that too. A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, And yet I would not sleep: Merciful powers! Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature Gives way to in repose!-Give me my sword ;- Enter Macbeth, and a servant with a torch.. Who's there? Macb. A friend. The very stones prate of my where-about, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it.--Whiles I threat, he lives; Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell rings. I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell, That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold: What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire: Hark!-Peace! Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed: It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, He hath been in unusual pleasure, and Sent forth great largess to your offices:3 This diamond he greets your wife withal, By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up4 In measureless content. Macb. Being unprepar'd, Our will became the servant to defect; Which else should free have wrought. Ban. All's well. I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: To you they have show'd come truth. Mach. I think not of them; Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, Would spend it in some words upon that business, If you would grant the time. Ban. At your kind'st leisure. Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent,-when 'tis, It shall make honour for you. Ban. So I lose none, In seeking to augment it, but still keep My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear. I shall be counsel'd. Macb. Good repose, the while! Ban. Thanks, sir, the like to you! [Ex. Ban. Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [Ex. Ser. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:- I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable, As this which now I draw. Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms Do mock their charge with snores: I have drugg'd their possets, That death and nature do contend about them, Whether they live or die. Macb. [Within.] Who's there?-what, ho! Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd, And 'tis not done :-the attempt, and not the deed, Confounds us:-Hark!-I laid their daggers ready, He could not miss them.-Had he not resembled My father as he slept, I had don't.-My husband? Enter Macbeth. Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest: I see thee still; And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, Which was not so before.-There's no such thing: It is the bloody business, which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his de- pace, sign Moves like a ghost.-Thou sure and firm set earth, 1 Thrift. 2 Bounty. 3 The rooms appropriated to servants. Macb. I have done the deed :-Didst thou not hear a noise? Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crick ets cry. Did not you speak? Macb. Lady M. Macb. Lady M. Ay. Macb. Hark!- When? Now. As I descended? Who lies i'the second chamber? Lady M. Donalbain. [Looking on his hands Lady M. A foolish thought to say a sorry sight. Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and Macb. This is a sorry sight. one cried, murder! That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep. Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. Macb. One cried, God bless us! and, Amen, the other. As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say, amen, When they did say, God bless us. Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce amen? I had most need of blessing, and amen Stuck in my throat. Lady M. These deeds must not be thought After these ways; so, it will make us mad. Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleaves of care, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Balm of hurt minds. great nature's second course, Chief nourisher in life's feast;- 4 Conclude. 7 As if. 5 Haft. 6 Drops 8 Sleave is unwrought silk. 324 ACT II. MACBETH. Lady M. What do you mean? ver at quiet! What are you?-But this place is too Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more! to all the cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had house: thought to have let in some of all professions, that Glamis hath murder'd sleep; and therefore Cawdor go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more! [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray you, remember Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, the porter. Opens the gate. worthy thane, You do unbend your noble strength, to think So brainsickly of things:-Go, get some water, And wash this filthy witness from your hand.- Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there: Go, carry them; and smear The sleepy grooms with blood." Macb. I'll go no more: I am afraid to think what I have done; Look on't again, I dare not. Lady M. Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: The sleeping and the dead, Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood, That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within. Macb. Whence is that knocking? How is't with me, when every noise appals me? What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes! Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnardine,' Making the green one red. Re-enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I shame To wear a heart so white. [Knock.] I hear a knocking At the south entry:-retire we to our chamber: A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it then! Your constancy Hath left you unattended.-[Knocking.] Hark! more knocking: Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, And show us to be watchers :-Be not lost So poorly in your thoughts. Enter Macduff and Lenox. Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, That you do lie so late? Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second cock:4 and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things. Macd. What three things does drink especially provoke? Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes: it pro- vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivo- cator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to: in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. Port. That it did, sir, i'the very throat o'me: But I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. Macd. Is thy master stirring ?- Our knocking has awak'd him; here he comes. Enter Macbeth. I Len. Good-morrow, noble sir! Macb. Good-morrow, both! Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? Macb. Not yet. Macd. He did command me to call timely on him: have almost slipp'd the hour. Macb. I'll bring you to him. Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you; But yet, 'tis one. Macb. The labour we delight in, physics' pain. This is the door. Macd. I'll make so bold to call, Macb. To know my deed,-'twere best not For 'tis my limited service." know myself. [Knock. Len. Wake Duncan with thy knocking! Ay, 'would From hence to-day? thou could'st! [Exeunt. [Exit Macd Goes the king Mach. He does:-he did appoint it so. Len. The night has been unruly: Where we lay, SCENE III.-The same. Enter a Porter. Our chimneys were blown down: and, as they say, Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of death; [Knocking within.] Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man And prophesying, with accents terrible, were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turn-Of dire combustion, and confus'd events, ing the key. [Knocking.] Knock, knock, knock: New hatch'd to the woful time. The obscure bird Who's there, 'the name of Belzebub? Here's a Clamour'd the livelong night: some say, the earth farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of Was feverous, and did shake. plenty: Come in time; have napkins3 enough about Macb. you; here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Who's there, i'the other devil's name?-A 'Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in both the scales against either scale; who committed 'Twas a rough night. fellow to it. Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel Re-enter Marduff. treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equi- Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor vocate to Heaven: 0, come in, equivocator. [Knock- ing.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? 'Faith, Cannot conceive, nor name thee!" here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: Come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: Ne- 1 To incarnardine is to stain of a flesh-colour. 2 Frequent. 3 Handkerchiefs. 4 Cock-crowing. 5 i. e. Affords a cordial to it. heart, Macb. Len. What's the matter? Macd. Confusion now hath made his master- piece! 6 Appointed service. 7 The use of two negatives, not to make an affirmative, but to deny more strongly, is common lin our author. SCENE IV. 325 MACBETH. Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence The life o'the building. Macb. What is't you say? the life? Len. Mean you his majesty? Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon:-Do not bid me speak; See, and then speak yourselves.-Awake! Awake!- [Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox. Ring the alarum-bell:-Murder! and treason! Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, And look on death itself!-up, up, and see The great doom's image!-Malcolm! Banquo! As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, To countenance this horror! [Bell rings. Enter Lady Macbeth. Lady M. What's the business, That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the house? speak, speak,- Macd. O, gentle lady 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition, in a woman's ear, Would murder as it fell.-O Banquo! Banquo! Enter Banquo. Lady M. Wo, alas! Our royal master's murder'd! What, in our house? Ban. Too cruel, any where.- Dear Duff, I pr'ythee, contradict thyself, And say, it is not so. Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant, There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown, and grace, is dead; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of. Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. Don. What is amiss? Macb. You are, and do not know it: The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. Mal. O, by whom? Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had done't; Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood,] So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found, Upon their pillows: They star'd, and were distracted; no man's life Was to be trusted with them. Macd. Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, That I did kill them. Wherefore did you so? Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and furious, Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man : The expedition of my violent love Outran the pauser reason.-Here lay Duncan, His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood; And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature, For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, the murderers, Steep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers Unmannerly breech'd with gore: Who could re- frain, That had a heart to love, and in that heart Courage to make his love known? 1 Cover'd with blood to their hilt. Lady M. Help me hence, ho! Macd. Look to the lady. Mal. Why do we hold our tongues, That most may claim this argument for ours? Don. What should be spoken here, Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole, May rush, and seize us? Let's away; our tears Are not yet brew'd. Mal. The foot of motion. Ban. Nor our strong sorrow on Look to the lady:- [Lady Macbeth is carried out. And when we have our naked frailties hid, That suffer in exposure, let us meet, And question this most bloody piece of work, To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us. In the great hand of God I stand; and, thence, Against the undivulg'd pretence³ I fight Of treasonous malice. Macb. ᎯᏓᏓ. And so do I. So all, Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, And meet i'the hall together. All. Well contented. [Exeunt all but Mal. and Don. Mal. What will you do? Let's not consort with them: To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office Which the false man does easy: I'll to England. Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune Shall keep us both the safer: where we are, There's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody. Mal. This murderous shaft that's shot, Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse; But shift away: There's warrant in that theft Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Without the castle. Enter Rosse and an Old Man. Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time, I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings. Rosse. Ah, good father, Thou see'st, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, Threaten his bloody stage; by the clock, 'tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is't night's predominance, or the day's shame, That darkness does the face of earth intomb, When living light should kiss it? Old. M. "Tis unnatural, Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place, Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange and certain,) Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make War with mankind. Old. M. "Tis said, they eat each other. Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine eyes, That look'd upon't.-Here comes the good Mac duff: 2 Power. 3 Intention. 326 Аст III. MACBETH. Enter Macduff. How goes the world, sir, now? Macd. Why, see you not? Rosse. Is't known who did this more than bloody deed? Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. Rosse. Alas, the day! What good could they pretend?¹ Macd. They were suborn'd: Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them Suspicion of the deed. Rosse. 'Gainst nature still : Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up Thine own life's means!-Then 'tis most like, The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone, To be invested. Rosse. Where is Duncan's body? Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill; The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, And guardian of their bones. Rosse. Will you to Scone? Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife. Rosse. Well, I will thither. Macd. Well, may you see things well done there;-adieu!- Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! Resse. Father, farewell. Old M. God's benison go with you; and with those That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-Fores. A room in the palace. ter Banquo. Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, I must become a borrower of the night, For a dark hour, or twain. Macb. Fail not our feast. Ban. My lord, I will not.. Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd In England, and in Ireland; not confessing Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers With strange invention: But of that to-morrow; When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state, Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: Adieu, Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon us. Macb. I wish your horses swift, and sure of foot; And so I do commend you to their backs. [Exit Banquo. Farewell. Let every man be master of his time Till seven at night; to make society The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with you. [Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &c. Sirrah, a word: Attend those men our pleasure? Atten. They are, my lord, without the palace- gate. Macb. Bring them before us.--[Exit Atten.] To be thus, is nothing; But to be safely thus:-Our fears in Banquo Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature, Reigns that, which would be fear'd: "Tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. There is none, but he, Whose being I do fear: and, under him, My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said, En-Mark Antony's was by Cæsar. He chid the sisters When first they put the name of king upon me, And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, They hail'd him father to a line of kings: Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, Thence to be wrer ch'd with an unlineal hand, No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, For Banquo's issue have I fil'd4 my mind; For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; Put rancours in the vessel of my peace Only for them; and mine eternal jewel Given to the common enemy of man, To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! As the weird's women promis'd; and, I fear, Thou play'dst most foully for't: yet it was said, It should not stand in thy posterity; But that myself should be the root, and father Of many kings. If there come truth from them (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) Why, by the verities on thee made good, May they not be my oracles as well, And set me up in hope? But, hush; no more. Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as king; Lady Rather than so, come, fate, into the list. Macbeth, as queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, La-And champion me to the utterance! dies, and attendants. Macb. Here's our chief guest. Lady M. If he had been forgotten, It had been as a gap in our great feast, And all things unbecoming. Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, And I'll request your presence. Ban. Let your highness Command úpon me; to the which, my duties Are with a most indissoluble tie For ever knit. Macb. Ride you this afternoon? Ban. Ay, my good lord. Macb. We should have else desir'd your good advice (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) In this day's council; but we'll take to-morrow Is't far you ride? 1 Intend to themselves. 2 Commit. 2 Nobleness 4 For defiled there?- Who's Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. Now to the door, and stay there till we call. Exit Attendant. Was it not yesterday we spoke together? 1 Mur. It was, so please your highness. Macb. Well then, now Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, That it was he, in the times past, which held you So under fortune; which, you thought, had been Our innocent self: this I made good to you In our last conference; pass'd in probation with you, How you were borne in hand;' how cross'd; the instruments; Who wrought with them; and all things else, that night, 5 Challenge me to extremities. 6 Proved. 7 Deluded. SCENE II. 327 MACBETH To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, Say, Thus did Banquo. 1 Mur. You made it known to us. [Exe. I'll come to you anon. 2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within Macb. 1 did so, and went further, which is now It is concluded:-Banquo, thy soul's flight, Our point of second meeting. Do you find If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Your patience so predominant in your nature, That you can let this go? Are you so gospel'd, SCENE II.-The same. Another room. Enter To pray for that good man, and for his issue, Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, And beggar'd yours forever? 1 Mur. We are men, my liege. Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs. water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clepeds All by the name of dogs: the valued file Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, The house-keeper, the hunter, every one According to the gift which bounteous nature, Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive Particular addition, from the bill That writes them all alike: and so of men. Now, if you have a station in the file, And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it; And I will put that business in your bosoms, Whose execution takes your enemy off'; Grapples you to the heart and love of us, Who wear our health but sickly in his life, Which in his death were perfect. 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incens'd, that I am reckless' what I do, to spite the world. 1 Mur. And I another, So weary with disasters, tugg'de with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it, or be rid on't. Macb. Both of you Know, Banquo was your enemy. 2 Mur. True, my lord. Macb. So is he mine: and in such bloody dis- tance," That every minute of his being thrusts Against my near'st of life: And though I could With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not,, For' certain friends that are both his and mine, Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is, That I to your assistance do make love; Masking the business from the common eye, For sundry weighty reasons. We shall, my lord, 2 Mur. Perform what you command us. 1 Mur. Though our lives- Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this hour, at most, I will advise you where to plant yourselves. Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time, The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, And something from the palace; always thought That I require a clearness: And with him,, (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) Fleance his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me Than is his father's, must embrace the fate Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; Madam, I will. Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his leisure For a few words. Serv. [Exit. Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, Where our desire is got without content: 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. Enter Macbeth. How now, my lord? why do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making? Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? Things without remedy, Should be without regard: what's done, is done." Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice Remains in danger of her former tooth. But let The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly: Better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. 10 Duncan is in his grave; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further! Lady M. Come on; Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. Macb. So shall 1, love; and so, I pray, be you: Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; Present him eminence," both with eye and tongue; Unsafe the while, that we Must lave our honours in these flattering streams; And make our faces vizards to our hearts, Disguising what they are. Lady M. You must leave this. Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 12 Macb. There's comfort yet; they are assailable; Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's sum- mons, The shard-borne beetle, 13 with his drowsy hums, Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done A deed of dreadful note. Lady M. What's to be done? Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 14 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling 15 night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, 1 Are you so obedient to the precept of the 10 Agony. 11 Do him the highest honours. Gospel. 2 Wolf-dogs. 4 Title, description. 6 Worried. 3 Called. 5 Careless. 7 Mortal enmity. 8 Because of. 9 Most melancholy. 12 i. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives from nature, has its time of termination. 13 The beetle borne in the air by its shards of scaly wings. 14 A term of endearment. 15 Blinding. 328 ACT III. MACBETH. Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bend Both sides are even: Here I'll sit i'the midst: Which keeps me pale!-Light thickens; and the Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. Thou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still; Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill: So, pr'ythee, go with me. [Exeunt. The table round.-There's blood upon thy face. Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within, Is he despatch'd? Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats: Yet he's good, SCENE III.-The same. A park or lawn, with That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it, a gate leading to the palace. Enter three Mur- Thou art the nonpareil. derers. 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 3 Mur. Macbeth. 2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust; since he de- livers Our offices, and what we have to do, To the direction just. 1 Mur. Then stand with us. The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace, To gain the timely inn; and near approaches The subject of our watch. 3 Mur. Hark! I hear horses. Ban. [Within.] Give us a light there, ho! 2 Mur. Then it is he; the rest That are within the note of expectation,¹ Already are i'the court. 1 Mur. His horses go about. 3 Mur. Almost a mile: but he does usually, So all men do, from hence to the palace gate Make it their walk. Mur. Fleance is 'scap'd. Most royal sir, Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect; Whole as the marble, founded as the rock; As broad, and general, as the casing air: But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? With twenty trenched gashes on his head; Mur. Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides, The least a death to nature. Macb. Thanks for that:- There the grown serpent lies; the worm, that's fled, Hath nature that in time will venom breed, No teeth for the present.-Get thee gone; to-mor row We'll hear, ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. Lady M. My royal lord, You do not give the cheer: the feast is sold, That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 'Tis given with welcome: To feed, were best at home; Enter Banquo and Fleance, a servant with a torch From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony: 2 Mur. 3 Mur. preceding them. A light, a light! 'Tis he. Let it come down. Assaults Banquo. 1 Mur. Stand to't. Ban. It will be rain to-night. 1 Mur. Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly; Thou may'st revenge.O slave! [Dies. Fleance and servant escape. 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light? 1 Mur. Was't not the way? 3 Mur. There's but one down; the son is fled. 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A room of state in the palace. A banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac- beth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and attendants. Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down: at first done. And last, the hearty welcome. Lords. Thanks to your majesty. Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, And play the humble host. Our hostess keeps her state; but, in best time, We will require her welcome. Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our friends; For my heart speaks, they are welcome. Enter first Murderer, to the door. Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' thanks:- Meeting were bare without it. Mach. Sweet remembrancer!- Now, good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both! Len. May it please your highness sit? [The Ghost of Banquo rises, and sits in Macbeth's place. Macb. Here had we now our country's honour roof'd, Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; Who may I rather challenge for unkindness, Than pity for mischance! Rosse. His absence, sir, Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness To grace us with your royal company? Macb. The table's full. Len. Macb. Where? Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. Here, my lord. What is't that moves your highness? Macb. Which of you have done this? Lords. What, my good lord? Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. Lady M. Sit, worthy friends :-my lord is often And hath been from his youth: 'Pray you, keep thus, The fit is momentary; upon a thoughts seat; He will again be well: If much you note him, You shall offend him, and extend his passion;" Feed, and regard him not.--Are you a man? Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil. 1 i. c. They who are set down in the list of 2 Continues in her chair of state. guests, and expected to supper. 3 As quick as thought. 4 Prolong his suffering SCENE V. 329 MACBETH. Lady M. O proper stuff! This is the very painting of your fear: This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, (Impostors to true fear,) would well become A woman's story, at a winter's fire, Authoriz'd by her granddam. Shame itself! Why do you make such faces? When all's done, You look but on a stool. Mach. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say you? Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send Those that we bury, back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears. Lady M. What! quite unmann'd in folly? Mach. If I stand here, I saw him. Lady M. Fie! for shame! Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden time, Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, That, when the brains were out, the man would die, And there an end; but now, they rise again, With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, And push us from our stools: This is more strange Than such a murder is. Lady M. Your noble friends do lack you. Macb. My worthy lord, I do forget:- Do not muse2 at me, my most worthy friends; I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing To those that know me. Come, love and health to all; Then I'll sit down:-Give me some wine, fill full:- I drink to the general joy of the whole table, Ghost rises. And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss; Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst, And all to all.3 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with! Lady M. And keep the natural ruby of your clas When mine are blanch'd with fear. Rosse. What sights, my lord? Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse; Question enrages him: at once, good night:- Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. Len. Good night, and better health Attend his majesty! Lady M. A kind good night to all! [Exeunt Lords and attendants. Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs, and understood relations, have By magot-pies," and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood.-What is the night? Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is which. Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his person, At our great bidding? Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? Mach. I hear it by the way; but I will send : There's not a one of them, but in his house I keep a servant feed. I will to-morrow (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters: More shall they speak; for now I am bent to know, By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good, All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. Macb. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and self-abuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The heath. Thunder. Enter He- cate, meeting the three Witches. 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerly. Hec. Have I not reason, bedlams, as you are Think of this, good peers, Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare But as a thing of custom: 'tis no other: Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. Macb. What man dare, I dare: Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! [Ghost disappears. Unreal mockery, hence !-Why, so;-being gone, I am a man again.--Pray you, sit still. Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the good meeting, With most admir'd disorder. Mach. Can such things be, And overcomes us like a summer's cloud, Without our special wonder? You make me strange Even to the disposition that I owe, When now I think you can behold such sights, 1 Sudden gusts. 2 Wonder. 3. e. All good wishes to all. 4 Forbid. 5 Pass over. 6 Possess. 7 Magpies. To trade and traffic with Macbeth, In riddles and affairs of death; And I, the mistress of your charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never call'd to bear my part, Or show the glory of our art? And, which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward son, Spiteful, and wrathful, who, as others do, Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: Get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron, Meet me i'the morning; thither he Will come to know his destiny. Your vessels, and your spells, provide, Your charms, and every thing beside: I am for the air; this night I'll spend Unto a dismal-fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere noon: Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; 10 ties. 8 An individual. 9 Examined nicely.. 10 i. e. A drop that has deep or hidden quali 330 ACT IV. MACBETH. I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that, distill'd by magic slights, Shall raise such artificial sprites, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Song. [Within.] Come away, come away, &c. Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see, Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me, [Exit. [Exeunt. 1 Witch. Come let's make haste; she'll soon be back again. May soo1 re zm to this our suffering country, Under a nazi accurs'd! Lord. My prayers with him! [Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I-A dark cave. In the middle a caul dron boiling. Thunder. Enter three Witches. 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd 3 Witch. Harper cries:-'Tis time, 'tis time. 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go SCENE VI-Fores. A room in the palace. En-In the poison'd entrails throw. ter Lenox and another Lord. Toad, that under coldest stone, Days and nights hast thirty-one, Len. My former speeches have but hit your Swelter'd venom sleeping got, thoughts, Which can interpret further: only, I say, Things have been strangely borne: The gracious Duncan Was pitied of Macbeth:-marry, he was dead: And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late; Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd, For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, To kill their gracious father? damned fact ! How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,. In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep? Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive, To hear the men deny it. So that, I say, He has borne all things well: and I do think, That, had he Duncan's sons under his key (As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find What 'twere to kill a father; so should Fleance. But, peace!-for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell Where he bestows himself? Lord. The son of Duncan, From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, Lives in the English court; and is received Of the most pious Edward with such grace, That the malevolence of fortune nothing Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduff Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: That by the help of these (with Him above To ratify the work,) we may again Give to our table meat, sleep to our nights; Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; Do faithful homage, and receive free honours,' All which we pine for now: And this report Hath so exasperate2 the king, that he Prepares for some attempt of war. Len. 1, Sent he to Macduff? Lord. He did: and with an absolute, Sir, not The cloudy messenger turns me his back, And hums; as who should say, You'll rue the time That clogs me with this answer. Len. And that well might Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance His wisdom can provide. Some holy ange Fly to the court of England, and unfold His message ere he come; that a swift blessing 1 Honours freely bestowed. 2 For exasperated Boil thou first i' the charmed pot! All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn: and, cauldron, bubble. 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake: Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. All. Double, double toil and trouble, Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,4 Of the ravin'ds salt-sea shark; Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark; Liver of blaspheming Jew; Gall of goat, and slips of yew, Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips Finger of birth-strangled babe, Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron. All. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble. 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good. Enter Hecate, and the other three Witcles. Hec. 0, well done! I commend your pains, And every one shall share i'the gains. And now about the cauldron sing, Like elves and fairies in a ring, Enchanting all that you put in. SONG. Black spirits and white, Red spirits and grey; Mingle, mingle, mingle, You that mingle may. 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes:- Open, locks, whoever knocks. Enter Macbeth. Macb. How now, you secret, black, and mid- night hags? What is't you do? All. A deed without a name. 3 This word is employed to signify that the animal was hot, and sweating with venom, although sleeping under a cold stone. 4 The throat. 5 Ravenous. 6 Entrails. Midy SCENE 1. 331 MACBETH. Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess, (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me: Though you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches; though the yesty' waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down; Though castles topples on their warders' heads; Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope Their heads to their foundations; though the trea- sure Of nature's germins4 tumble all together, Even till destruction sicken, answer me To what I ask you. 1 Witch. 2 Witch. 3 Witch. Speak. Demand. We'll answer. 1 Witch. Say if thou'd'st rather hear it from our mouths, Or from our masters'? Mach. Call them, let me see them. 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten Her nine farrow; grease that's sweaten From the murderer's gibbet, throw Into the flame. All. Come, high, or low; Thyself, and office, deftly show. Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises. Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power,-- 1 Witch. He knows thy thought; Hear his speech, but say thou nought. App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; Thou hast harp'de my fear aright:-But one word [Descends Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him. Macb. That will never be; Who can impress the forest; bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements! good! Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath To time, and mortal custom.-Yet my heart Throbs to know one thing; Tell me, (if your art Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever Reign in this kingdom? Seek to know no more. All. Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this, And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know:- Why sinks that cauldron? and what noise is this? [Hautboys. 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; Come like shadows, so depart. Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in or- der; the last with a glass in his hand; Banquo following. Mach. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo: down! Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls:-And thy hair, Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first:- A third is like the former :-Filthy hags! Why do you show me this?-A fourth?-Start, eyes! What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ?10 Beware the thane of Fife.-Dismiss me:-Enough. Another yet?-A seventh ?-I'll see no more:- [Descends. And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, Which shows me many more; and some I see, I That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry: Horrible sight!-Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, And points at them for his.-What, is this so? 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so:-But why Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?- Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, 12 more:- 1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's another, More potent than the first. Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. And show the best of our delights; App. Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. App. Be bloody, bold, And resolute: laugh to scorn the power of man, For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!-I'll charm the air to give a sound, [Descends. Macb. Then live, Macduff'; What need I fear of thee? But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure, And take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live; That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies, And sleep in spite of thunder.-What is this, Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises. That rises like the issue of a king; And wears upon his baby brow the round And top of sovereignty?" ᎯᏓᏓ . Listen, but speak not. App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 1 Frothy. 3 Tumble. 2 Laid flat by wind or rain. 4 Seeds which have begun to sprout. 5 Adroitly. 6 Touch'd on a passion as a harper touches a string. While you perform your antique round: That this great king may kindly say, Our duties did his welcome pay. [Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. Macb. Where are they? Gone?-Let this perni- cious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar! Come in, without there! Len. Enter Lenox. What's your grace's will? Mach. Saw you the wierd sisters? Len. Macb. Came they not by you? No, my lord. Len. No, indeed, my lord. Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride; And damn'd, all those that trust them!-I did hear The galloping of horse: Who was't came by? Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word, 7 The round is that part of a crown which en circles the head: the top is the ornament which rises above it. 8 Who can command the forest to serve him like a soldier impressed? 9 Music. 10 The dissolution of nature. 11 Besmeared with blood. 12 i. e. Spirits 332 ACT IV MACBETH. Macduff is fled to England. Mach. Len. Ay, my good lord. Fled to England? Macb. Time thou anticipat'st' my dread ex- ploits : The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, Unless the deed go with it: From this moment, The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done: The castle of Macduff I will surprise; Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o'the sword His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls That trace his line. No boasting like a fool; This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: But no more sights!-Where are these gentlemen? Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Fife. A room in Macduff's castle. Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse. L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the land? Rosse. You must have patience, madam. L. Macd. He had none: His flight was madness: When our actions do not, Our fears do make us traitors.3 Rosse. You know not, Whether it was his wisdom, or his fear. L. Macd. Wisdom to leave his wife, to leave his babes, His mansion, and his titles, in a place From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, The most diminutive of birds, will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. All is the fear, and nothing is the love; As little is the wisdom, where the flight So runs against all reason. Rosse. L. Macd. Yes, ne is dead; how wilt thou do for a father? Son. Nay, how wilt you do for a husband? L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any market. Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i'faith, With wit enough for thee. Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? L. Macd. Ay, that he was. Son. What is a traitor? L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. Son. And be all traitors, that do so? L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and must be hanged. Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lie? L. Macd. Every one. Son. Who must hang them? L. Macd. Why, the honest men. Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, and hang up them. L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey? But how wilt thou do for a father? Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father? L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 1 doubt, some danger does approach you nearly: If you will take a homely man's advice, Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! My dearest coz', I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much I dare abide no longer. L. Macd. [Exit Messenger. Whither should I fly? further: But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, I have done no harm. But I remember now And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm, From what we fear, yet know not what we fear; Is often laudable: to do good, sometime, But float upon a wild and violent sea, Accounted dangerous folly: Why then, alas! Each way, and move.-I take my leave of you: Do I put up that womanly defence, Shall not be long but I'll be here again: To say I have done no harm?-What are these Things at the worst will cease, or else climb up- faces? ward Enter Murderers. To what they were before.-My pretty cousin, Blessing upon you! L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse. Sirrah, your father's dead; And what will you do now? How will you live? Son. As birds do, mother. L. Macd. L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do they. L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, nor lime, The pit-fall, nor the gin. Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are not set for. My father is not dead, for all your saying. 1 Preventest, by taking away the opportunity. 2 Follow. Mur. Where is your husband? Where such as thou may'st find him. L. Macd. I hope in no place so unsanctified, Mur. He's a traitor. Son. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain. Mur. Young fry of treachery? Son. Run away, I pray you. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. He has killed me, mother; [Dies. Exit Lady Macduff, crying murder, and pursued by the Murderers. SCENE III-England.-A room in the King's palace. Enter Malcolm and Macduff. Mal. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 4, Natural affection. 5 Sirrah was not in our author's time a term 3 i. e. Our flight is considered as evidence of of reproach our treason. 6 1 am perfectly acquainted with your rank. SCENE Ill. 333 MACBETH. Weep our sad bosoms empty. Macd. Let us rather Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men, Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn, New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out Like syllable of dolour. Mal. What I believe, I'll wail; What know, believe; and, what I can redress, As I shall find the time to friend,2 I will. What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongue, Was once thought honest: you have lov'd him well; He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young; but something You may deserve of him through me; and wisdom To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, To appease an angry god. Macd. I am not treacherous. Mal. But Macbeth is. A good and virtuous nature may recoil, Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin That has a name: But there's no bottom, none, In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up The cistern of my lust; and my desire All continent impediments would o'er-bear, That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth, Than such a one to reign. Macd. Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And fall of many kings. But fear not yet To take upon you what is yours: you may Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. We have willing dames enough; there cannot be That vulture in you, to devour so many As will to greatness dedicate themselves, Finding it so inclin'd. Mal. With this, there grows, In my most ill-compos'd affection, such A stanchless avarice, that were I king, In an imperial charge.3, But 'crave your pardon; I should cut off the nobles for their lands; That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose: Desire his jewels, and this other's house: Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : And my more-having would be as a sauce Though all things foul would wear the brows of To make me hunger more; that I should forge -Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal, Destroying them for wealth. Macd. grace, Yet grace must still look so. Macd. my doubts. I have lost my hopes. This avarice Mal. Perchance, even there, where I did find Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root Than summer-seeding lust: and it hath been The sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear; Scotland hath foysons" to fill up your will, Of your mere own: All these are portable," With other graces weigh'd. Why in that rawness left you wife and child (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) Without leave-taking?-I pray you, Let not my jealousies be your dishonours, But mine own safeties:-You may be rightly just, Whatever I shall think. Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, For goodness dares not check thee! wear thou thy wrongs, Thy title is affeer'd.4-Fare thee well, lord: I would not be the villain that thou think'st For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, And the rich east to boot. Be not offended: Mal. I speak not as in absolute fear of you. I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke; It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds: I think, withal, There would be hands uplifted in my right; And here, from gracious England, have I offer Of goodly thousands: But, for all this, When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country Shall have more vices than it had before; More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, By him that shall succeed. Macd. What should he be ? Mal. It is myself I mean: in whom I know All the particulars of vice so grafted, That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd With my confineless harms. Macd Not in the legions Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd In evils, to top Macbeth. Mal. 1 Birthright. I grant him bloody, 2 Befriend. 3 i. e. A good mind may recede from goodness in the execution of a royal commission. Mal. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, Bounty, perséverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them; but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell," Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth. Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! Mal. If such a one be fit to govern, speak; I am as I have spoken. Macd. Fit to govern! No, not to live.-O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, And does blaspheme his breed?-Thy royal father Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee, Oftner upon her knees than on her feet, Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, Have banish'd me from Scotland.-O, my breast, Thy hope ends here! Mal. Macduff, this noble passion, Child of integrity, hath from my soul Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power: and modest wisdom plucks me 4 Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication. 5 Lascivious. 7 Plenty. 6 Passionate. 8 May be endured. 22 334 ACT IV. MACBETH. From over-credulous haste: But God above Deal between thee and me! for even now I put myself to thy direction, and Unspeak mine own detraction, here abjure The taints and blames I laid upon myself, For strangers to my nature. I am yet Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; At no time broke my faith; would not betray The devil to his fellow; and delight No less in truth, than life: my first false speaking Was this upon myself: What I am truly, Is thine, and my poor country's, to command: Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, All ready at a point, was setting forth: What is the newest grief? Mal. Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; Each minute teems a new one. Macd. Rosse. Why, well. Macd. Rosse. How does my wife? And all my children? Well too. Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? Rosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech; How goes it? Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumcur Now we'll together; And the chance, of goodness, Of many worthy fellows that were out; Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, 'Tis hard to reconcile. Enter a Doctor. Mal. Well; more anon.-Comes the king forth, I pray you? Doct. Ay, sir: there are a crew of wretched souls, That stay his cure: their malady convinces² The great assay of art; but, at his touch, Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, They presently amend. Mal. I thank you, doctor. [Ex. Doct. Macd. What is the disease he means? Mal. "Tis call'd the evil: A most miraculous work in this good king; Which often since my here-remain in England, I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, The mere despair of surgery, he cures; Hanging a golden stamp³ about their necks, Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken, To the succeeding royalty he leaves The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy; And sundry blessings hang about his throne, That speak him full of grace. Macd. Enter Rosse. See who comes here? Mal. My countryman; but yet I know him not. Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. Mal. I know him now:-Good God, betimes remove The means that make us strangers! Rosse. Sir, Amen. Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? Rosse. Alas, poor country; Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems A modern ecstasy; the dead man's knell Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives Expire before the flowers in their caps, Dying, or ere they sicken. Macd. Too nice, and yet too true! 1 Over-hasty credulity. O, relation 2 Overpowers, subdues. S The coin called an angel. For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland Would create soldiers, make our women fight, To doff's their dire distresses. Mal. Be it their comfort, We are coming thither: gracious England hath Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men; An older, and a better soldier, none, That Christendom gives out. Rosse. 'Would I could answer This comfort with the like! But I have words, That would be howl'd out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. Macd. What concern they? The general cause? or is it a fee-grief," Due to some single breast? Rosse. No mind, that's honest, But in it shares some wo; though the main part Pertains to you alone. Macd. If it be mine, Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound. That ever yet they heard. Macd. Humph! I guess at it. Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife, and babes, Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner, Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer, To add the death of you. Mal. Merciful heaven!-- What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows Give sorrow words: the grief, that does not speak Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids,it break. Macd. My children too? Rosse. That could be found. Macd. My wife kill'd too? Rosse. Mal. Wife, children, servants, all And I must be from thence! I have said. Be comforted. Let's make us med'eines of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children.-All my pretty ones? Did you say, all?-O, hell-kite!-All! What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, At one fell swoop? Mal. Dispute it like a man. Macd. But I must also feel it as a man: I shall do so; I cannot but remember such things were, 4 Common distress of inind. 5 Put off. 6 Catch. 7 A grief that has a single owner, 8 The game after it is killed. SCENE I, II. 335 MACBETH. That were most precious to me.-Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine, Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now! Mal. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. Macd. O, could I play the woman with mine eyes, And braggart with my tongue! But, gentle heaven, Cut short all intermission; front to front, Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too! Mal. This tune goes manly. Come, go we to the king: our power is ready; Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you may; The night is long, that never finds the day. [Exe. ACT V. SCENE 1.-Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter a Doctor of Physic and a waiting Gentle- woman. Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked? -Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afear'd? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?-Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? Doct. Do you mark that? Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where is she now?-What, will these hands ne'er be clean?-No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: you mar all with this starting. Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you should not. Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh! oh! oh! Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charged. Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bo- som, for the dignity of the whole body. Doct. Well, well, well,- Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. I Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- gown; look not so pale:-I tell you yet again, Ban- quo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. Doct. Even so? Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand; What's done, cannot be undone: To bed, to bed, to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth. Doct. Will she go now to bed? Gent. Directly. Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural. deeds Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her night- gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds fold it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. and again return to bed; yet all this while in a More needs she the divine, than the physician.-- most fast sleep. God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive Remove from her the means of all annoyance, at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of And still keep eyes upon her :-So, good night: watching. In this slumbry agitation, besides her My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight: walking, and other actual performances, what, at I think, but dare not speak. any time, have you heard her say? Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. Gent. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech. Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The country near Dunsinane. En- ter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. Ment. The English power is near, led on by Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. Malcolm, and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm, Excite the mortified man.4 close. Doct. How came she by that light? Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by Ang. her continually; 'tis her command. Doct. You see, her eyes are open. Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how she rubs her hands. Near Birnam wood Shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. Cath. Who knows, if Donalbain be with his brother? Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file Of all the gentry; there is Siward's son, Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to And many unrough youths, that even now seem thus washing her hands; I have known her Protest their first of manhood. continue in this a quarter of an hour. Lady M. Yet here's a spot. Ment. What does the tyrant? Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: Doct. Hark! she speaks: I will set down what Some say, he's mad; others, that lesser hate him, comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, more strongly. He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!-One; Within the belt of rule. Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't:-Hell is murky! 1 All pause. 2 Dark. 3 Confounded. Ang. Now does he feel 4 A religious; an ascetic. 5 Unbearded. 336 ACT V. MACBETH. His secret mu ders sticking on his hands; Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; Those he commands, move only in command, Nothing in love: now does he feel his title Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe Upon a dwarfish thief. Ment. Who then shall blame His pester'd senses to recoil, and start, When all that is within him does condemn Itself, for being there? Cath. Well, march we on, To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: Meet we the medicin' of the sickly weal; And with him pour we, in our country's purge, Each drop of us. Or so much as it needs, To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. Make we our march towards Birnam. Len. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE III.-Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and attendants. Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all; Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm? Was he not born of woman? The spirits that know All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus: Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of woman, Shall e'er have power on thee.Then fly, false) thanes, And mingle with the English epicures: The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagge with doubt, nor shake with fear. Enter a Servant. How does your patient, doctor? Doct. Not so sick, my lord As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest. Macb. Cure her of that: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Raze out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? Doct. Must minister to himself. Therein the patient Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it.-. Come, put mine armour on; give me my staff:- Seyton, send out.-Doctor, the thanes fly from me:- Come, sir, despatch:-If thou could'st, doctor, cast The water of my land, find her disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine health, I would applaud thee to the very echo, That should applaud again.-Pull't off, I say.- What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, Would scour these English hence?-Hearest thou of them? Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation Makes us hear something. Macb. -- [Exit. Bring it after me.- I will not be afraid of death and bane, Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. SCENE IV.-Country near Dunsinane: A wood in view. Enter, with drum and colours, Mal- colm, Old Siward and his Son, Macduff, Men- teth, Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Sol- The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon; diers, marching. Where got'st thou that goose-look? Serv There is ten thousand- Maco. Serv. Geese, villain? Soldiers, sir Mach. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? Serv. The English force, so please you. Mach. Take thy face hence.-Seyton! I am sick at heart, When I behold-Seyton, I say !-This push Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. I have liv'd long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf: And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, must not look to have; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. Seyton!- Enter Seyton. Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? Macb. What news more? Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re- ported. Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be hack'd. Give me my armour. Sey. 'Tis not needed yet. Macb. I'll put it on. Send out more horses, skirrs the country round; Hang those that talk of fear.-Give me mine ar- mour.- 1 The physician. 2 Sink. 3 Base fellow. 4 An appellation of contempt. 5 Dry. Mal. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand That chambers will be safe. Ment. We doubt it nothing. Siw. What wood is this before us? Ment. The wood of Birnam. Mal. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, And bear't before him; thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our host, and make discovery Err in report of us. Sold. It shall be done. Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down befor't. Mal. "Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less" have given him the revolt; And none serve with him but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too. Macd. Let our just censures Attend the true event, and put we on Industrious soldiership. Siw. The time approaches, That will with due decision make us know What we shall say we have, and what we owe. Thoughts speculative, their unsure hopes relate; But certain issue strokes must arbitrate:* Towards which, advance the war. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE V.-Dunsinane. Within the castle. En- ter, with drums and colours, Macbeth, Seyton, and Soldiers. Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; 6 Scour. 8 Determine. 7 i. e. Greater and less. A.F QUART T UN MACBETH AND MACDUFF. MACDUFF.-"Turn, hell hound, turn!" MACBETH.-"Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back; my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already." "Macbeth," Act V., Scene VII RICH SCENE VI, VII. 337 MACBETH. The cry is still, They come: Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie, Till famine, and the ague, eat them up: Were they not fore'd with those that should be ours, We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, And beat them backward home. What is that noise? [A cry within, of women. Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: The time has been, my senses would have cool'd To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in't I have supp'd ful! with horrors; Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, Cannot once start me.-Wherefore was that cry? Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. Macb. She should have died hereafter; There would have been a time for such a word.- To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.- Enter a Messenger. Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all breath, Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. [Exeunt. Alarums continued SCENE VII.-The same. Another part of the plain. Enter Macbeth. Macb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly. But, bear-like, I must fight the course.-What's he That was not born of woman? Such a one Am I to fear, or none. Enter Young Siward. Yo. Siw. What is thy name? Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hot- ter name Than any is in hell. My name's Macbeth. Macb. Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a title More hateful to mine ear. Macb. No, nor more fearful. Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my sword I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. Macb. [They fight, and Young Siward is slain. Thou wast born of woman.- Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, Mess. Gracious my lord, I shall report that which I say I saw, But know not how to do it. Macb. Well, say, sir. Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, The wood began to move. Macb. Liar, and slave! [Striking him. Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if't be not so: Within this three mile may you see it coming; 1 say, a moving grove. Macb. If thou speak'st false, Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, I care not if thou dost for me as much.- I pull in resolution; and begin To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, That lies like truth: Fear not, till Birnam wood Do come to Dunsinane;-and now a wood Comes toward Dunsinane.-Arm, arm, and out! If this, which he avouches, does appear, There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. I'gin to be a-weary of the sun, And wish the estate o'the world were now undone.- Ring the alarum bell:-Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt. Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Ex. Alarums. Enter Macduff. Macd. That way the noise is :-Tyrant, show thy face: If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, I sheath again undeeded. There thou should'st be; By this great clatter, one of greatest note Seems bruited: Let me find him, fortune! And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. Enter Malcolm and Old Siward. Siw. This way, my lord;-the castle's gently render'd: The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; The noble thanes do bravely in the war; And little is to do. The day almost itself professes yours, Mal. That strike beside us. Siw. We have met with foes Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. Re-enter Macbeth. Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die SCENE VI.-The same. A plain before the cas-On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes tle. Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm. Do better upon them. Old Siward, Macduff, &c. and their army, with boughs. Mal. Now near enough; your leavy screens throw down, And show like those you are:-You, worthy uncle, Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we, Shall take upon us what else remains to do, According to our order. Fare you well.- Siw. 1 Skin. 2 Shrivel. Macd. Re-enter Macduff. Turn, hell-hound, turn. Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd With blood of thine already. Macd. I have no words, My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out! Macb. 3 Armour. 4 Soldiers. [They fight Thou loosest labour 5 Reported with clamour. 338 ACT V MACBETH. Mal. He's worth more sorrow, As easy may'st thou the entrenchant air¹ With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: And that I'll spend for him. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; I bear a charmed life, which must not yield To one of woman born. Macd. Despair thy charm; And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb Untimely ripp'd. Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, For it hath cow'd my better part of man! And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear, And break it to our hope.-I'll not fight with thee. Macd. Then yield thee, coward, And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, Painted upon a pole; and underwrit, Here may you see the tyrant. Macb. I'll not yield, To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, And to be baited with the rabble's curse. Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, Yet I will try the last: Before my body I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough. [Exeunt, fighting. Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, Old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and soldiers. Mal. I would, the friends we miss were safe ar- riv'd. Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these, I see, So great a day as this is cheaply bought. Mal. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt: He only liv'd but till he was a man; The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd In the unshrinking station where he fought, But like a man he died. Siw. Then he is dead? Rosse. Ay and brought off the field: your cause of sorrow Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then It hath no end. Siw. Siw. He's worth no more, They say, he parted well, and paid his score: So, God be with him!-Here comes newer comfort. Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head on a pole. Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where stands The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,' That speak my salutation in their minds; Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,- Hail, king of Scotland! ᎯᏓᏓ. King of Scotland, hail! [Flourish. Mal. We shall not spend a large expense of time, Before we reckon with your several loves, And make us even with you. My thanes and kins- men, Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do, Which would be planted newly with the time,- As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, That fled the snares of watchful tyranny; Producing forth the cruel ministers Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen; Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands Took off her life;-This, and what needful else That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, So thanks to all at once, and to each one, We will perform in measure, time, and place: Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. [Flourish. Exeunt. This play is deservedly celebrated for the pro- priety of its fiction, and solemnity, grandeur, and variety of its action; but it has no nice discrimina- tions of character; the events are too great to ad- mit the influence of particular dispositions, and the course of the action necessarily determines the con- duct of the agents. I I know not whether it may not be said, in defence The danger of ambition is well described; and of some parts which now seem improbable, that in Shakspeare's time it was necessary to warn cre- dulity against vain and illusive predictions. The passsions are directed to their true end. Why then, God's soldier be he Lady Macbeth is merely detested; and though the courage of Macbeth preserves some esteem, yet every reader rejoices at his fall. Had he his hurts before? Rosse. Aye, on the front. Siw. Had I as many sons as I have hairs, I would not wish them to a fairer death: And so his knell is knoll'd. JOHNSON. 1 The air, which cannot be cut. 2 Shuffle. 3 The kingdom's wealth or ornament. KING JOHN. King John. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Prince Henry, his son, afterward King Henry III. Arthur, duke of Bretagne, son of Geffrey, late duke of Bretagne, the elder brother of King John. William Marshall, earl of Pembroke. Geffrey Fitz-Peter, earl of Essex, chief justiciary of England. William Longsword, earl of Salisbury. Robert Bigot, earl of Norfolk. Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the king. Robert Faulconbridge, son of Sir Robert Faulcon- bridge. Lewis, the dauphin. Arch-duke of Austria. Cardinal Pandulph, the pope's legate. Melun, a French lord. Chatillon, ambassador from France to King John. Elinor, the widow of King Henry II. and mother of King John. Constance, mother to Arthur. Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, king of Castile, and niece to King John. Lady Faulconbridge, mother to the bastard, and Robert Faulconbridge. Philip Faulconbridge, his half-brother, bastard son Lords, ladies, citizens of Angiers, sheriff, heralds, to King Richard the First. James Gurney, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. Peter of Pomfret, a prophet. Philip, king of France. officers, soldiers, messengers, and other attend- ants. Scene, sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. ACT I. The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: So, hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, SCENE I.-Northampton. A room of state in And sullen presage of your own decay.- the palace. Enter King John, Queen Elinor, An honourable conduct let him have:- Pembroke, Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Pembroke, look to't: Farewell, Chatillon. Chatillon. King John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would France us? with Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king France, In my behaviour, to the majesty, The borrow'd majesty of England here. [Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. Eli. What now, my son? have I not ever said, How that ambitious Constance would not cease, Till she had kindled France, and all the world, Upon the right and party of her son? of This might have been prevented, and made whole, With very easy arguments of love; Eli. A strange beginning;-borrow'd majesty! K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the em- bassy. Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim To this fair island, and the territories; To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: Desiring thee to lay aside the sword, Which sways usurpingly these several titles; And put the same into young Arthur's hand, Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. K. John. What follows, if we disallow of this? Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for blood, Controlment for controlment; so answer France. Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth, The furthest limit of my embassy. Which now the manage2 of two kingdoms must With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. K. John. Our strong possession, and our right for us. Eli. Your strong possession, much more than your right; Or else it must go wrong with you, and me. So much my conscience whispers in your ear Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whis- pers Essex. Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, Come from the country to be judg'd by you, That ere I heard: Shall I produce the men? K. John. Let them approach. [Exit Sheriff. Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip, his bastard brother. This expedition's charge.-What men are you? Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, Born in Northamptonshire; and eldest son, K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge; peace: Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; For ere thou canst report I will be there, 1 In the manner I now do. A soldier, by the honour-giving hand Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. K. John. What art thou? " Conduct, administration. 340 ACT L. . KING JOHN. Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon-In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept bridge. K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir You came not of one mother then, it seems. Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, That is well known; and, as I think, one father: But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother; Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. Eli. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother, And wound her honour with this diffidence. This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world, ? In sooth, he might: then, it he were my brother's, My brother might not claim him; nor your father, Being none of his, refuse him: This concludes.- My mother's son did get your father's heir; Your father's heir must have your father's land. Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force, To dispossess that child which is not his? Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out At least from fair five hundred pound a year; Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land! K. John. A good blunt fellow:-Why, being younger born, Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. But once he slander'd me with bastardy: But whe'r' I be as true begot, or no, That still I lay upon my mother's head; But, that I am as well begot, my liege, (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!) Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. If old sir Robert did beget us both, And were our father, and this son like him ;- O, old sir Robert, father, on my knee I give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here! Eli. He hath a trick2 of Coeur-de-lion's face, The accent of his tongue affecteth him: Do you not read some tokens of my son In the large composition of this man? K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, And finds them perfect Richard.--Sirrah, speak, What doth move you to claim your brother's land? Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father; With that half-face would he have all my land: A half-fac'd groat five hundred pound a year! Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father liv'd, Your brother did employ my father much;- Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land; Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy To Germany, there, with the emperor, To treat of high affairs touching that time: The advantage of his absence took the king, And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak: But truth is truth; large lengths of seas and shores Between my father and my mother lay (As I have heard my father speak himself,) When this same lusty gentleman was got. Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd His lands to me; and took it, on his death, That this, my mother's son, was none of his; And, if he were, he came into the world Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, My father's land, as was my father's will. K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; Your father's wife did, after wedlock, bear him: And, if she did play false, the fault was hers; Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother, Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, Had of your father claim'd this son for his? 1 Whether. 2 Trace, outline. 3 Dignity of appearance. | Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, Than was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadst thou rather,-be a Faulcon- bridge, And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land; Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, Lord of thy presence,3 and no land beside? Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, And I had his, sir Robert his, like him; And if my legs were two such riding-rods, My arms such eel-skins stuff'd; my face so thin, That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings goes! And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 'Would I might never stir from off this place, I'd give it every foot to have this face; I would not be sir Nob4 in any case. I Eli. I like thee well; Wilt thou forsake thy for tune, Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me? am a soldier, and now bound to France. Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance: Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year; Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear.- Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither Bast. Our country manners give our betters way, K. John. What is thy name? Bast. Philip, my liege; so is my name begun; Philip, good old sír Robert's wife's eldest son. K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st: Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great; Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your hand: My father gave me honour, your's gave land :- Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, When I was got, sir Robert was away. Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet!- I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so. Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: What though? Something about, a little from the right, In at the window, or else o'er the hatch: Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night; And have is have, however men do catch: Near or far off, well won is still well shot; And I am I, howe'er I was begot. K. John. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire, A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire.- Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed For France, for France; for it is more than need. Bast. Brother, adieu; Good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i'the way of honesty. [Exeunt all but the Bastard A foot of honour better than I was; But many a many foot of land the worse. Well, now can I make any Joan a lady :-- Good den, sir Richard,-God-a-mercy, fellow ;- 4 Robert. 5 Good evening. SCENE 1. 341 KING JOHN. And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter: For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 'Tis too respective,' and too sociable, For your conversion.2 Now your traveller,- He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess; And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise My picked man of countries :3-My dear sir (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,) I shall beseech you-That is question now; And then comes answer like an ABC-book:4- O, sir, says answer, at your best command; At your employment; at your service, sir:- No sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours: And so, ere answer knows what question would (Saving in dialogue of compliment; And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) It draws towards supper in conclusion so. But this is worshipful society, And fits the mounting spirit, like myself: For he is but a bastard to the time, That doth not smack of observation (And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) And not alone in habit and device, Exterior form, outward accoutrement; But from the inward motion to deliver Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: Which, though I will not practise to deceive, Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn: For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.- But who comes in such haste, in riding robes? What woman post is this? hath she no husband, That will take pains to blow a horn before her? Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney. O me! it is my mother:-How now, good lady? What brings you here to court so hastily? Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he? That holds in chase mine honour up and down? Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so? Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy, Sir Robert's son: Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is sir Robert's son; and so art thou. But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; I have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land, Legitimation, name, and all is gone: Then, good my mother, let me know my father; Some proper man, I hope; Who was it, mother? Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon bridge? Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd To make room for him in my husband's bed:- Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge! Thou art the issue of my dear offence, Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wish a better father. Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly. Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,- Subjected tribute to commanding love,- Against whose fury and unmatched force The awless lion could not wage the fight, Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, With all my heart I thank thee for my father! Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; And they shall say, when Richard me begot, If thou had'st said him nay, it had been sin: Who says it was, he lies; I say, 'twas not. [Exe. ACT II. SCENE I-France. Before the walls of An- giers. Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Aus- tria, and forces; on the other, Philip, King of France, and forces, Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and attendants. Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.- Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, And fought the holy wars in Palestine, By this brave duke came early to his grave: Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a And, for amends to his posterity, while? Gur. Good leave, good Philip. Bast. Philip?-sparrow!-James, There's toys' abroad; anon I'll tell thee more. [Exit Gurney. Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son; Sir Robert might have eat his part in me Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast: Sir Robert could do well; Marry (to confess!) Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it; We know his handy-work :--Therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholden for these limbs? Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain should'st defend mine honour? What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? Bast. Knight, knight, good mother,-Basilisco- like: What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. 1 Respectable. 3 My travelled fop. 5 Idle reports 2 Change of condition. 4 Catechism. At our importance," hither is he come, To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; And to rebuke the usurpation Of thy unnatural uncle, English John: Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's deal. The rather, that you give his offspring life, Shadowing their right under your wings of war: I give you welcome with a powerless hand, But with a heart full of unstained love: Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right? Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, As seal to this indenture of my love; That to my home I will no more return, Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, And coops from other lands her islanders, Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, That water-walled bulwark, still secure 6 A character in an old drama, called Soliman and Perseda. 7 Importunity. 342 ACT II. KING JOHN. And confident from foreign purposes, Ever. till that utmost corner of the west Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy, Will I not think of home, but follow arms. Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength, To make a more requital to your love. Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their swords In such a just and charitable war. K. Phi. Well then, to work: our cannon shall be bent Against the brows of this resisting town.-- Call for our chiefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best advantages:- We'll lay before this town our royal bones, Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy. Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood: My lord Chatillon may from England bring That right in peace, which here we urge in war; And then we shall repent each drop of blood, That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. Enter Chatillon. K. Phi. A wonder, lady!-lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.- What England says, say briefly, gentle lord, We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, And stir them up against a mightier task. England, impatient of your just demands, Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds, Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time To land his legions all as soon as I: His marches are expedient2 to this town, His forces strong, his soldiers confident. With him along is come the mother-queen, An Até, stirring him to blood and strife; With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; With them a bastard of the king deceas'd: And all the unsettled humours of the land,- Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here. In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, Did never float upon the swelling tide, To do offence and scath4 in Christendom. The interruption of their churlish drums [Drums beat. Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare. K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedi- tion! Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much We must awake endeavour for defence; For courage mounteth with occasion: Let them alone be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, Pembroke, and forces. K. Jchn. Peace be to France; if France in peace permit Our just and lineal entrance to our own! Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. K. Phi. Peace be to England; if that war return From France to England, there to live in peace! England we love; and, for that England's sake, With burden of our armour here we sweat: This toil of ours should be a work of thine; But thou from loving England art so far, That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, Cut off the sequences of posterity, Outfaced infant state, and done a rape Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face;- These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: This little abstract doth contain that large, Which died in Geffrey; and the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, And this his son; England was Geffrey's right, And this is Geffrey's: In the name of God, How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, When living blood doth in these temples beat, Which owe the crown that thou o'er-masterest? K. John. From whom hast thou this great com. mission, France, To draw my answer from thy articles? K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs In any breast of strong authority, good thoughts To look into the blots and stains of right. That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong; K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France? Const. Let me make answer;-thy usurping son. Eli. Out, insolent! thy bastard shall be king;. That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world! Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true, As thine was to thy husband: and this boy Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, Than thou and John in manners; being as like, As rain to water, or devil to his dam. My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think, It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. His father never was so true begot; Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy father. Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would blot thee. Aust. Peace! Bast. Aust. Hear the crier. What the devil art thou? Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard; You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, I'll smuke your skin-coat,' an I catch you right; Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith. Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe! As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass:- Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back; Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears If not; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven! With this abundance of superfluous breath? 1 Best stations to over-awe the town. 2 Immediate, expeditious. 3 The goddess of revenge. 5 Undermined. 6 Succession, 8 Celestial. 7 A short writing. 4 Mischief. 9 Austria wears a lion's skin. SCENE I. 343 KING JOHN. K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle.^ straight. Lew. Women and fools, break off your confer- ence.- King John, this is the very sum of all,- England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, In right of Arthur do I claim of thee: Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms? K. John. My life as soon:-I do defy thee, France. Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : Submit thee, boy. Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child; Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: There's a good grandam. Arth. Good my mother, peace! I would, that I were low laid in my grave; I am not worth this coil' that's made for me. Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r2 she does, or no! His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd To do him justice, and revenge on you. Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and earth! Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth! Call not me slanderer; thou, and thine, usurp The dominations, royalties, and rights, Of this oppressed boy: This is thy eldest son's son, Infortunate in nothing but in thee; Thy sins are visited in this poor child; The canon of the law is laid on him, Being but the second generation Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. K. John. Bedlam, have done. Const. I have but this to That he's not only plagued for her sin, But God hath made her sin and her the plague On this removed issue, plagu'd for her, And with her plague, her sin; his injury Her injury,-the beadle to her sin; All punish'd in the person of this child, And all for her; A plague upon her! K. John. For our advantage;-Therefore, hear us first.- These flags of France, that are advanced here Before the eye and prospect of your town, Have hither march'd to your endamagement: The cannons have their bowels full of wrath; And ready mounted are they, to spit forth Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls: All preparation for a bloody siege, And merciless proceeding by these French, Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates; And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones, That as a waist do girdle you about, By the compulsion of their ordnance By this time from their fixed beds of lime Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made For bloody power to rush upon your peace. But, on the sight of us, your lawful king,-- Who painfully, with much expedient march, Have brought a countercheck before your gates, To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,- Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle : And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, To make a shaking fever in your walls, They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, To make a faithless error in your ears: Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, And let us in, your king; whose labour'd spirits, Forwearieds in this action of swift speed, Crave harbourage within your city walls. K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us both. Lo, in this right hand, whose protection Is most divinely vow'd upon the right Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet; Son to the elder brother of this man, And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys: For this down-trodden equity, we tread In warlike march these greens before your town: Being no further enemy to you, Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, In the relief of this oppressed child, Religiously provokes. Be pleased then To pay that duty, which you truly owe, say,-To him that owes it; namely, this young prince And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, Save in aspéct, have all offence seal'd up; Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire, With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, We will bear home that lusty blood again, Which here we came to spout against your town, And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 'Tis not the rondure of your old-fac'd walls Can hide you from our messengers of war; Though all these English, and their discipline Were harbour'd in their rude circumference Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord, In that behalf which we have challeng'd it? Or shall we give the signal to our rage, And stalk in blood to our possession? Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce A will, that bars the title of thy son. Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will! a wicked will; A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! K. Phi. Peace, lady; pause, or be more tempe- rate: It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim³ To these ill-tuned repetitions.- Some trumpet summon hither to the walls These men of Angiers; let us hear them speak, Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 1 Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls? K. Phi. "Tis France, for England. K. John. England, for itself: You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects,- K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's subjects, 1 Bustle. 2 Whether 3 To encourage. 1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's subjects; For him, and in his right, we hold this town. K. John. Acknowledge then the king, ard let me in. 1 Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the King, 4 Conference. 6 Owns. 5 Worn t 7 Circle. 344 ACT II. KING JOIIN. To him will we prove loyal; till that time, Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove the king? And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,- Bast. Bastards, and else. K. John. To verify our title with their lives. K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as those, Bast. Some bastards too. K. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his claim. 1 Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls, That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! K. Phi, Amen, Amen!-Mount, chevaliers! to arms! Bast. St. George,-that swing'd the dragon, and e'er since, Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence!-Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, [To Austria,] with your lioness, I'd set an ox head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace; no more. Bast. O, tremble; for you hear the lion roar. K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth, In best appointment, all our regiments. Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. K. Phi. It shall be so ;-[To Lewis.] and at the other hill Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured:¹ Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd blows; Strength match'd with strength, and power con- fronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even We hold our town for neither; yet for both. Enter, at one side, King John, with his power; Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other, King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and forces. K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Shall leave his native channel, and o'er-swell Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Unless thou let his silver water keep With course disturb'd even thy confining shores; A peaceful progress to the ocean. K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more: And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks,- Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead; Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! Bast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, Command the rest to stand.-God, and our right! The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; [Exeunt. And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, SCENE II.-The same. Alarums and Excur- In undetermin'd differences of kings.- sions; then a Retreat. Enter a French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates. F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in; Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground: Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French; Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. Enter an English Herald, with trumpets. E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells; King John, your king and England's, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day! Their armours, that march'd hence su silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest, That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; Ana, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our tasty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates, and give the victors way. 1 Judged, determined. 2 Potentates. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field, Then let confusion of one part confirm You equal potents, 2 fiery-kindled spirits! The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death! K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? 1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king. K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, And bear possession of our person here; Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this: And, till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates: King'd of our fears; until our fears, resolv'd, Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings; And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be rul'd by me; Do like the mutines4 of Jerusalem. Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount 4 Mutineers. 3 Scabby fellows. SCENE I 345 KING JOHN. Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city: I'd play incessantly upon these jades, Even till unfenced desolation Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. That done, dissever your united strengths, And part your mingled colours once again; Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth Out of one side her happy minion; To whom in favour she shall give the day, And kiss him with a glorious victory. How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? Smacks it not something of the policy? K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads, I like it well;-France, shall we knit our powers, And lay this Angiers even with the ground; Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? To our fast-closed gates; for, at this match, With swifter spleen2 than powder can enforce, The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, And give you entrance; but, without this match, The sea enraged is not half so deaf, Lions more confident, mountains and rocks More free from motion; no, not death himself In mortal fury half so peremptory, As we to keep this city. Bast. Here's a stay, That shakes the rotten carcase of old death Out of his rags! Here's a large mouth, indeed, That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas; Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs! What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce; He gives the bastinado with his tongue; Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his, town,-But buffets better than a fist of France: Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king,- Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, As we will ours, against these saucy walls: And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, Why, then defy each other; and, pell-mell, Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. K. Phi. Let it be so:-Say, where will you assault? K. John. We from the west will send destruction Into the city's bosom. Aust. I from the north. K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. Bast. O prudent discipline! From north to south, Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: [Aside. I'll stir them to it :-Come, away, away! 1 Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to stay, And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league; Win you this city without stroke, or wound; Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, That here come sacrifices for the field: Perséver not, but hear me, mighty kings. K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent to hear. 1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the Blanch, lady Is near to England; Look upon the years Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid: If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? If zealous' love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? If love ambitious sought a match of birth, Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, Is the young Dauphin every way complete: If not complete, Ó say, he is not she; And she again wants nothing, to name want, If want it be not, that she is not he: He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such a she; And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 0, two such silver currents, when they join, Do glorify the banks that bound them in: And two such shores to two such streams made one, Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,' To these two princes, if you marry them. This union shall do more than battery can, 1 Pious. 2 Speed. 3 Picture. Zounds! I was never so bethump'd with words, Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; Give with our niece a dowry large enough: For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown, That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. I see a yielding in the looks of France; Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while their souls Are capable of this ambition: Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, Cool and congeal again to what it was. 1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward first To speak unto this city: What say you? K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son, Can in this book of beauty read, I love, Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen: For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, and Poictiers, And all that we upon this side the sea (Except this city now by us besieg'd,) Find liable to our crown and dignity, Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich In titles, honours, and promotions, As she in beauty, education, blood, Holds hand with any princess of the world. K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's face. Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, The shadow of myself form'd in her eye; Which, being but the shadow of your son, Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow: I do protest, I never lov'd myself, Till now infixed I beheld myself, Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. [Whispers with Blanch. Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye!- Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow!- And quarter'd in her heart!-he doth espy Himself love's traitor: This is pity now, That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should be, In such a love, so vile a lout as he. Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine If he see aught in you, that makes him like, 346 ACT III. KING JOHN. That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, I can with ease translate it to my will; Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) I will enforce it easily to my love. Further I will not flatter you, my lord, That all I see in you is worthy love, Than this, that nothing do I see in you That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commo dity, Commodity, the bias of the world; The world, who of itself is peised well, Made to run even, upon even ground; Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, This sway of motion, this commodity, (Though churlish thoughts themselves should be Makes it take head from all indifferency, your judge,) That I can find should merit any hate. K. John. What say these young ones? What say you, my niece? Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you love this lady?' Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love, For I do love her most unfeignedly. K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, With her to thee; and this addition more, Full thirty thousand marks of English coin.- Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, Command thy son and daughter to join hands. K. Phi. It likes us well;-Young princes, close your hands. Aust. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd, That I did so, when I was first assur'd.' From all direction, purpose, course, intent: And this same bias, this commodity, This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, From a resolv'd and honourable war, To a most base and vile-concluded peace.- And why rail I on this commodity? But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: Not that I have the power to clutch' my hand, When his fair angels would salute my palm: But for my hand, as unattempted yet, Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, And say,-there is no sin, but to be rich; And being rich, my virtue then shall be, To say, there is no vice, but beggary: Since kings break faith upon commodity, Gain, be my lord! for I will worship thee! [Exit. K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, Let in that amity which you have made; For at saint Mary's chapel, presently, The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd.- Is not the lady Constance in this troop?- I know, she is not; for this match, made up, Her presence would have interrupted much :- Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. Lew. She is sad and passionate2 at your high- False ness' tent. ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. The French king's tent. Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! blood to false blood join'd! Gone to be friends! K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro- have made, Will give her sadness very little cure. Brother of England, how may we content This widow lady? In her right we came ; Which we, God knows, have turned another way, To our own vantage.' We will heal up all: K. John. For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, And earl of Richmond; and this rich fair town We make him lord of.-Call the lady Constance; Some speedy messenger bid her repair To our solemnity:-I trust we shall, If not fill up the measure of her will, Yet in some measure satisfy her so, That we shall stop her exclamation. Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, To this unlook'd for, unprepared pomp. [Exeunt all but the Bastard.-The Citizens retire from the walls. Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, Hath willingly departed with a part: vinces ? It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so: I trust, I may not trust thee; for thy word Is but the vain breath of a common man: Believe me, I do not believe thee, man; I have a king's oath to the contrary. Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, For I am sick, and capable of fears; Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally born to fears; And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, With my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce, But they will quake and tremble all this day. What dost thou mean by shaking of thy nead? Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? What means that hand upon that breast of thine? Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, Like a proud river peering 10 o'er his bounds? Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? And France (whose armour conscience buckled on; Then speak again; not all thy former tale, Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil; That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith; That daily break-vow; he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids Who having no external thing to lose But the word maid,-cheats the poor maid of that; But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false That give you cause to prove my saying true. Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; ;-And let belief and life encounter so. 1 Affianced. 2 Mournful. 3 Advantage. 4 Conspired 5 Interest. As doth the fury of two desperate men, Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die.- 6 Poised, balanced. 8 Coin. 9 Susceptible. 7 Clasp. 10 Appearing. SCENE I. 347 KING JOHN. Lewis marry Bianch! O, boy, then where art thou? France friend with England! what becomes of To curse the fair proceedings of this day: me?- Fellow, be gone; I cannot brook thy sight; This news hath made thee a most ugly man. Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, But spoke the harm that is by others done? Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, As it makes harmful all that speak of it. Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert grim, Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless' stains, Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,2 Patch'd with foul moles, and eve-offending marks, I would not care, I then would be content; For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy! Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great: Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast, And with the half-blown rose: but fortune, O! She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee; She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John; And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. France is a bawd to fortune, and king John; That strumpet fortune, that usurping John:- Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? Envenom him with words; or get thee gone, And leave those woes alone, which I alone Am bound to under-bear. Sal. Pardon me, madam, I may not go without you to the kings. Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with thee: I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. To me, and to the state of my great grief, Let kings assemble; for my grief's so great, That no supporter but the huge firm earth, Can hold it up: here I and sorrow sit; Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. [She throws herself on the ground. Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, Elinor, Bastard, Austria, and attendants. K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter; and this bless- ed day, Ever in France shall be kept festival: To solemnize this day, the glorious sun Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; Turning, with splendour of his precious eye, The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: The yearly course, that brings this day about, Shall never see it but a holyday. Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday! [Rising. What hath this day deserv'd? what hath it done; That it in golden letters should be set, Among the high tides, in the kalendar? Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week; This day of shame, oppression, perjury: Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck; No bargains break, that are not this day made: This day all things begun come to ill end; Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! 1 Unsightly. 2 Portentous. 3 Seated in state. K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty? Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and tried, Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn; You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: The grappling vigour and rough frown of war, Is cold in amity and painted peace, And our oppression hath made up this league:- Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! A widow cries; be husband to me, heavens! Let not the hours of this ungodly day Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings! Hear me, O, hear me ! Aust. Lady Constance, peace. Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me war. O Lymoges! O Austria! thou dost shame That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward; Thou little valiant, great in villany! Thou ever strong upon the stronger side: Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight But when her humorous ladyship is by To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too, And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and swear, Upon my party! Thou cold-blooded slave, Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? Been sworn my soldier? bidding me depend Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? And dost thou now fall over to my foes? Thou wear a lion's hide! doff's it for shame, And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to me! Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thyself. Enter Pandulph. K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven!- To thee, king John, my holy errand is. I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, And from pope Innocent the legate here, Do, in his name, religiously demand, Why thou against the church, our holy mother, So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce, Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop Of Canterbury, from that holy see? This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name, Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories; Can task the free breath of a sacred king? Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, To charge me to an answer, as the pope. Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, Add thus much more,-That no Italian priest Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; But as we under heaven are supreme head, So, under him, that great supremacy, 4 Solemn seasons. 5 Do off. 348 ACT III. KING JOHN. Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, Without the assistance of a mortal hand: So tell the pope; all reverence set apart, To him, and his usurp'd authority. K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, Dreading the curse that money may buy out; And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, Thou shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate: And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt From his allegiance to a herétic; And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, That takes away by any secret course Thy hateful life. Const. O, lawful let it be, That I have room with Rome to curse a while! Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, To my keen curses; for, without my wrong, There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right, Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong: Law cannot give my child his kingdom here; For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law: Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, Let go the hand of that arch-heretic; And raise the power of France upon his head, Unless he do submit himself to Rome. Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let thy hand. go Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France repent, And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these Because- wrongs, Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the car- dinal? That need must needs infer this principle,- That faith would live again by death of need; O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. K. John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt. Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's-skin, most sweet lout. K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. Pand. What can'st thou say, but will perplex thee more, If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person yours, And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. This royal hand and mine are newly knit; And the conjunction of our inward souls. Married in league, coupled and link'd together With all religious strength of sacred vows; The latest breath that gave the sound of words, Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves; And even before this truce, but new before,- No longer than we well could wash our hands, To clap this royal bargain up of peace,- Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over- stain'd With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint The fearful difference of incensed kings: And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood, So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ?2 Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven, Make such unconstant children of ourselves, As now again to snatch our palm from palm; Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, And make a riot on the gentle brow Of true sincerity? O holy sir, My reverend father, let it not be so: Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd To do your pleasure, and continue friends. Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, Save what is opposite to England's love. Therefore, to arms! be champion of our church! Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, A mother's curse, on her revolting son. France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, A cased lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith; And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath, Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd; That is, to be the champion of our church! What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself, And may not be performed by thyself: For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, Is not amiss when it is truly done; And being not done, where doing tends to ill, The truth is then most done not doing it: from The better act of purposes mistook Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal? Lew. Bethink you, father; for the difference Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, Or the light loss of England for a friend: Forego the easier, Blanch. Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee here, That's the curse of Rome. In likeness of a new u trimmed' bride. Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not her faith, But from her need. Const. O, if thou grant my need, Which only lives but by the death of faith, ! When unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.' Thomson's Autumn, 296.1 Is, to mistake again; though indirect, Yet indirection thereby grows direct, And falsehood falsehood cures; as fire cools fire, Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. It is religion, that doth make vows kept: 2 Exchange of salutation. SCENE III. 349 KING JOHN. But thou hast sworn against religion; France, I am burn'd up witn inflaming wrath; By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou A rage, whose heat hath this condition, swear'st; And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ; Else, what a mockery should it be to swear! But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first, Is in thyself rebellion to thyself: And better conquest never canst thou make, Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts Against those giddy loose suggestions: Upon which better part our prayers come in, If thou vouchsafe them; but, if not, then know, The peril of our curses light on thee; So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, But, in despair, die under their black weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion! Bast. Will't not be? Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine? Lew. Father, to arms! Blanch. Upon thy wedding day? Against the blood that thou hast married? What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd men? Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,- Clamours of hell-be measures¹ to our pomp? O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new Is husband in my mouth!-even for that name, Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms Against mine uncle. Const. O, upon my knee, Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, Thou virtuous dauphin, alter not the doom Fore-thought by heaven. Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; What motive may Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? Const. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds, His honour: O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour! Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold, When such profound respects do pull you on. Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. K. Phi. Thou shalt not need :-England, I'll fall from thee. Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty! Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy! K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within this hour. Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton time, Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood: Fair day, adieu! Which is the side that I must go withal? I am with both: each army hath a hand; And, in their rage, I having hold of both, They whirl asunder, and dismember me. Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win; Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose; Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive : Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; Assured loss, before the match be play'd. Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life dies. K. John. Cousin, go draw cur puissance to- gether.- [Exit Bastard. 1 Music for dancing. 2 Wonder. That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, The blood, and dearest-valu'd blood, of France. K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt turn To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire: Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. K. John. No more than he that threats.-To arms let's hie! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Plains near Angiers. Alarums, Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with Austria's head. Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows won drous hot; Some airy devil hovers in the sky, And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there; While Philip breathes. Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. K. John. Hubert, keep this boy:-Philip, make My mother is assailed in our tent, And ta'en, I fear. Bast. up: My lord, I rescu'd her; Her highness is in safety, fear you not; But on, my liege: for very little pains Will bring this labour to a happy end. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Alarums; Excur- sions; Retreat. Enter King John, Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. K. John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay behind, [To Elinor. So strongly guarded.-Cousin, look not sad: [To Arthur. Thy grandam loves thee; and thy uncle will As dear be to thee as thy father was. Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for England; haste before: And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags Of hoarding abbots: angels imprisoned Set thou at liberty: the fat ribs of peace Must by the hungry now be fed upon : Use our commission in his utmost force. Bast. Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on. I leave your highness :-Grandam, I will pray (If ever I remember to be holy) For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. K. John. Coz, farewell, [Exit Bastard. Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. [She takes Arthur aside.. K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,- But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: 3 Force 4 Gold coin. 23 350 ACT III. KING JOHN Of any kindred action like to this? K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this praise, So we could find some pattern of our share. But thou shalt have; and creep time ne'er so slow, Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say,-But let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,' To give me audience:-If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy-thick, (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes;) Enter Constance. Look, who comes here! á grave unto a sou; In the vile prison of afflicted breath:- Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace! K. Phi. Patience, good lady! comfort, gentle Constance! Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress, But that which ends all counsel, true redress, Death, death:-O amiable lovely death! Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, Thou hate and terror to prosperity, And I will kiss thy détestable bones; And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows; And ring these fingers with thy household worms; And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, And be a carrion monster like thyself: under-Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smi!'st, And buss thee as thy wife! Misery's love, O, come to me! K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: But ah, I will not:-Yet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me take, Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By heaven, I'd do't. K. John, Do not I know, thou would'st? Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, friend, He is a very serpent in my way: And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me: Dost thou understand me! Thou art his keeper. Hub. And I will keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty. K. John. Death. Hub. My lord? K. John. A grave. Hub. K. John. my I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee: Remember.-Madam, fare you well: I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. Eli. My blessing go with thee! K. John. For England, cousin Hubert shall be your man, attend on you With all true duty.-On toward Calais, ho! [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. The French king's tent. Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and attendants. Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to cry:- O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world; And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, Which scorns a modern" invocation. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; I am not mad: this hair I tear, is mine; My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: note I am not mad;-I would to heaven, I were! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: He shall not live. O, if I could, what grief should I forget!- Enough. Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be deliver'd of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself; : If I were mad, I should forget my son; Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he: I am not mad; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love 1 In the fair multitude of those her hairs! Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends Do glew themselves in sociable grief; Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, Sticking together in calamity. Const. To England, if you will. K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I do it? Ohat these hands could so redeem my son, 1 tore them from their bonds; and cried aloud, As they have given these hairs their liberty! And will again commit them to their bonds, But now I envy at their liberty, Because my poor child is a prisoner.- And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, That we shall see and know our friends in heaven 5 Overcome. 6 Refuse. 7 Common. K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, A whole armado4 of convicted sail Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so ill? Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? And bloody England into England gone, O'erbearing interruption, spite of France? Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified: So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 1 Showy ornaments. 3 Joined. 2 Conception. 4 Fleet of war. SCENE I. 351 KING JOHN. If that be true, I shall see my boy again; For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child, To him that did but yesterday suspire,¹ There was not such a gracious2 creature born. But now will canker sorrow eat my bud, And chase the native beauty from his cheek, And he will look as hollow as a ghost; As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; And so he'll die; and, rising so again, When I shall meet him in the court of heaven, I shall not know him: therefore never, never Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. Const. He talks to me, that never had a son. K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.- I will not keep this form upon my head, Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Artlur did. Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old world! John lays you plots; the times conspire with you. For he, that steeps his safety in true blood, Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ; That none so small advantage shall step forth, To check his reign, but they will cherish it: No natural exhalation in the sky, No 'scape of nature, no distemper'd day, No common wind, no customed event, But they will pluck away his natural cause, And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, Abortives, présages, and tongues of heaven, Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's life, But hold himself safe in his prisonment. Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your ap proach, If that young Arthur be not gone already, Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts Of all his people shall revolt from him, And kiss the lips of unacquainted change; And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrat, Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. Methinks, I see this hurfy all on foot: And, O, what better matter breeds for you, [Exit. Than I have nam'd!-The bastard Faulconbridge Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make Is now in England, ransacking the church, [Tearing off her head-dress. When there is such disorder in my wit. O lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son! My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure! [Exit. K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. me joy : Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's taste, That it yields nought, but shame, and bitterness. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil: What have you lost by losing of this day? Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. Pand. If you have won it, certainly you had. No, no: when fortune means to men most good, She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 'Tis strange, to think how much king John hath lost In this which he accounts so clearly won: Offending charity: If but a dozen French Were there in arms, they would be as a call To train ten thousand English to their side; Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, Go with me to the king: "Tis wonderful, What may be wrought out of their discontent: Now that their souls are topful of offence, For England go; I will whet on the king. Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions: Let us go; If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt. ACT IV. Are not you grieved, that Arthur is his prisoner? SCENE I.-Northampton. A room in the castle. Lew. As heartily, as he is glad he hath him. Pand. Your inind is all as youthful as your blood. Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; For even the breath of what I mean to speak Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, Out of the path which shall directly lead Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark. John hath seiz'd Arthur; and it cannot be, That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand, Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd: And he, that stands upon a slippery place, Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall; So be it, for it cannot be but so. Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch, your wife, May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 1 Breathe. 2 Graceful. 3 Tapestry. Enter Hubert and two Attendants, Hub. Heat me these irons hot: and, look thou stand Within the arras :3 when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth; And bind the boy, which you shall find with rae, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. 1 Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples! Fear not you look to't.- [Exeunt Attendants, Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter Arthur. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince as may be.--You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me! Methinks, nobody should be sad but I: Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 352 ACT IV KING JOHN. Only for wantonness. By my christendom, So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me: He is afraid of me, and I of him: Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son? No, indeed, is't not; And I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to- day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick; That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bo- som.- Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, foolish rheum? Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.- Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Aside. Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must. And will you? And I will. Arth. Hub. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, And call it cunning; Do, an if you will: If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence: Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron? An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here Arth. Alas, what need you be so boist'rous rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly: Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:- Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hub. Arth. Is there no Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself, remedy? None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven!-that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert: Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; Though to no use, but still to look on you! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be us'd In undeserv'd extremes: See else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strew'd repentant ashes on his head, Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre? him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office: only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasures that thine uncle owes :3 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; Your uncle must not know but you are dead: [Stamps. I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, &c. Do as I bid you do. Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 1 In cruelty I have not deserved. Arth. O heaven!-I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me, Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt 2 Set him on. 3 Owns. 4 Secretly. SCENE II. KING JOHN. 353 SCENE II.-The Same. A room of state in the palace. Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke. Salisbury, and other lords. The king takes his state. K. John. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd, And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. Pem. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before, And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt; Fresh expectation troubled not the land, With any long'd-for change, or better state. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard' a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To south the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,2 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. Pem. But that your royal pleasure must be done, This act is as an ancient tale new told; And, in the last repeating, troublesome, Being urged at a time unseasonable. Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face Of plain old form is much disfigured: And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about; Startles and frights consideration; Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Pent. When workmen strive to do better than well, They do confound their skill in covetousness:3 And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; As patches, set upon a little breach, Discredit more in hiding of the fault, Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd, We breath'd our counsel: but it pleas'd your high- ness To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd; Since all and every part of what we would, Doth make a stand at what your highness will. K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation I have possess'd you with, and think them strong;| And more, more strong (when lesser is my fear,) I shall indue you with: Meantime, but ask What you would have reform'd, that is not well; And well shall you perceive, how willingly I will both hear and grant you your requests. Pem. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these, To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) Both for myself, and them, (but, chief of all, Your safety, for the which myself and them Bend their best studies,) heartily request The enfranchisements of Arthur; whose restraint Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent, To break into this dangerous argument,- If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, Why then your fears (which, as they say, attend The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth The rich advantage of good exercise? That the time's enemies may not have this To grace occasions, let it be our suit, That you have bid us ask his liberty, 1 Lace. 2 Decorate. 3 Desire of excelling. 4 Publish. Which for our goods we do no further ask, Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youtk Enter Hubert. To your direction.-Hubert, what news with you? Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed; He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine: The image of a wicked heinous fault Lives in his eye; that close aspéct of his Does show the mood of a much-troubled breast; And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done, What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go, Between his purpose and his conscience, Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. Pem. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand:- Good lords, although my will to give is living, The suit which you demand is gone and dead: He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. Pem. Indeed we heard how near his death he was, Before the child himself felt he was sick: This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? Think you, I bear the shears of destiny? Have I commandment on the pulse of life? Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame, That greatness should so grossly offer it: So thrive it in your game! and so farewell! Pem. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I'll go with thee And find the inheritance of this poor child, His little kingdom of a forced grave. That blood, which ow'de the breath of all this isle, Three foot of it doth hold; Bad world the while! This must not be thus borne: this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. [Exeunt Lords. K. John. They burn in indignation; I repent; There is no sure foundation set on blood; No certain life achiev'd by others' death.-- Enter a Messenger. A fearful eye thou hast; Where is that blood, That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? So foul a sky clears not without a storm: Pour down thy weather:-How goes all in France 7 Mess. From France to England.-Never such a power" For any foreign preparation, Was levied in the body of a land! The copy of your speed is learn'd by them; For, when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. K. John. O, where hath our intelligence been drunk? Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care; That such an army could be drawn in France, And she not hear of it? Mess. My liege, her ear Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died Your noble mother: And, as I hear, my lord, The lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before: but this from rumour's tongue I idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. 5 Releasement. 6 Owned. 7 Force 354 ACT IV. KING JOHN. K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd My discontented peers!-What! mother dead? How wildly then walks my estate in France!- Under whose conduct came those powers of France, That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here? Mess. Under the dauphin. Enter the Bastard, and Peter of Pomfret. K. John. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings.-Now, what says the world To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff My head with more ill news, for it is full. Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst, Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. K. John. Bear with me, cousin; for I was amaz'd' Under the tide: but now I breathe again Aloft the flood; and can give audience To any tongue, speak it of what it will. Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, The sums I have collected shall express. But, as I travelled hither through the land, I find the people strangely fantasied; Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams; Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear: And here's a prophet, that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found With many hundreds treading on his heels; To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, Your highness should deliver up your crown. K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. K. John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; And on that day, at noon, whereon he says I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd: Deliver him to safety, and return, For I must use thee.-O my gentle cousin, [Exit Hubert with Peter. Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? Bast. The French, my lord; men's mouths are full of it: Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) And others more, going to seek the grave Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night On your suggestion. K. John. Gentle kinsman, go, And thrust thyself into their companies: I have a way to win their loves again; Bring them before me. Bast. I will seek them out. K. John. Nay, but make haste; the better foot before.- O, let me have no subject enemies, When adverse foreigners affright my towns With dreadful pomp of stout invasion!- Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels; And fly, like thought, from them to me again. Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. [Exit. Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about The other four, in wond'rous motion. K. John. Five moons? Hub. in the streets Old men, and bedlams Do prophesy upon it dangerously: Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear; And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist; Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action, With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers (which his nimble haste Had falsely thrust upon contráry feet,) Told of a many thousand warlike French, That were embattled, and rank'd in Kent: Another lean unwash'd artificer Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these fears? Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had mighty cause Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death? To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! why, did you not pro- voke me? K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves that take their humours for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life: And, on the winking of authority, To understand a law; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns More upon humour than advis'd respect.3 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes deeds ill done! Hadest not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted,4 and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, This murder had not come into my mind: But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspéct, Finding thee fit for bloody villany, Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. And thou, to be endeared to a king, Hub. My lord, K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spake darkly what I purposed; Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break As bid me tell my tale in express words; off, K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentle-, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in man.- Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; And be thou he. Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. K. John. My mother dead! Re-enter Hubert. me: But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin; And, consequently, thy rude hand to act Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name.- Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen Out of my sight, and never see me more! to-night: 1 Stunned, confounded. My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd, 2 Custody. 3 Deliberate consideration. 4 Observed. SCENE III. 355 KING JOHN. Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: Nay, in the body of this fleshly land," This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. Within this bosom never enter'd yet The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought, And you have slander'd nature in my form; Which, howsoever rude exteriorly, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind Than to be butcher of an innocent child. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. Bast. "Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here? [Seeing Arthur. Pem. O death, made proud with pure and prince- ly beauty! The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious-princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beheld, Or have you read, or heard? or could you think? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see? could thought, without this object, K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to Form such another? This is the very top, the peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, And foul imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 0, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste: I conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. SCENE III-The same. Before the castle. ter Arthur, on the walls. Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I down:- [Exe. En- leap Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!- There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. I am afraid; and yet I'll venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away: As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. [Leaps down. O me! my uncle's spirit is in these stones:- Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! [Dies. Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's- bury; It is our safety, and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time. Pem. Who brought that letter from the cardinal? Sal. The Count Melun, a noble lord of France; Whose private with me,3 of the dauphin's love, Is much more general than these lines import. Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. Sal. Or, rather then set forward: for 'twill be Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. Enter the Bastard. Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd4 lords! The king, by me, requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us; We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honours, nor attend the foot That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks: Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, were best. Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. 1 His own body. 3 Private account. 5 Pity. 2 Expeditious. 4 Out of humour. The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, That ever wall-ey'd wrath; or staring rage, Presented to the ears of soft remorse." Pem. All murders past do stand excus'd in t And this, so sole, and so unmatchable, Shall give a holiness, a purity, To the yet-unbegotten sin of time; And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, Exampled by this heinous spectacle. Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work; The graceless action of a heavy hand, If that it be the work of any hand. Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?- We had a kind of light, what would ensue : It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; The practice, and the purpose, of the king:- From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence, The incense of a vow, a holy vow; Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight, Nor conversant with ease and idleness, Till I have set a glory to this hand, By giving it the worship of revenge. Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you: Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death:- Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone! Hub. I am no villain Sal. Must I rob the law? Drawing his sword. Bast. Your sword is bright, sir; put it up again. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, 1 say; By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, Nor tempt the danger of my true defer.ce; Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget Your worth, your greatness and nobility. Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a noble man? My innocent life against an emperor. Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend Sal. Thou art a murderer. Hub. Do not prove me so; 6 Hand should be head: a glory is the circle of rays which surrounds the heads of saints in pictures. Honest. 8 By compelling me to kill you. 356 ACT V. KING JOHN. Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. Pem. Cut him to pieces. Bast. Keep the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime; Or I'll so mau! you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge? Second a villain, and a murderer? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who kill'd this prince? Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well: I honour'd him, I lov'd him; and will weep My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, For villany is not without such rheum,' And he, long traded in it, makes it seem Like rivers of remorse2 and innocency. Away, with me, and all you whose souls abhor The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house, For I am stifled with this smell of sin. Big. Away, toward Bury, to the dauphin there! Pen. There, tell the king, he may inquire us [Exeunt Lords. Bast. Here's a good world!-Knew you of this fair work? out. Beyond the infinite and boundless reach Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, Art thou damn'd, Hubert. Hub. Do but hear me, sir. Bast. Ha! I'll tell thee what; Thou art damn'd as black-nay, nothing is so black; Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer: There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. Hub. Upon my soul,- Bast. If thou didst but consent To this most cruel act, do but despair, And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread That ever spider twisted from her womb Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown thyself, Put but a little water in a spoon, And it shall be as all the ocean, Enough to stifle such a villain up.-- I do suspect thee very grievously. Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, Let hell want pains enough to torture me! I left him well. - Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.- I am amaz'd,³ methinks; and lose my way Among the thorns and dangers of this world.- How easy dost thou take all England up! From forth this morsel of dead royalty, The life, the right, and truth of all this realm Is fled to heaven; and England now is left To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: Now powers from home, and discontents at home, Meet in one line; and vast confusion waits (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,) 1 Moisture. 2 Pity. 3 Confounded. The imminent decay of wrested pomp. Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child And follow me with speed; I'll to the king: A thousand businesses are brief in hand, And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter King John, Pandulph with the crown. and attendants. K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand The circle of my glory. Pand. Take again [Giving John the crown. From this my hand, as holding of the pope, Your sovereign greatness and authority. K. John. Now keep your holy word: go meet the French; And from his holiness use all your power To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. Our discontented counties do revolt; Our people quarrel with obedience; Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, To stranger blood, to foreign royalty. This inundation of mistemper'd humour Rests by you only to be qualified. Then pause not; for the present time's so sick, That present medicine must be minister'd, Or overthrow incurable ensues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this tem- pest up, Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : But, since you are a gentle convertite, My tongue shall hush again this storm of war, And make fair weather in your blustering land. On this Ascension-day, remember well, Upon your oath of service to the pope, Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the prophet Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon, My crown I should give off? Even so I have: I did suppose, it should be on constraint; But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. Enter the Bastard. Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds out, But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd, Like a kind host, the dauphin and his powers: Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone To offer service to your enemy; And wild amazement hurries up and down The little number of your doubtful friends. K. John. Would not my lords return to me again, After they heard young Arthur was alive? Bast. They found him dead and cast into the streets; An empty casket, where the jewel of life By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ta'en away. K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? Be great in act, as you have been in thought; 6 Convert. 4 Unowned. 5 Girdle. SCENE II. 357 KING JOHN. Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, Govern the motion of a kingly eye: Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow Of bragging horror: so shall inferior eyes, That borrow their behaviours from the great, Grow great by your example, and put on The dauntless spirit of resolution. Away; and glister like the god of war, When he intendeth to become the field: Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. What, shall they seek the lion in his den, And fright him there? and make him tremble there? O, let it not be said!-Forage, and run To meet displeasure further from the doors; And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh. K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with me, And I have made a happy peace with him; And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers¹ Led by the dauphin. Bast. O, inglorious league! Shall we, upon the footing of our land, Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, Insinuation, parley, and base truce, To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, A cocker'd2 silken wanton, brave our fields, And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, Mocking the air with colours idly spread, And find no check? Let us, my liege, to arms: Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; Or if he do, let it at least be said, They saw we had a purpose of defence. K. John. Have you the ordering of this present time. And follow unacquainted colours here? What, here?-O nation, that thou could'st remove That Neptune's arms, who clippeth thee about, Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, And grapple thee unto a Pagan shore; Where these two Christian armies might combine The blood of malice in a vein of league, And not to spend it so unneighbourly! Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, Do make an earthquake of nobility. O, what a noble combat hast thou fought, Between compulsion and a brave respect 14 Let me wipe off this honourable dew, That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks. My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, Being an ordinary inundation; But this effusion of such manly drops, This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, And with a great heart heave away this storm: Commend these waters to those baby eyes, That never saw the giant world enrag'd; Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep Into the purse of rich prosperity, As Lewis himself:-so, nobles, shall you all, That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. Enter Pandulph attended. And even there, methinks, an angel spake: Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet, I know, Look, where the holy legate comes apace, Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. To give us warrant from the hand of heaven; SCENE II-A plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. And on our actions set the name of right, Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pem- With holy breath. broke, Bigot, and soldiers. Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, And keep it safe for our remembrance: Return the precedent to these lords again; That, having our fair order written down, Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, May know wherefore we took the sacrament, And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. And, noble dauphin, albeit we swear A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith, To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince, I am not glad that such a sore of time Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, And heal the inveterate canker of one wound By making many: O, it grieves my soul, That I must draw this metal from my side, To be a widow-maker; 0, and there, Where honourable rescue, and defence, Cries out upon the name of Salisbury: But such is the infection of the time, That, for the health and physic of our right, We cannot deal but with the very hand Of stern injustice and confused wrong.- And is't not pity, O my grieved friends! That we, the sons and children of this isle, Were born to see so sad an hour as this; Wherein we step after a stranger march Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw ard weep Upon the spot of this enforc'd cause,) To grace the pentry of a land remote, 1 Forces. 2 Fondled. Pand. Hail, noble prince of France! The next is this,-King John hath reconcil'd Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, That so stood out against the holy church, The great metropolis and see of Rome: Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, And tame the savage spirit of wild war; That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, It may lie gently at the foot of peace, And be no further harmful than in show. Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back; I am too high-born to be propertied," To be a secondary at control, Or useful serving-man, and instrument, To any sovereign state throughout the world. Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars, Between this chástis'd kingdom and myself, And brought in matter that should feed this fire, And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out With that same weak wind which enkindled it You taught me how to know the face of right, Acquainted me with interest to this land, Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart; And come you now to tell me, John hath made His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me? I, by the honour of my marriage-bed, After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back, Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne What men provided, what munition sent, To underprop this action? is't not I, That undergo this charge? who else but I, 3 Embraceth. 4 Love of country. 5 Appropriated. 358 ACT V. KING JOHN. And such as to my claim are liable, Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? Have I not heard these islanders shout out, Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns? Have I not here the best cards for the game, To win this easy match play'd for a crown? And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? No, on my soul, it never shall be said. Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook' conquest, and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death. [Trumpet sounds. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? Enter the Bastard, attended. Bast. According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak :- My holy lord of Milan, from the king I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue. Pand. The dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, The youth says well:-Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepar'd; and reason too, he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories. That hand, which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch;2 To dive, like buckets, in concealed³ wells; To crouch in litter of your stable planks; To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks; To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake, Even at the crying of your nation's crow," Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;- Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No: Know, the gallant monarch is in arms; And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.- And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame: For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, Like Amazons, come tripping after drums; Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Thet neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. Lew. There end thy brave," and turn thy face in peace, We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler. Pand. Bast. No, I will speak. Lew. Strike up the drums; 1 Face down. 3 Covered. Give me leave to speak. We will attend to neither :- and let the tongue of war 2 Leap over the hatch. 4 The crowing of a cock. Plead for our interest, and our being here. Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd, That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; Sound but another, and another shall, As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand (Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. Bast. And thou shall find it, dauphin, do not doubt, [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A field of battle. Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me; 0, my heart is sick! Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon bridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field; And send him word by me, which way you go. K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply, That was expected by the dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now: The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news.- Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight; Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exe. SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the same. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others. Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. Pem. Up once again; put spirit in the French; If they miscarry, we miscarry too. Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Melun wounded, and led by soldiers. Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. Pem. It is the count Melun. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold: Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; For, if the French be lords of this loud day, Helo means to recompense the pains you take, By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn, And I with him, and many more with me, Upon the altar at Saint Edmund's-Bury; Even on that altar, where we swore to you Dear amity and everlasting love. 5 Nest. 6 Needles. 7 Boast. 9 A proverb intimating treachery. $ Sky's 10 Lewis SCENE V, VI, VII. 359 KING JOHN. Sal. May this be possible? may this be true? Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, Retaining but a quantity of life; Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ?1 What in the world should make me now deceive, Since I must lose the use of all deceit? Why should I then be false; since it is true, That I must die here, and live hence by truth? Is I say again, if Lewis do win the day, He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours Behold another day break in the east: But even this night,-whose black contagious breath Already smokes about the burning crest Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,- Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire; Paying the fine of rated treachery, Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, If Lewis, by your assistance, win the day. Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; The love of him,-and this respect besides, For that my grandsire was an Englishman,- Awakes my conscience to confess all this. In lieu² whereof, I pray you, bear me hence From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts In peace, and part this body and my soul With contemplation and devout desires. Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Lew. Well; keep gcod quarter,' and good care to-night; The day shall not be up so soon as I, To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. SCENE VI-An open place in the neighbour hood of Swinstead abbey. Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. Hub. Who's there? speak, no! speak quickly, or I shoot. Bast. A friend:-What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whither dost thou go? Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not [ demand Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I think. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought. I will, upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well: Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: an if you please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think, I come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, Have done me shame :-Brave soldier, pardon me, Sal. We do believe thee,-And beshrew³ my soul, That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, But I do love the favour and the form Of this most fair occasion, by the which We will untread the steps of damned flight; And, like a bated and retired flood, Leaving our rankness and irregular course, Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, And calmly run on in obedience, Even to our ocean, to our great king John.-- My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; For I do see the cruel pangs of death Right in thine eye.-Away, my friends! New flight; 5 And happy newness, that intends old right. [Exeunt, leading off Melun. SCENE V.-The same. The French camp. Enter Lewis and his train. Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set; But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, When the English measur'd backward their own ground, In faint retire: 0, bravely came we off, When with a volley of our needless shot, After such bloody toil, we bid good night; And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up, Last in the field, and almost lords of it! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin? Lew. Here:-What news? Mess. The count Melun is slain; the English lords, By his persuasion, are again fallen off: And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news!-Beshrew thy very heart! I did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me.-Who was he, that said, King John did fly, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 1 In allusion to the images made by witches. 2 Place. 3 Ill betide. 4 Immediate. 5 Innovation 6 Sky. Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, To find you out. Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news, I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil; that you might Than if you had at leisure known of this. The better arm you to the sudden time, Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back, And brought prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And they are all about his majesty. Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven. And tempt us not to bear above our power! I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my powers this night, Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd." Away, before! conduct me to the king; doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. I [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The orchard of Swinstead abbey. Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, house,) 7 In your posts or stations. 8 Without. 9 Forces. 360 ACT V. KING JOHN. Foretell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke. As I upon advantage did remove, Were in the washes all unwarily, Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds Devoured by the unexpected flood. belief. That, being brought into the open air, It would allay the burning quality Of that fell poison which assaileth him. P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.- [Exit Bigot. Doth he still rage? Pem. He is more patient Than when you left him; even now he sung. P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born To set a form upon that indigest Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. Re-enter Bigot and attendants, who bring in King John in a chair. K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow- room; It would not out at windows, nor at doors. There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment; and against this fire Do I shrink up. P. Hen. How fares your majesty? K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare;-dead, forsook, cast off: And none of you will bid the winter come, To thrust his icy fingers in my maw; Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you much, I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,¹ And so ingrateful, you deny me that. [The king dies. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.- My liege! my lord !-But now a king,-now thus. P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, When this was now a king, and now is clay! Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, To do the office for thee of revenge; And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, As it on earth hath been thy servant still.- Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths; And instantly return with me again, To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Out of the weak door of our fainting land: Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought, The dauphin rages at our very heels. Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we: The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour since came from the dauphin; And brings from him such offers of our peace, As we with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave this war. Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'd To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal: With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To consummate this business happily. Bast. Let it be so:-And you, my noble prince With other princes that may best be spar'd, Shall wait upon your father's funeral. P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'a, For so he will'd it. Bast. Thither shall it then. And happily may your sweet self put on To whom, with all submission, on my knee, The lineal state and glory of the land! And true subjection everlastingly. I do bequeath my faithful services Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore. P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you tears, That might relieve you! K. John. The salt in them is hot.- Within me is a hell; and there the poison Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize On unreprievable condemned blood. Enter the Bastard. Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: The tackle of my heart is crack'd and barn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should'sail, Are turned to one thread, one little hair: My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, Which holds but till thy news be uttered; And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, And module of confounded royalty. Bust. The dauphin is preparing hitherward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him: For, in a night, the best part of my power, 1 Narrow, avaricious. 2 Model. thanks, And knows not how to do it, but with tears. Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful wo Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.- This England never did (nor never shall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Come the three corners of the world in arms, Now these her princes are come home again, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. The tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and characters. The lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity, which this author delighted JOHNSON. to exhibit. KING RICHARD II. King Richard the Second. of PERSONS REPRESENTED. Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, uncles to the Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Here- ford, son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Surrey. Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkley. Bushy, Bagot, creatures to King Richard. Green, Earl of Northumberland: Henry Percy, his son. ACT I. SCENE I.-London. A room in the palace. En- ter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, and other nobles, with him. King Richard. Lord Marshal; and another Lord. Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop. Captain of a band of Welshmen. Queen to King Richard. Duchess of Gloster. Duchess of York. Lady attending on the Queen. Lords, heralds, officers, soldiers, two gardeners keeper, messenger, groom, and other attendants. Scene, dispersedly in England and Wales. Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Boling. First (heaven be the record of my speech!) In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 1 OLD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,' Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege. K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that ar- gument,- On some apparent danger seen in him, Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:- [Exeunt some attendants. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter attendants, with Bolingbroke and Norfolk. Boling. May many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but ters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to live; Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post, until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. And let him be no kinsman to my liege, Setting aside his high blood's royalty, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him-a slanderous coward, and a villain: Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, flat-Or any other ground inhabitable - 1 Bond. 2 Charge. 3 Uninhabitable. Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,- By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, 362 ACT L KING RICHARD II. Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not leverence, makes thee to except: If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. Nor. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear, Which gently lay'd my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And, when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to bray's charge? It must be great, that can inherit¹ us So much as of a thought of ill in him. Neglected my sworn duty in that care.-- For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe, Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul. But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, I did confess it; and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. This is my fault: As for the rest appeal'd,' It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor: Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, Mow-To prove myself a loyal gentleman Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it true;- That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers; The which he hath detain'd for lewd2 employments, Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. Besides I say, and will in battle prove,- Or here, or elsewhere, to the farthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye,- That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land, Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life, to make all this good,- That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death; Suggest his soon-believing adversaries; And, consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice, and rough chastisement; And by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. of K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars!- Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood,4 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, (As he is but my father's brother's son,) Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul; He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou; Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. and Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers: The other part reserv'd I by consent; For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie.-—— -For Gloster's death,- I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom ; In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision: Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed, Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed.- Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age; Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his.. Gaunt. When, Harry? when? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there is no boot." Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foct: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) To dark dishonour's use, thou shalt not have. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear; The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood Which breath'd this poison. K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change their spots: take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford, Is-spotless reputation; that away, Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is-a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one, Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live, and for that will I die. do K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; you begin. Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this outdar'd dastard! Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear; And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt. 1 Possess. 2 Wicked. 3 Prompt. 4 Reproach to his ancestry. 5 Charged. 6 Arrogant. 7 No advantage in delay. SCENE II, II. 363 KING RICHARD II. K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- And throw the rider headlong in the lists, mand: Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day; There shall your swords and lancez arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate; Since we cannot atone! you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalr.--- Marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke of Lancaster's palace. Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster. [Exeunt. Gaunt. Alas! the parts I had in Gloster's blood Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life. But since correction lieth in those hands, Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when he sees the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut: But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,- One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root,- Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, Made him a man; and though, thou liv'st, and breath'st, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent4 In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we entitle-patience, Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to 'venge my Gloster's death. Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caus'd his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister. Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold defence. Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: 0, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, That they may break his foaming courser's back, 3 Relationship. 5 A base villain. 1. Reconcile. 2 Show 4 Assent. A caitiff's recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometime brother's wife, With her companion grief must end her life. Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Duch. Yet one word more ;-Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun; For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Lo, this is all:-Nay, yet depart not so; Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him-0, what?- With all good speed at Plashy" visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where: Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Gosford Green, near Coventry. Lists set out, and a throne. Heralds, &c. at- tending. Enter the Lord Marshal, and Aumerle. Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? Aum. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. Flourish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet with- in. Then enter Norfolk in armour, preceded by a herald. K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name; and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who thou art, And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; And so defend thee heaven, and thy valour! Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!) Both to defend my loyalty and truth, To God, my king, and my succeeding issue, Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me; And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king and me: And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! [He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke in armour, preceded by a herald. K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 6 Cowardly. 7 Her house in Essex. 364 ACT. L KING RICHARD II. Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally according to our law Depose him in the justice of his cause. Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st This feast of battle with mine adversary. thou hither, Before king Richard, in his royal lists ? Against whom comest thou; and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me; And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists; Except the marshal, and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave, And loving farewell, of our several friends. Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high- ness, And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear; As confident, as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.. My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal.] I take my leave of you;- Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle :- Not sick, although I have to do with death; But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.- Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood,- [To Gaunt. Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head,- Add proof unto my armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen' coat, And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift, like lightning, in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall, like amazing thunder, on the casque³ Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. Boling. Mine innocency, and Saint George to thrive! [He takes his seat. Most mighty liege,-and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,4 Go I to fight; Truth hath a quiet breast. K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.- Order the trial, marshal, and begin. [The King and the Lords return to their seats Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance: and God defend the right! Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower in hope, 1 cry-amen. Mar. Go bear this lance [To an officer.] to Thomas duke of Norfolk. 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight. 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself, and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal; Courageously, and with a free desire, Attending but the signal to begin. Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, com- batants. [A charge sounded. Stay, the king hath thrown his warders down. K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again :-- Withdraw with us:-and let the trumpets sound, While we return these dukes what we decree.- A long flourish. Draw near, [To the combatants. And list, what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered;" And for our eyes do hate the dire aspéct Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set you on To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;- Therefore, we banish you our territories:- You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Boling. Your will be done: This must my cotn- fort be, That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; Nor. [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. my lot, There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart 1 Yielding. 2 Brighten up. 3 Heimet. 4 Play a part in a mask. K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The fly-slow hours shall not determinate 5 Truncheon. 6 Nursed. SCENE III. 365 KING RICHARD II. The dateless limit of thy dear exile ;- The hopeless word of-never to return, Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hand. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more, Than an unstringed viol, or a harp; Or, like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips; And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now; What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate; 2 After our sentence, plaining comes too late. Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me, He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, Can change their moons, and bring their times about, My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, Shall be extinct with age, and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death; But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave; Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour. You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, You would have bid me argue like a father.- Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's O, had it been a stranger, not my child, light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slanders sought I to avoid, [Retiring. And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) To keep the oath that we administer:- You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!) Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised³ purpose meet, To plot, contrive, or complot any ill, 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. Boling. I swear. Nor. And I, to keep all this. Boting. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ;- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burden of a guilty soul. Nor. No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence! But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.- Farewell, my liege:-Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Exit. K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspéct Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away;-Six frozen winters spent, Return [To Boling.] with welcome home from banishment. Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, End in a word; Such is the breath of kings. 1 Barred. 3 Concerted. 2 To move compassion. 4 Consideration. I was too strict, to make mine own away: But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, Against my will, to do myself this wrong. K. Rich. Cousin, farewell:-and, uncle, bid him so; Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exeunt K. Rich. and train. Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain, let paper show. Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Boling I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour" of the heart. Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. Boling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home-return. Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me, what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages; and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, But that I was a journeyman to grief? Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: 5 Had a part or share. 6 Reproach of partiality. 7 Grief. 24 366 ACT II. KING RICHARD II. Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not, the king did banish thee; But thou the king: Wo doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say-I sent thee forth to purchase honour, And not-the king exil'd thee: or suppose, Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime. Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: Suppose the singing birds, musicians; The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence¹ strew'd; The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more Than a delightful measure, or a dance: For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,- Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. [Exeunt. Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere, to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee, With-Thanks, my countrymen, my lovin friends;- As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland;- Expedient manage must be made, my liege; Ere further leisure yield them further means, For their advantage, and your highness' loss. K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this wal. And, for our coffers-with too great a court, And liberal largess,-are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: If that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy. Bushy, what news? Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord; Suddenly taken; and hath sent post-haste, To entreat your majesty to visit him. K. Rich. Where lies he? Bushy. At Ely-house. K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, SCENE IV.-The same. A room in the king's To help him to his grave immediately! castle. Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green; Aumerle following. K. Rich. We did observe.-Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were shed? Aum. 'Faith, none by me: except the north- east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awak'd the sleeping rheum; and so by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted with him? Aum. Farewell: And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief, That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd hours, And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But, since it would not, he had none of me. K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, Observ'd his courtship to the common people :- How he did seem to dive into their hearts, With humble and familiar courtesy ; What reverence he did throw away on slaves; 1 Presence-chamber at court. 2 Growling. The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.- Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! [Exeunt ACT II. SCENE I.-London. A room in Ely-house. Gaunt on a couch; the Duke of York, and others, standing by him. Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last, In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. He, that no more must say, is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear 5 Flatter. 3 Expeditious. 4 Because. SCENE 1. 367 KING RICHARD II. My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As, praises of his state: then, there are found Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen: Reportf fashions in proud Italy; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after, in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; And thus, expiring, do foretel of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; For violent fires soon burn out themselves: Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise; This fortress, built by nature for herself, Against infection, and the hand of war; This happy breed of men, this little world; This precious stope set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands: This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, England, this This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son: This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out (I die pronouncing it,) Like to a tenement or pelting¹ farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 0, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter King Richard, and Queen; Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby. York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Gaint? Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt2 in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, 1 Paltry. 2 Lean, thin. 3 Mad. Is my strict fast, I mean--my children's looks; And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live? Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st--thou flat terest me. Gaunt. Oh: no; thou diest, though I the sicker be K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee il Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, Wherein thou liest in reputation sick : And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd³ now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease: But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame, to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- K. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Dar'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, With fury, from his native residence. Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders, Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd: My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) May be a precedent and witness good, Join with the present sickness that I have; That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!-- These words hereafter thy tormentors be!- Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live, that love and honour have. Exit, borne out by his attendants. K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry, duke of Hereford, were he here. K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, so his: 368 ACT. II. KING RICHARD II. As theirs, so mine; and ail be as it is. Enter Northumberland. His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York. I'll not be by, the while: My liege, farewell: North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; your majesty. But by bad courses may be understood, That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight; K. Rich. What says he now? North. Nay, nothing; all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster has spent. York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal wo. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: So much for that.--Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns; Which live like venom, where no venom else, But only they, hath privilege to live.2 And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance, we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. York. How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.- I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce, In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman: His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ;3 But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? York. O, my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd' Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Bid him repair to us, to Ely-house, To see this business: To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow; And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York, lord governor of England, For he is just, and always loved us well.-- Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish. [Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, Green, and Bagot. North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberals tongue. Nerth. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more, That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne, In him a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Ross. The commons hath he pill'd' with grievous taxes, And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd, For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time But basely yielded upon compromise, His charters, and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!) If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patents that he hath By his attornies-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our hands 1 Irish soldiers. 2 Alluding to the idea that no venomous rep- tiles live in Ireland. That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 3 When of thy age. 4 Taking possession. 5 Free. 6 Deprived. 7 Pillaged. SCENE II 369 KING RICHARD li And yet we strike not, but securely perish.' Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy life pecring; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus:-I have, from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence, That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham [The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] That late broke from the duke of Exeter, His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Sir John Norberry, sir Robert Waterton, and Fran- cis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience,³ And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt, And make high majesty look like itself. Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg: But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. 5 Morean your lord's departure weep not; more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul, Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be, cannot but be sad; so heavy sad, I As,-though, in thinking, on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit," my gracious lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; For nothing hath begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; I But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless wo, I wot. Enter Green. Green. God save your majesty!-and well met, hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. gentlemen:- Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; he is; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, At Ravenspurg. Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that in worse,- Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry that fear. there. Percy, Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, [Exeunt. With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum berland, SCENE II.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter Queen, Bushy and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did; to please my- self, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me; and iny inward soul With nothing trembles: at something it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which show like grief itself, but are not so: For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry, Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure. Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 1 Perish by confidence in our security. 2 Stout. 3 Expedition. 4 Supply with new feathers. 5 Gilding. And all the rest of the revolting faction, Traitors? Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my wo, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have wo to wo, sorrow to sorrow join'd. Bushy. Despair not, madam. Queen. Who shall hinder me? With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, I will despair, and be at enmity Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter York. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, For heaven's sake speak comfortable words. York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughta Comfort's in heaven: and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. 6 Pictures. 8 Know. 7 Fanciful conception. 9 Drawn it back. 370 ACT II. KING RICHARD II. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?-Why, so!-go all which way it will!- The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. York. What is it, knave? Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful land at once! I know not what to do:-I would to God, (So my untruth' had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?- How shall we do for money for these wars?- Come, sister,-cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me.- Go, fellow [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there.- [Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;- The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you:-Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too;-- But time will not permit :-All is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. [Exeunt York and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proporti nable to the enemy, Is all impossible. Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Pushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- demn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. Gren. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo- lingbroke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces. I Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? North. Believe me, noble lord, am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Draw out our miles, and make them wearisomie : And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and délectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess: And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company, Than your good words. But who comes here? Enter Harry Percy. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.- Harry, how fares your uncle? Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. North. Why, is he not with the queen? Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the king. North. What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake to- gether. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, never in my life did look on him. I North. Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office To more approv'd service and desert. The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.- Will you go along with us? 1 Disloyalty. Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense SCENE III. 37: KING RICHARD II. My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus 0, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, seals it. Now prisoner to the palsy, chástise thee, And minister correction to thy fault! North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein ? York. Even in condition of the worst degree,- Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey-In gross rebellion, and detested treason: mour; None else of name, and noble estimate. Enter Ross and Willoughby. North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- loughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- ford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Boung. Welcome, my lords: I wot,' your love Look on my wrongs with an indifferents eye: pursues A banish'd traitor; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to at- tain it. Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? Enter Berkley. North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England: And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. You are my father, for, methinks, in you I see old Gaunt alive; O then, my father! Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties If that my cousin king be king of England, To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman, It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery' here, And yet my letters-patent give me leave: My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold; What would you have me do? I am a subject, And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. And challenge law: Attornies are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my To my inheritance of free descent. meaning, To raze one title of your honour out:- To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will,) From the most glorious regent of this land, The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time,2 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter York, attended. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person.-My noble uncle! [Kneels. York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false. Boling. My gracious uncle!- York. Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane: Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? But then more why;-Why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, And ostentation of despised arms? Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French; 2 Time of the king's absence. 3 Impartial. 4 The persons who wrong him. 1 Know. North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. York. My lords of England, let me tell you this,- I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right: But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong,-it may not be ; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is But for his own: and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms; I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak, and all ill left: But, if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But, since I cannot, be it known to you, I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;- Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night. Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But we must win your grace, to go with us To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. York. It may be, I will go with you:-but yet I'll pause; 5 Possession of my land, &c. 6. It is your interest. 372 ACT. III. KING RICHARD II. For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress, are now with me past care. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A camp in Wales. Enter Salis- bury, and a Captain. Capt. Mylord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king; Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman; The king reposeth all his confidence In thee. Capt. 'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,- The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other, to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.- Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit. Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a shooting star, Fall to the base earth from the firmament! Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, wo, and unrest: Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. ACT III. [Exit. Condemns you to the death:-See them deliver❜a over To execution and the hand of death. Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd. [Exe. North. and others with prisoners Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;5 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords away; [Exeunt. To fight with Glendower and his complices; Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. SCENE II.-The coast of Wales. A castle ir. view. Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and soldiers. K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace the air, After late tossing on the breaking seas? K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again.-- Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; SCENE I-Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol. Enter So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, Wil- And do thee favour with my royal hands. loughby, Ross: officers behind with Bushy and Green, prisoners. Boling. Bring forth these men.- Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity: yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here, in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.¹ You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself-a prince, by fortune of my birth; Near to the king in blood; and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me,- Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment: Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods From my own windows torn my household coat,3 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,- Save men's opinions, and my living blood,- To show the world I am a gentleman. This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 1 Completely. 2 Thrown down the hedges. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense: But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.- Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Fower, thut made you king, Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all The means that heaven yields must be embra: 'a, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; The proffer'd means of succour and redress. Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not, That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders and in outrage, bloody here; 3 Of arms. 4 Motto. 5 Commendations. SCENE II. 373 KING RICHARD II. But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,- Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,- Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons wil! sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day; But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king: The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord: For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power? Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair.. One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so pale? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who Comes here? Enter Scroop.. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre- par'd; The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care; And what loss is it, to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so: Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us; Cry, wo, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; 1 Force. The worst is-death, and death will have his day. Scroop. Glad am 1, that your highness is so arm'd, To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shcres, As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, in- deed, my lord. I K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- demption ! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Upon their spotted souls for this offence! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:- Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you curse, Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- shire, dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power? K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills: And yet not so,-for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death; And that small model of the barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, And teil sad stories of the death of kings:- How sonie nave been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd:-For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court: and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, be fear'd. and kill with looks: 374 ACT III. KING RICHARD II. Infusing him with self and vain conceit,- As if this flesh, which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king! Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence; throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while : I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, Need friends:-Subjected thus, How can you say to me-I am a king? North. Your grace mistakes me, only to be brief,5 Left I his title out. York. The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head. Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present Myself against their will.-But who comes here? woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight: And fight and die, is death destroying death; Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. Aum. My father hath a power, inquire of him; And learn to make a body of a limb. K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well:-Proud lingbroke, I come Enter Percy. Well, Harry: what, will not this castle yield? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. Why, it contains no king? Boling. Royally! Percy. Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; king Richard fies Within the limits of yon lime and stone: Bo-And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague-fit of fear is over-blown; An easy task it is, to win our own.- Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day: So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:- Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke; And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party.¹ K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To Aumerle. Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, That bids me be of comfort any more. Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away; A king, wo's slave, shall kingly wo obey. That power I have, discharge; and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none:-Let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. Aum. My liege, one word. K. Rich. North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. Boling. Noble lord, [To North. Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: Harry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand; And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, To his most royal person: hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, And lands restor'd again, be freely granted: If not, I'll use the advantage of my power, And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much; while here we march Upon the grassy earpet of this plain.- [Northumberland advances to the castle, with a trumpet. Let's march without the noise of threatening drum, That from the castle's totter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thundering shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: The rage be his, while on the earth I rain [Exeunt. My waters; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. A parle sounded, and answered by another trum- pet within. Flourish. Enter on the walls king Richard, the bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop and Salisbury. He does me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers, let them hence:-Away, From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. SCENE III.-Wales. Before Flint Castle. En- ter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and forces; York, Northumberland, and others. Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, With some few private friends, upon this coast. North. The news is very fair and good, my lord; Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, To say-king Richard:-Alack the heavy day, When such a sacred king should hide his head! 1 Part. 2 Ill betide. 3 Force. 4 Plow. York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east; When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory, and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, 7 Parley. 5 Short. 6 Such liberty. SCENE III. 375 KING RICHARD II. As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty; Alack, alack, for wo, That any harm should stain so fair a show! K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To Northumberland. Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think, that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, And we are barren, and bereft of friends;- Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf, Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head, And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke (for yond', methinks, he is,) That every stride he makes upon my land, Is dangerous treason: He is come to ope The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mother's sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face;¹ Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord, the king, Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin, Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones; And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head; And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt; And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn, or said,- His coming hither hath no further scope, Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. K. Rich. O God' O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off agam With words of sooth!3 0, that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been! Or not remember what I must be now Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- broke. K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he submit? The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd? The king shall be contented: Must he lose The name of king? o'God's name, let it go: I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads; My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown; My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood; My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave:- Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head- For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; And, buried once, why not upon my head ?-- Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cou- sin!- We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding tears; As thus:-To drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid,-There lies Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes? Would not this ill do well?-Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you mock at me.- Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg,4 and Bolingbroke says-ay, North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may't please you to come down? K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. [North. retires to Boling.. K. Rich. Northumberland, say, thus the king In the base court? Base court, where kings grow returns ;- His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: With all the gracious utterance thou hast, peak to his gentle hearing kind commends.- We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To Aumerle. To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend' friends, and friends their helpful swords. 1 Soil. 2 Commit. 3 Softness. base, To come at traitors' call, and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing. Boling. What says his [Exeunt from above. majesty? North. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man: Yet he is come. Enter King Richard, and his attendants, below. Boling. Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. My gracious lord,- 4 A bow. 5 Lower. [Kneeling 6 Foolishly. 376 ACT. III. KING RICHARD II. K. Rich. Fair cousin, you dehase your princely | Give some supportance to the bending twigs.- knee, To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.] though your knee be low. Go thou, and, l'ke an executioner, Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government.- You thus employ'd, I will go root away al-The noisome weeds, that without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. Beling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. K. Rich. Well you deserve :-They well deserve to have, That know the strong'st and surest way to get.- Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies.- Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we must, what force will have us do.- Set on towards London:-Cousin, is it so? Boling. Yea, my good lord. K. Rich. Then I must not say, no. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Langley. The Duke of York's Garden. Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care? 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. Queen. Twill make me think The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune Runs 'gainst the bias.' 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy? 1 Lady. Of either, madam. Queen. Of neither, girl: For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it boots not to complain. 1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. Queen. Tis well, that thou hast cause; But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weep. 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good. Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners : Let's step into the shadow of these trees. Enter a Gardener, and two Servants. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They'll talk of state; for every one doth so Against a change: Wo is forerun with wo. [Queen and Ladies retire. Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: 1 A weight fixed on one side of the bowl, which turns it from the straight line. 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,* Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? Hold thy peace:- Gard. He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves dic shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke, I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 1 Ser What, are they dead? Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.-Oh! What pity is it, That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, As we this garden! We, at time of year, Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself: Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste, Their fruits of duty. All superfluous brancnes We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be depos'd? Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd, To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night That tell black tidings. Queen. O, I am press'd to death, Through want of speaking!-Thou, old Adam's likeness, [Coming from her concealment. Set to dress the garden, how dares Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man? Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd? Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch. Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I, To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd: In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, And some few vanities that make him light; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all the English peers, And with that odds,he weighs king Richard down. Post you to London, and you'll find it so ; I speak no more than every one doth know. Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 2 Profits. 4 Figures planted in a box. 3 Inclosure. 5 No doubt. SCENE 1. 377 KING RICHARD II. To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast.-Come, ladies, go, To meet at London London's king in wo.- What, was I born to this! that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?-In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: Gardener, for telling me this news of wo, I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour, Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. no worse, I would, my skill were subject to thy curse.- Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place, I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace; Rue, even for ruth,' here shortly shall be seen, In the remembrance of a weeping queen. ACT IV. [Exe. SCENE I.-London. Westminster Hall. The lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the lords temporal on the left; the commons below. Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northum- berland, Percy, Fitzwater, another lord, Bishop! Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true, And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee, to the extremest point Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe! Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. I Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all: To answer twenty thousand such as you. have a thousand spirits in one breast, Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember wel! The very time Aumerle and you did talk. Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then; of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and attendants. And you can witness with me, this is true. Officers behind, with Bagot. Boling. Call forth Bagot:-- Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end. Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard you say,-Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English court As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse The offer of a hundred thousand crowns, Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal, how blest this land would be, In this your cousin's death. Aum. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his sland'rous lips.-- There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false. In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so. Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 1 Pity. 2 Untimely. Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. Surrey. Dishonourable boy' That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse' If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction.- As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, That Norfolk 'lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage, Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repealed he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restor❜d again To all his land and signories; when he's return' 1, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.- Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross, Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens : And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ; Under whose colours he had fought so long. Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? Car. As sure as I live, my lord. Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul in the bosom Of good old Abraham!-Lords appellants. Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign vou to your days of trial. 378 ACT IV. KING RICHARD II. Enter York attended. Icrk. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his nigh sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him,- And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. Car. Marry, God forbid !-- Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God, that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard; then true nobless would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them: And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crown'd, planted many years, Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God, That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy,-- The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. O, if you rear this house against this house, It will the wofullest division prove, That ever fell upon this cursed earth: Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry against you-wo! North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here:- My lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial.- May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender: so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct.2 [Exit. Boling. Lords, you that are here under our ar- rest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer :- Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. And little look'd for at your helping hands. Re-enter York, with King Richard, and officers bearing the crown, &c. K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee :- Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me To thus submission. Yet I well remember 1 Nobleness. 3 Countenances. 2 Conductor. 4 Owns. The favours of these men: Were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me? So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king!--Will no man say, amen? Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. God save the king! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.-- To do what service am I sent for hither. York. To do that office of thine own good will, Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. K. Rich. Give me the crown:-Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owes4 two buckets filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water: That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on higt. Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are mine: You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those. Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down. My care is-loss of care, by old care done; Your care is-gain of care, by new care won: The cares I give, I have, though given away; They tends the crown, yet still with me they stay. Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown? K. Rich. Ay, no; no, ay;-for I must nothing be, Therefore, no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself:- I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldly sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm," With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues, I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny: God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd; And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd! Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit! God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days!- What more remains? North. No more, but that you read [Offering a paper. These accusations, and these grievous crimes, Committed by your person, and your followers. Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily depos'd. K. Rich, Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st, There should'st thou find one heinous article, 5 Attend. 6 Oil of consecration. SCENE I. 379 KING RICHARD II. Containing the deposing of a king, The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,- Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:-The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:- Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,- Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates Have. here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these arti- cles. K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: And yet salt water blinds them not so much, But they can see a sort' of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest: For I have given here my soul's consent, To undeck the pompous body of a king; Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave; Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. North. My lord,- K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult- ing man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,- No, not that name was given me at the font,- But 'tis usurp'd:-Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O, that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops!- Good king, great king-(and yet not greatly good,) An if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight; That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking- glass. [Exit an attendant. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. Boling, Urge it no more, my lord Northumber- land. 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it? Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater thar a king: For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. Boling. Yet ask. K. Rich. And shall I have? Boling. You shall. K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. Boling. Whither? K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers³ are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. Exeunt K. Rich. some lords, and a guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle. Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld Car. The wo's to come; the children yet un- born Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein. You shall not only take the sacrament North. The commons will not then be satisfied. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read To bury mine intents, but to effect enough, When I do see the very book, indeed, Where all my sins are writ, and that's-myself. Re-enter attendant, with a glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read.- No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds ?-0, flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies, And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face: As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.- Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,- How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de- stroy'd 1 Pack. 2 Haughty. 3 Jugglers, also robbers. Whatever I shall happen to devise:- I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE I-London. A street leading to th Tower. Enter Queen, and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,' To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke: Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. Enter King Richard, and guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold; That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 4 Conceal. 5 Tower of London. 380 ACT. V. KING RICHARD II. And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; Tho map of nonour; thou king Richard's tomb, And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an ale-house guest? K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awak'd, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim necessity; and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod; And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; And then, betwixt me and my married wife.- Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.- Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the elime, My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas,4 or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided? must we par.? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one wo. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.' Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales Of woful ages, long ago betid:2 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And, in compassion, weep the fire out: And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. Enter Northumberland, attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.- And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; With all swift speed you must away to France. K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- withal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,- The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think, Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all; And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To plant un ightful kings, wilt know again, P ne'er so little urg'd, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear; That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, To worthy danger, and deserved death. North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?-Bad men, ye violate 1 Picture of greatness. 3 Be even with them. 2 Passed. 4 All hallows, i. e. All-saints, Nov. 1. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. K. Rich. We make wo wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exe. SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace. Enter York, and his Duchess. Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, Of our two cousins coming into London. York. Where did I leave? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling- broke,- Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,- With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling broke! You would have thought the very windows spake So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls, With painted imagery, had said at once,- Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus, I thank you, countrymen : And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while? York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, 5 Never the nigher. 6 Tapestry hung from the windows SCENE III. 381 KING RICHARD II. Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which, with such gentle sorrow, he shook off,- His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience,- That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye? allow. Enter Aumerle. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was; But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: I am in parliament pledge for his truth, And lasting fealty to the new-made king. Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? hold those justs3 triumphs? Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. and Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. York. No matter then who sees it: I will be satisfied, let me see the writing, Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear,-- Duch. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.- Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord? York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a ser- vant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy! what treachery is here! Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse:- Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. Duch. [Exit servant. What's the matter? York. Peace, foolish woman. Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. Duch. Thy life answer! Re-enter servant, with boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:4 Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.- [To the servant. York. Give me my boots, I say. 'Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, And rob me of a happy mother's name? Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? York. Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford. Duch. He shall be none; We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him? York. Away, Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, would appeach him. Duch. I As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. Hadst thou groan'd for him, But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect, And that he is a bastard, not thy son: That I have been disloyal to thy bed, Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: He is as like thee as a man may be, Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse: Spur, post; and get before him to the king, And beg his pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : And never will I rise up from the ground, Begone. Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away; [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Windsor. A room in the castle. Enter Bolingbroke as king; Percy, and other lords. :- Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months, since I did see him last:- If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found: Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns the: e, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions; Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour, to support So dissolute a crew. Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw he prince; And told him of these triumphs held at Cxfo: i. Boling. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was, he would unto the stews; Duch. I will not peace:-What is the matter, son? And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 1 Carelessly turned. 2 Ever. 3 Tilts and tournaments. 25 And wear it as a favour; and with that 4 Perplexed, confounded. 5 Breeding. 382 ACT V. KING RICHARD II. He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both I see some sparkles of a better hope, Which elder days may happily bring forth. But who comes here? Enter Aumerle, hastily. Aum. Where is the king? Boling. What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Am God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.- [Exeunt Percy and lords. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? If but the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Boling. Have thy desire. [Aum. locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear. York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool- hardy king: Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. [Bolingbroke opens the door. Enter York. Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past: I do repent me; read not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes th's eager cry? Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king, 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door; A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Boling. Our scene is alter'd,-from a serious thing, I My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. know, she's come to pray for your foul sın. York. If thou do pardon whosoever pray. More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Duchess. Duch. O, king, believe not this hard-hearted Love, loving not itself, none other can. man; York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make4 here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gen tle liege. [Kneels Boling. Rise up, good aunt. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech. And never see day that the happy sees, For ever will I kneel upon my knees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints hended. be. iKneels. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face: His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest, His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly, and would be denied; We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. down.- I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king: Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspi- racy!- O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer,' immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages, Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 1 Transparent. 3 An old ballad. 2 Transgressing. 4 Do. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up; But, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez moy.s Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to do- stroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word!-- Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine car; That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 5 Excuse me. SCENE IV, V. 383 KING RICHARD II. Duch. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Ye: am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. Boling. I pardon him. Duch. With all my heart A god on earth thou art. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,-and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew,- Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers¹ To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell,-and cousin too, adieu: Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Enter Exton, and a Servant. Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so? Serv. Those were his very words. Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice, And urg'd it twice together; did he not? Serv. He did. Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; As who should say,-I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exe. SCENE V.-Pomfret. The dungeon of the castle. Enter King Richard. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com- pare That many have, and others must sit there : And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortune on the bark Of such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented: Sometimes am I king; Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by, Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing:-But, whate'er I am, Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd, With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [Music. Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet music is, When time is broke, and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear, To check time broke in a disorder'd string; But, for the concord of my state and time, Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar' Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, Which is the bell; So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours:--but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock. This music mads me, let it sound no more; For, though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch' in this all-hating world. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog That brings me food, to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it ;-Yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul; My soul, the father: and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world; In humours, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort,-0, As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix'd With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word:3 With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes master's face. how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his As thus,-Come, little ones; and then again,- It is as hard to come, as for a camel To thread the postern of a needle's eye. Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,-This That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, Who, sitting ir: the stocks, refuge their shame,- 2 His own body. 1 Forces. 3 Holy scripture. 4 Little gate. 5 Tick. 6 Strike for him, like the figure of a man on a bell. back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 7 An ornamented buckle, and also a jewel in general. 8 Former. 384 ACT. V. KING RICHARD II. Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely; [To the Groom. Two of the dangerous and consorted traitors, K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon- don away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot, heart shall say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West- minster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle, living, to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. [Beats the Keeper. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :- Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keep. Help, help, help! Enter Exton, and servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me-I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear;- Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter Exton, with attendants bearing a coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: [Exeunt. With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor night.-- SCENE VI.-Windsor. A room in the castle. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of wo, Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, lords and attendants. with That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent;2 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :- March sadly after; grace my mournings here, In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord: What is the news? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap- piness. The next news is,-I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. [Presenting a paper. 1 Jaunting. 2 Immediately. This play is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently revised; but as success in works of in- vention is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to af- fect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. JOHNSON. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. King Henry the Fourth. Henry, prince of Wales, of Lancaster, } PERSONS REPRESENTED. sons to the king. Earl of Westmoreland, friends to the king. Sir Walter Blunt, Thomas Percy, earl of Worcester. Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. Edmund Mortimer, earl of March. Scroop, archbishop of York. Archibald, earl of Douglass. Owen Glendower. Sir Richard Vernon. Sir John Falstaff. ACT I. Poins. Gadshill. Peto. Bardolph. Lady Percy. wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mor timer. Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer. Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attend ints. Scene, England. West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, And many limits of the charge set down SCENE I.-London. A room in the palace. But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news: Blunt, and others. King Henry. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenc'd in stronds' afar remote. No more the thirsty Erinnys2 of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces; those opposed eyes, Which,-like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred,- Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, March all one way; and be no more oppos'd Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies: The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross We are impressed and engag'd to fight,), Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd, For our advantage, on the bitter cross. But this our purpose is a twelve-month old, And bootless4 'tis to tell you-we will go; Therefore we meet not now:-Then let me hear Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, What yesternight our council did decree, In forwarding this dear expedience. 1 Strands, banks of the sea. 2 The Fury of discord. 3 Force, army. 4 Needless. 5 Expedition. Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Wes by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, And a thousand of his people butchered: Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse, Such beastly, shameless transformation, By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, Without rauch shame, re-told or spoken of. K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This, match'd with other, did, ny gra cious lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Came from the north, and thus it did import. On Holy-rood day," the gallant Hotspur there, Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, That ever-valiant and approved Scot, At Holmedon met, Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; As by discharge of their artillery, And shape of likelihood, the news was told; For he that brought them, in the very heat And pride of their contention did take horse, Uncertain of the issue any way. K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse. Stain'ds with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. The earl of Douglass is discomfited; Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights, Balk'd' in their own blood, did sir Walter see On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son 6 Estimates. 7 September 14. 8 Covered with dirt of different colours. 9 Piled up in a heap. 386 ACT I. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol, Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? West. In faith, It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou ar king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be- Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, min- ions of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good government: being govern'd as the sea is, K. Hen Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under mak'st me sin In envy that my lord Northumberland Should be the father of so blest a son: A son who is the theme of honour's tongue; Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride: Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, See riot and dishonour stain the brow Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, And call'd mine-Percy, his-Plantagenet! Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. But let him from my thoughts:-What think you, COZ, Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd," To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor- cester, Malevolent to you in all aspects;¹ Which makes him prune2 himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; And, for this cause, a while we must neglect Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords: But come yourself with speed to us again; For more is to be said, and to be done, Than out of anger can be uttered. West. I will, my liege. whose countenance we-steal. P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holas well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men. doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing-lay by ;4 and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ?" Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due,,thou hast paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows stand- [Exeunt. ing in England when thou art king? and resolu- tion thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old SCENE II.-The same. Another room in the father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art palace. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Falstaff. and king, hang a thief. P. Hen. No; thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the lord I'll be a brave judge. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast become a rare hangman. forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I the time of the day? unless hours were cups of can tell you. sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am flame-colour'd taffeta; I see no reason, why thou as melancholy as a gib' cat, or a lugged bear. should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. P. Hen What sayest thou to a hare, or the mel- ancholy of Moor-ditch? I al. Indeed, you come near me, now Hal: for we, that take purses. go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus.-he, that wandering Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury sm.es; and night so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have me no more with vanity. I would to God, the! none,- P. Hen. What, none? and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council ra- ted me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked roundly. Fat. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. 1 Points. 2 Trim, as birds lean their feathers. 3 Favourites. 4 Stand still. 6 The dress of sheriffs' officers. More wine wisely, and in the street, too. 7 Gib cat, should be lib cat.-a Scotch term at this day for a gelded cat. 8 Croak of a frog. SCENE II. 387 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of per- suasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration: and art, thou speakest may move, and what he hears may indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done be believed, that the true prince may (for recrea- much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for tion sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and of the time want countenance. Farewell: You now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better shall find me in Eastcheap. than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, All-hallown summer!" [Exit Falstaff. I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride son in Christendom. with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we liave al ready way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-mor- row, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an do not, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter Poins, at a distance. I P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no them, and appoint them a place of meeting, where- sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-in it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match.3 adventure upon the exploit themselves: which O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set hell were hot enough for him? This is the most upon them. omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will krow us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-friday buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted out- last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? ward garments. P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, word with the devil. I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the devil. P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are what extremities he endured; and, in the reproofs pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, of this, lies the jest. Poins. Farewell, my lord. and traders riding to London with fat purses: I P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all have visors for you all, you have horses for your-things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in selves; Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. Fal. Hear me, Yedward: if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops? Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 6 P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be mad-cap. a [Exit Poins. P. Hen, I know you all, and will a while uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the sun; Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work; But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt I never promised, By how much better than my word I am. Fal. Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, when By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 10 thou art king. P. Hen. I care not. Poins. Sir John, 1 pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. 1 Citation of holy texts. 2 Treat me with ignominy. 3 Made an appointment. 5 Masks. 4 Honest. 6 The value of a coin called real or royal.. And, like bright metal on a sullen' ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, Than that which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill: Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Ex. 7 Fine weather at All-hallown-tide (i. e. Al Saints, Nov. 1st) is called an All-hallown summer. 8 Occasion. 9 Confutation. 10 Expectations. 11 Dull 388 ACT I FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. SCENE III.-The same. Another room in the Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, palace. Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Which many a good tall" fellow had destroy'd Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. others. K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord. perate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, And you have found me; for, accordingly, You tread upon my patience: but, be sure, I will from henceforth rather be myself, Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition;¹ Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, And therefore lost that title of respect, Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de- serves The scourge of greatness to be used on it; And that same greatness too which our own hands Have holp to make so portly. North. My lord,- I answer'd indirectly, as I said; And, I beseech you, let not his report Come current for an accusation, Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, To such a person and in such a place, Whatever Harry Percy then had said, At such a time, with all the rest re-told, May reasonably die, and never rise To do him wrong, or any way impeach What then he said, so he unsay it now. K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; But with proviso, and exception,- That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straigh. K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; danger And disobedience in thine eye: 0, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow. You have good leave³ to leave us; when we need Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.- [Exit Worcester. You were about to speak. [To North. North. Yea, my good lord. Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, Were, as he says, not with such strength denied As is deliver'd to your majesty: Either envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But, I remember, when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd, Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest home; He was perfumed like a milliner; And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box,4 which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again;- Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff:-and still he smil'd, and talk'd; And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call'd them-untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He question'd me; among the rest demanded My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, To be so pester'd with a popinjay," Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; He should, or he should not ;-for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, Of and drums, and wounds, (God save the mark!) guns, And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, That villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 1 Disposition. 3 Ready assent. 2 Forehead. 4 A small box for musk or other perfumes. Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd The lives of those that he did lead to fight Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower; Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home? Shall we buy treason? and indents with fears, When they have lost and forfeited themselves? No, on the barren mountains let him starve; For I shall never hold that man my friend, Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost To ransom home revolted Mortimer. Hot. Revolted Mortimer! He never did fall of, my sovereign liege, But by the chance of war;-To prove that true, Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, In single opposition, hand to hand, He did confound the best part of an hour In changing hardiment10 with great Glendower: Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink, Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; Who then affrighted with their bloody looks, Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, And hid his crisp¹¹ head in the hollow bank Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. Colour her working with such deadly wounds; Never did bare and rotten policy Nor never could the noble Mortimer Receive so many, and all willingly: Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him, He never did encounter with Glendower; He durst as well have met the devil alone, I tell thee, As Owen Glendower for an enemy. Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: Or you shall hear in such a kind from me As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland, We license your departure with your son: Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and train Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them. I will not send them:-I will after straight, 5 Parrot. 6 Pain. 7 Brave. 9 Expend. 11 Curled 8 Sign an indenture. 10 Hardiness. SCENE III. 389 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. And tell him su; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. And now I will unclasp a secret book, And to your quick-conceiving discontents North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and I'll read you matter deep and dangerous; pause a while; Here comes your uncle. Re-enter Worcester.. Hot. Speak of Mortimer? Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul Want mercy, if I do not join with him: Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust, But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer As high i'the air as this unthankful king, As this ingrate' and canker'd Bolingbroke. North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew [To Worcester. Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; And when I urg'd the ransom once again Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd, By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? mad. North. He was; I heard the proclamation: And then it was, when the unhappy king (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth Upon his Irish expedition; From whence ne, intercepted, did return To be depus d, and shortly, murdered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. Hot. But, soft, I pray you: Did king Richard then Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer Heir to the crown? North. He did: myself did hear it. Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king, That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd. But shall it be, that you,-that set the crown Upon the head of this forgetful man; And, for his sake, wear the detested blot Of murd'rous subornation,-shall it be, That you a world of curses undergo; Being the agents, or base second means, The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?- O, pardon me, that I descend so low, To show the line, and the predicament, Wherein you range under this subtle king.- Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, Or fill up chronicles in time to come, That men of your nobility and power Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,- As both of you, God pardon it! have done,- To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? And shall it, in more shame, be farther spoken, That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off By him, for whom these shames ye underwent ? No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves Into the good thoughts of the world again: Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd' contempt, Of this proud king; who studies, day and night, To answer all the debt he owes to you, Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. Therefore, I say,- Wor. 1 Ungrateful. 3 Disdainful. Peace, cousin, say no more: 2 The dog-rose. As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. Hot. If he fall in, good night :-or sink or swim: Send danger from the east unto the west, So honour cross it from the north to south, And let them grapple ;-O! the blood more stirs, To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. North. Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon: Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, Without crrival,4 all her dignities: But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!" Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. But not the form of what he should attend.- Good cousin, give me audience for a while. Hot. I cry you mercy. Wor. Those same noble Scots, That are your prisoners,- Hot. I'll keep them all; By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them: No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: I'll keep them, by this hand. Wor. You start away, And lend no ear unto my purposes.- Those prisoners you shall keep. Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat:- He said, he would not ransom Mortimer; Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; But I will find him when he lies asleep, And in his ear, I'll holla-Mortimer! Nay, I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, To keep his anger still in motion. Wor. Cousin, a word. Hear you, Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy," Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,- But that I think his father loves him not, And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. Wor. Farewell kinsman! I will talk to you, When you are better temper'd to attend. North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient Art thou to break into this woman's mood;9 fool Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own? Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time,--What do you call the place?- A plague upon't!-it is in Gloucestershire:- "Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; His uncle York ;-where first I bow'd my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. North. At Berkley castle. Hot. You say true:- 7 Refuse. 4 A rival. 5 Friendship. 8 6 Shapes created by his imagination. 9 The term for a blustering quarrelsome fellow Mind, humour. 390 Аст II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Why, what a candy' deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Look, when his infant fortune came to age, And,-gentle Harry Percy,-and, kind cousin,- O, the devil take such cozeners! -God forgive me!- Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. Wor. Nay, if you have not, to't again;, We'll stay your leisure. Hot. I have done, i'faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. Deliver them up without their ransom straight, And make the Douglas' son your only mean For powers in Scotland; which,-for divers reasons, Which I shall send you written,-be assur'd, Will easily be granted.-You, my lord,- [To Northumberland. Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd,-- Shall secretly into the bosom creep Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, The archbishop. Hot. Of York, is't not? Wor. True; who bears hard His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. I speak not this in estimation,2 As what I think might be, but what I know Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; And only stays but to behold the face Of that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. I'll be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! Ost. [Within.] Anon, anon. 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess 6 Enter another Carrier. 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler died. 1 Car. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him. 2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench.9 1 Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock. 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and then we leak in your chimney; and your cham- ber-lie breeds fleas like a loach.10 1 Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged, come away. 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 1 Car. 'Odsbody! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.-What, ostler!-A plague on thee! North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot:- And then the power of Scotland, and of York,- To join with Mortimer, ha? Wor. And so they shall. Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed, To save our heads by raising of a head :3 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, The king will always think him in our debt; And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already, how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell:-No further go in this, Than I by letters shall direct your course. When time is ripe (which will be suddenly,) I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer;" Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust. Hot. Uncle, adieu:-O, let the hours be short, sport! ACT II. hear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged: Hast no faith in thee? Enter Gadshill. Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock? 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick, worth two of that, i'faith. Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell?-Lend me the lan- tern, quoth a?-marry, I'll see thee hanged first. Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London? I warrant thee.-Core, neighbour Mugs, we'll call 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exe. Carriers. Gads. What, ho! amberlain! Cham. [Within.] hand, uoth pick-purse. Gads. That's even as fair as-at hand, quoth the chamberlain: for thou variest no more from picking ing; thou lay'st the plot how. of purses, than giving direction doth from labour- Enter Chamberlain, Till fields, and blows, and groans, applaud our Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds [Exeunt.current, that I told you yesternight: There's a franklin12 in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company, last night at supper; a Enter kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge to), God knows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: They will away presently, SCENE I-Rochester. An inn-yard. a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand. 1 Car. Heigh ho! An't be not four by the 1 Sugared. 3 A body of forces. 2 Conjecture. 6 Measure. 8 Worms. 4 The constellation ursa major. 5 Name of his horse. 7 Wet. day, 9 Spotted like a tench. 10 A small fish supposed to breed fleas. 11 A proverb, from the pick-purse being always ready. 12 Freeholder. SCENE II. 391 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicho- miles afoct with me; and the stony-hearted villains las' clerks, I'll give thee this neck. know it well enough: A plague upon't, when Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee keep that thieves cannot be true to one another! They whis- for the hangman; for, I know, thou worship'st tle.] Whew!-A plague upon you all! Give me Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? hanged. if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows: for, if I P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst near knowest, he's no starveling. Tut! there are other the tread of travellers. Trojans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again. sport sake, are content to do the profession some being down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh grace; that would, if matters should be looked so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's into, for thair own credit sake, make all whole. I exchequer. What a plague mean ve to co't me am joined with no foot land-rakers, 2 no long-staff, thus? six-penny strikers; none of these mad, mustachio, P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art purple-hued malt-worms: but with nobility, and uncolted. tranquility; burgomasters, and great oneyers;3 Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my such as can hold in: such as will strike sooner than horse; good king's son. speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler? than pray: And yet I lie; for they pray continually Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent to their saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I pray to her but prey on her; for they ride up and have not ballaus made on you all, and sung to filthy down on her. and make her their boots.4. tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: When a jest Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? is so forward, and afoot too, I hate it. will she hold out water in foul way? Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. Cham. Nay, by my faith; I think you are more beholden to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible. Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true' man. Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are false thief. a Gads. Stand. Enter Gadshill. Fal. So I do, against my will. Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Enter Bardolph.. Bard. What news? Gads. Case ye, case ye; on with your visors; there's money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the king's exchequer. Fal. You lie, you rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern. Gads. There's enough to make us all. Fal. To be hanged. Gads. Go to; Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The road by Gadshill. Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and Peto at some narrow lane; Ned Poins, and I, will walk lower: if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light distance. Poins. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. P. Hen. Stand close. Enter Falstaff. Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal; What brawling dost thou keep! a P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the on us. Peto. How many be there of them? Gads. Some eight, or ten. Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us? P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- father; but yet no coward, Hal. P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the find him. Farewell, and stand fast. hedge; when thou needest him, there thou shalt Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises? Poins. Here, hard by; stand close. Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill; I'll go seek him. Pretends to seek Poins. Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's com- pany: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I say I; every man to his business. have forsworn his company hourly any time this! two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitched [Exeunt P. Henry and Poins, Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, Enter Travellers. with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not 1 Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be horses down the hill: we'll walk afoot awhile, and hanged; it could not be else; I have drunk medi-ease our legs. cines. Poins! Hala plague upon you both!- Thieves. Stand. baraoipn!-Peto!-I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot Trav. Jesu bless us! further. An 'twere not as good a deed as drink to Fal. Strike, down with them; cut the villains' turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the throats: Ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon fed veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight knaves! they hate us youth: down with them; yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten fleece them. I Cant term for highwaymen. 2 Footpads. 4 Booty. 3 Public accountants. 5 Oiled, smoothed her over. 6 In what we acquire. 8 Square. Love powder. 11 Make a voungster of mc. 7 Honest. 3 Honest. 1. Portion. 392 ACT II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. for ever. 1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay knaves; are ye un- open all our proceedings. O, I could divide my- I would your store self, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish ot What, ye knaves? skimmed milk with so honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king: We are prepared: I will set forward to-night. Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied¹ done? No, ye fat chuffs; were here! On, bacons, on! young men must live: You are grand-jurors, are ye? We'll jure ye, i'faith. [Exeunt Fal. &c. driving the Travellers out. Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men: Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go mer- rily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. Re-enter Thieves. Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no more valour in that Poins. than in a wild duck. P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them. Poins. Villians. [As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them. Falstaff, after a blow or two, and the rest, run away, leaving their booty behind them.] P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse : The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd! [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Warkworth. A room in the castle. Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. I Enter Lady Percy. How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours. Lady. O, my good losd, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I, this fortnight, been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; And start so often when thou sit'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; Cry, Courage !-to the field! And thou hast talk'd Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain And all the 'currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream: And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? Enter Servant. Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought, even now. Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my lord. -But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love bear your house.-He could be contented,-Why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house-he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous;- Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. The purpose you undertake, is dangerous; the Well, I will back him straight: O esperance !"- friends you have named, uncertain; the time itself Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Ex. Serv. unsorted; and your whole plot too light, for the Lady. But hear you, my lord. counterpoise of so great an opposition.-Say you so, Hot. What say'st, my lady? say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shal- Lady. What is it carries you away? low, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack- Hot. My horse brain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot My love, my horse. as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-As you are toss'd with. In faith, spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York com- I'll know your busines.. Harry, that I will. mends the plot, and the general course of the I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I About his title; and hath sent for you, could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not To lines his enterprize: But if you go--- my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all Directly to this question that I ask. their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, next month? and are they not, some of them, set An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. forward already? Wha a pagan rascal is this! an 1 Fat, corpulent. 3 A subject. 5 Occurrences. 2 Clowns. 4 Drops his fat. 6 Drops. Hot. Away, Away, you trifler!-Love ?-I ove thee not. 7 Motto of the Percy family. 8 Strengthen. 9 Parrot. SCENE IV. 393 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world, To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, And pass them current too.-Gods me, my horse!- What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou have with me? Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? Well, do not, then; for, since you love me not, I will not love myself. Do you not love me? Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am o'horseback, I will swear I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; I must not have you henceforth question me Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. I know you wise; but yet no further wise, Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are; But yet a woman: and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe, Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate! Lady. How! so far? Hot. Not an inch further. Kate; Enter Francis. Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph. P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My lord. P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to- Poins. [Within.] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Five years! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy in- denture, and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? Fran. O lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart- Poins. [Within] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see,-About Michaelmas next 1 shall be- Poins. [Within.] Francis! Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the But hark you, sugar thou gavest me,-'twas a pennyworth, was't Whither I go, thither shall you go too; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.- Will this content you, Kate? Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal? not? Fran. O lord, sir! I would it had been two. P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. [Within] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon. P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to- morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,- Fran. My lord? P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leather-jerkin, crys- tal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,- Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean? Fran. What, sir? Poins. [Within.] Francis! P. Hen. Away, you rogue; Dost thou not hear them call? P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. Thave sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastards is your brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them only drink: for, look you, Francis, your white can all by their Christian names, as-Tom, Dick, and vass doublet will sully; in Barbary, sir, it cannot Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, come to so much. that thougn I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,-by the Lord, so they call me; and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call-drink- ing deep, dying scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in Vint. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any a calling? Look to the guests within. [Ex. Fran.] tinker in his own language during my life. I tell My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou at the door; Shall I let them in? [Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.] Enter Vintner. Re-enter Poins. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- P. Hen. Let them alone a while, and then open to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in my hand by an under-skinker;4 one that never spake other English in his life, than-Eight shillings and sixpence, and-You are welcome; with this shrill addition,-Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bas- thieves are at the door; Shall we be merry? tard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou ye: What cunning match have you made with this stand in some by-room, while I question my puny jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have do thou never leave calling-Francis, that his tale show'd themselves humours, since the old days of to me may be nothing but-anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. Poins. Francis! P. Hen. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis' 1 Puppets [Exit Poins. 2 Three. 3 A wencher. goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 4 Tapster. 5 A sweet wine. 394 ACT II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!- Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not a half-sword His industry is--up-stairs, and down-stairs; his elo- with a dozen of them two hours together. I have quence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of 'scap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that the doublet; four, through the hose; my buckler kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a cut through and through my sword hacked like a breakfast; washes his hands, and says to his wife, hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.-O my I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed cowards!-Let them speak: if they speak more or to-day?-Give my roan horse a drench, says he; less than truth, they are villains, and the sons and answers, Some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, of darkness. - a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer, his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tailow. P. Hen. Speak, sirs; how was it? Gads. We four set upon some dozen,- Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. Gads. And bound them. Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them: or I am. a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us,- Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven- geance too! marry, and amen!-Give me a cup of sack, boy.-Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. the other. A plague of all cowards!-Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks. Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all? Fal. All? I know not what ye call, all; but if I P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of ra- of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the dish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon sweet tale of the son! if thou didst, then behold poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. that compound. Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some of them. Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too There is nothing but roguery to be found in villa- Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have nous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of peppered two of them: two, I am sure, I have sack with lime in it; a villanous coward.-Go thy paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, what, Hal,-if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, ca good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the me horse. Thou knowest my old ward;--here I earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in three good men unhanged in England; and one of buckram let drive at me, them is fat, and grows old God help the while! P. Hen. What, four? thou said'st but two, even a bad world, I say! I would I were a weaver; I now. could sing psalms, or any thing: A plague of all cowards, I say still. P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee, like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that; and Poins there? Poins. Zounds, yet fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee. Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four, even now. Fal. In buckram. Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. P. Hen. Pry'thee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to These nine men in buckram, that I told thee of,- P. Hen. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken,- Poins. Down fell their hose. Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me.-Give me a cup of sack.me I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. P. Hen. O, villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk'st last. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cow- ards, still say I. [He drinks, P. Hen. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hun- dred upon four of us. P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 1 Stockings. 2 A town in Westmoreland, famous for making cloth. Fal. Began to give me ground: But I followed close, came in foot and hand; and. with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid. P. Hen. O, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- begotten knaves, in Kendal2 green, came at my back, and let drive at me ;-for it was so dark, Hal, that thou could'st not see thy hand. P. Hen. These lies are like the father that be gets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou whoreson, obscene, gressy, tallow- keech.3-- Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mal? is not the truth, the truth? 3 A round lump of fat. SCENE IV. 395 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. P. Hen. Why, how could'st thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st not see tny hand? come, tell us your reason; What sayest thou to his? • Poins. Ceme. your reason, ack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulsion? No, were I t the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plenty as black- berries, I would give no man a reason upon com- pulsion, I. [Exit. P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do, Jack. Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair;- so did you, Peto;-so did you, Bardolph: you are ons too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince; no,-fie! Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, How came Falstaff's sword so hacked? Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said, he would swear truth out of England but he P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin: this would make you believe it was done in fight; and sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back- persuaded us to do the like. breaker, this huge hill of flesh;-- Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you grass, to make them bleed; and then to beslobber dried neat's-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish,-our garments with it, and to swear it was the A 0, for breath to utter what is like thee !-you tai- of true men. I did that I did not this seven yea. lor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. standing tuck;- P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the man- again and when thou hast tired thyself in base ner, and ever since thou hast blushed extex.pore: comparisons, hear me speak but this. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away; What instinct hadst thou for it." Bard, My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations? Poins. Mark, Jack. P. Hen. I do. Bard. What think you they portend? P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses.2 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. Re-enter Falstaff. P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four; you bound them, and were masters of their wealth.- Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down.- Then did we two set on you four: and, with a word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the house :-and, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare bone. How hast done; and then say, it was in fight! What now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long trick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee? now find out, to hide thee from this open and ap- Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, parent shame? Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hast could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: thou now? A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: Was it for here was sir John Bracy from your father; you me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon must to the court in the morning. That same mad the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as va- fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that liant as Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made Lucifer not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great mat- cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon ter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the the cross of a Welsh hook,-What, a plague, call better of myself and thee, during my life; I, for a you him?-- valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by Poins. O, Glendower. the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors: watch to-night, pray law, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and Fal. Owen, Owen; the same;-and his son-in- to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs all the titles of good fellowship come to you! o'horseback up a hill perpendicular. What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore? P. Hen. Content ;-and the argument shall be, lny running away. Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. Enter Hostess. Host. My lord the prince, P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess? what say'st thou to me? Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door, would speak with you: he says, he comes from your father. P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a roval man, and send him back again to my mother, Fal. What manner of man is he? Host. An old man. Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid- night?-Shall I give him his answer? P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. Fal. You have hit it. P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle ir him: he will not run. P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running? Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he wil not budge a foot. P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's beard is turned white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel. P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot 4 A demon; who is described as one of the four kings, who rule over all the demons in the 1 In the fact. 2 Drunkenness and poverty.world. 3 Bombast is the stuffing of clothes. 5 Scotsmen in blue bonnets 396 Аст II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy lent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to threescore; and now like, we shall have good trading that way.-But, I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Har- being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out ry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Fal- thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill staff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell at it? me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month? P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith; I lack some of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer. P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and ex-up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker," or a poulter's amine me upon the particulars of my life. Fal. Shall I? content:-This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my 1 crown. P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy pre- cious rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown! Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved.-Give me a cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in sion, and I will do it in king Cambyses' vein. P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.3 Fal. And here is my speech:-Stand aside, bility. Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. hare. P. Hen. Well, here I am set. Fal. And here I stand :-judge, my masters. P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you? Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Ful. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false :-nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith. P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- pas-forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy no-companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastli- ness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bom- bard of sack, that stuffed cloak bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree10 ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? Host. O, the father, how ne holds his counte- nance! Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen, For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Host. O rare! he doth it like as one of these harlotry players, as I ever see. Fal. I would, your grace would take me with you;11 Whom means your grace? P. Hen. That villanous, abominable misleader. of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know. P. Hen. I know, thou dost. Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- brain."-Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- panied: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than my own opinion; but chiefly, a villanous trick of in myself, were to say more than I know. That he thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, is old (the more the pity,) his white hairs do wit- that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, ness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a here lies the point;-Why, being son to me, art whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and su- th.ou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven gar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a question and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove know, is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then a thief, and take purses? a question to be asked. Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my gool There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: heard of, and it is known to many in our land by but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falste the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and there report, doth defile; so doth the company thou fore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstad, keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; Jack, and banish all the world. not in words only, but in woes also:-And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty? Fal. A good poly man, i'faith, and a corpu- 1 Chair of state. 2 A character in a Tragedy by 1. 3 Obeisance. 4 Sorrowful. reston, 1570. 5 Name cf a strong liquor. 6 A truant boy. 7 A young rabbit. P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. Re-enter Bardolph, running. Bard. O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door. Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have Imuch to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 8 The machine which separates flour from bran 9 A leather black-jack to hold beer. 10 In Essex, where a large ox was roasted whole 11 Gc no faster than I can follow. SCENE L FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 397 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!- will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fid- me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow dle-stick: What's the matter? Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house: Shall I let them in? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold, a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so. P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as another. P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras;-the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, and good conscience. Ful. Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore, I'll hide me. [Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins. P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.- Enter Sheriff and Carrier. Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me? Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. P. Hen. What men? Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man. Car. As fat as butter. P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; For I myself at this time have employ'd him. And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing he shall be charg'd withal: And so let me entreat you leave the house. Sher. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men, He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. Sher. Good night, my noble lord. P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; is it not? Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's.2 Go, call him forth. Poins. Falstaff!-fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: Search his pockets. [Poins searches.] What hast ou found? Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them. Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. Item, Sauce, 4d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. Sd. Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. Item, Bread, a halfpenny. Poins. Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-Bangor. A room in the archdeacon's house. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glendower. Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction³ full of prosperous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower,- Will you sit down?--- And, uncle Worcester:-A plague upon it! have forgot the map. I Glend. No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur: For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale; and with A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven." Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets;4 and at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward. Hot. Why, so it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat had But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and vex'd By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples' down Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, In passion shook. I Glend. Cousin, of many men do not bear these crossings. Give me leave To tell you once again,-that at my birth, The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; And all the courses of my life do show, I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living,-clipp'd in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Scotland Wales,- P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpenny worth Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!-What And bring him out, that is but woman's son, there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more ad- Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, vantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the And hold me pace in deep experiments. court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death 1 Tapestry. 3 Beginning. 2 St. Paul's cathedral. Welsh:- 4 Lights set crossways upon beacons, and also upon poles, which were used in processions, &c. 5 Tumbles. 26 398 ACT III. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. I will to dinner. Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I; or so can any man: But will they come, when you do call for them? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command The devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.- If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. Mort. Come, come, No more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him, Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? Glend. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide our right, According to our three-fold order ta'en? Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits, very equally: England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, By south and east, is to my part assign'd: All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, And all the fertile land within that bound, To Owen Glendower :-and, dear coz, to you The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. And our indentures tripartite2 are drawn: Which being sealed interchangeably, (A business that this night may execute,) To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, To meet your father, and the Scottish power,3 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. My father Glendower is not ready yet, Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days: Within that space, [To Glend.] you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, And in my conduct shall your ladies come: From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; For there will be a world of water shed, Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks, my moiety,4 north from Burton here, In quantity equals not one of yours: See, how this river comes me cranking in, And cuts me, from the best of all my land, A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle' out. I'll have the current in this place damm'd up; And here the smug and silver Trent shall run, In a new channel, fair and evenly: It shall not wind with such a deep indent, To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 1 Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trencu him here, And on this north side win this cape of land; And then he runs straight and even. Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. Glend. I will not have it alter'd. Hot. Will not you? Who shall say me nay? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Glend. Why, that will I. Hot. Speak it in Welsh. Let me not understand you then, Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court: Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty, lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; A virtue that was never seen in you. I I Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart, had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew, Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: had rather hear a brazen canstick" turn'd, Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree; And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 'Tis like the forc'd gate of a shuffling nag. Glend. Come, vou shall have Trent turn'd. Hot. I do not care: I'll give thrice so much land To any well-deserving friend; But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night: I'll haste the writer, and, withal, Break with your wives of your departure hence I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! Exit. Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me With telling me of the moldwarp10 and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies; And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, A couching lion, and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,- He held me, but last night, at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names, That were his lackeys I cried, humph,-and well,-go to,- But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious As is a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house:-I had rather live With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, In any summer-house in Christendom. Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; Exceedingly well read, and profited In strange concealments; 12 valiant as a lion, And wond'rous affable; and as bountiful Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see, it As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? doth. Mort. Yea, He holds your temper in a high respect, And curbs himself even of his natural scope, But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me When you do cross his humour; faith, he does: up, With like advantage on the other side; Gelding the opposed continent as much, As on the other side it takes from you. 1 Unsuccessful. 2 Three copies. 3 Force. 4 Part. 5 7 Candlestick. 8 Corner. The writer of the articles. 6 Cutting. I warrant you, that man is not alive, Might so have tempted him as you have done, Without the taste of danger and reproof; But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame: 9 Break the matter. 11 Dainties. 10 Mole. 12 Secrets. SCENE II. 399 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. And since your coming hither have done enough To put him quite beside his patience. You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood, (And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, Defect of manners, want of government, Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: The least of which, haunting a nobleman, Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain Upon the beauty of all parts besides, Beguiling them of commendation. Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be your speed! Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies. Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,- My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part with you, She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. Mort. Good father, tell her,-that she, and my aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct¹ speedily. [Glendower speaks to his daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh ; And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. By'r lady, he's a good musician. Lady P. Then should you be nothing but mu- sical; for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach," howl 'in Irish. Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken? Hot. No. Lady P. Then be still. Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. Lady P. Now God help thee! Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. Lady P. What's that? Hot. Peace! she sings. A Welsh SONG sung by Lady L. Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady. P. Not mine, in good sooth. like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth; Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day: And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self- As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury." will'd harlotry, One no persuasion can do good upon. Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens, I am too perfect in; and, but for shame, In such a parley would I answer thee. [Lady M. speaks. I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation: But I will never be a truant, love, Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division to her lute.2 Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. [Lady M. speaks again. Mort. 0, I am ignorance itself in this. Glend. She bids you Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, And rest your gentle head upon her lap, And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep, As is the difference betwixt day and night, The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team Begins his golden progress in the east. Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing: By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. Glend. Do so; And those musicians that shall play to you, Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; Yet straight they shall be here; sit, and attend. Het. Some, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: Come, quick, quick; that I inay lay my head in thy lap. Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, To velvet-guards, and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing. Lady P. I will not sing. Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so come in when [Exit. Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as slow, ye will. Mort. As hot lord Percy is on fire to go. By this our book's drawn: we'll but seal, and then To horse immediately. With all my heart. [Exe. SCENE II.-London. A room in the palace. En- ter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the prince of Wales and Must have some conference: But be near at hand, For we shall presently have need of you.- [Exeunt Lords. I know not whether God will have it so, For some displeasing service I have done, That in his secret doom out of my blood He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me; But thou dost in thy passages of life, Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, Could such inordinate, and low desires, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean at- tempts," As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, Such barren pleasures, rude society, Accompany the greatness of thy blood, And hold their level with thy princely heart? P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would I could Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then the Quit all offences with as clear excuse, 1 Guard, escort. music plays. 2 A compliment to queen Elizabeth. 3 Our paper of conditions. As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 4 Hound. 5 In Moorfields. 6 Laced velvet, the finery of cockneys. 7 Unworthy undertakings. 400 Аст III. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Myself of many I am charg'd withal: Yet such extenuation let me beg, As, in reproof of inany tales devis'd,- Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,- By smiling pick-thanks' and base newsmongers, I may, for some things true, wherein my youth Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, Find pardon on my true submission. K. Hen. God pardon thee !-yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite trom the flight of all thy ancestors. Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, Which by thy younger brother is supplied; And art almost an alien to the hearts Of all the court and princes of my blood: The hope and expectation of thy time Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man Prophetically does fore-think thy fall. Had I so lavish of my presence been, So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, So stale and cheap to vulgar company; Opinion, that did help me to the crown, Had still kept loyal to possession;2 And left me in reputeless banishment, A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. By being seldom seen, I could not stir, But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at:" That men would tell their children, This is he: Others would say,-Where? which is Bolingbroke? And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, And dress'd myself in such humility, That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, Even in the presence of the crowned king. Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new; My presence, like a robe pontifical, Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state, Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; And won, by rareness, such solemnity. The skipping king, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters, and rash bavin³ wits, Soon kindled, and soon burn'd: carded his state; Mingled his royalty with capering fools; Had his great name profaned with their scorns; And gave his countenance, against his name, To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push Of every beardless vain comparative:4 Grew a companion to the common streets, Enfeoff'd himself to popularity: That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, They surfeited with honey; and began To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little More than a little is by much too much. So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as a cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes, As, sick and blunted with community, Afford no extraordinary gaze, Such as is bent on sun-like majesty When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, Slept in his face, and render'd such aspéct As cloudy men use to their adversaries; Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou : For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, With vile participation; not an eye But is a-weary of thy common sight, Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; 1 Officious parasites. 2 True to him that had then possession of the crown. Which now doth that I would not have it do, Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself. K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; And even as I was then, is Percy now. Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, He hath more worthy interest to the state, Than thou, the shadow of succession; For, of no right, nor colour like to right, He doth fill fields with harness in the realm; Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; And, being no more in debt to years than thou, Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. What never-dying honour hath he got Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds, Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, Holds from all soldiers chief majority, And military title capital, Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ? Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior, in his enterprises Discomfitted great Douglas: ta'en him once, Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mor- timer, Capitulate against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near'st and dearest enemy? Thou that art like enough,-through vassal fear, Base inclination, and the start of spleen, To fight against me under Percy's pay, To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, To show how much degenerate thou art. P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you, that I am your son; When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet: For every honour sitting on his helm, 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head My shames redoubled! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. Percy is but my factor, good my lord, To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; And I will call him to so strict account, That he shall render every glory up, Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. This, in the name of God, I promise here: The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, I do beseech your majesty, may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: If not, the end of life cancels all bands;" 3 Brushwood. 4 Rival. 5 Possessed. 6 Armour. 7 Combine. 8 Most fatal. 9 Bonds. SCENE III. 401 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. And I will die 1 hundred thousand deaths, Ere break the smallest parcel' of this vow. - K Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this:- Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. Enter Blunt. gnis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no pur- chase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night, betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest to chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. Blunt. So hath the business that I come speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,- That Douglas, and the English rebels, met, The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement2 is five days old :- On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will march: Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you Shall march through Glostershire; by which ac- count, Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned. Enter Hostess. How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you in- quired yet, who pick'd my pocket? Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. Host. Who, I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Our business valued, some twelve days hence Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. Our hands are full of business: let's away; Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exe. SCENE III-Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir Head Tavern. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's Fal. Dowlas, filthy do wlas: I have given them loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in of them. some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, not forgotten what the inside of a church is made sir John, for your diet, and by drinkings, and of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside money lent you, four and twenty pound. of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me. Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call live long. you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his Fal. Why, there is it :-come, sing me a bawdy cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make song; make me merry, I was as virtuously given, a yourker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have little; diced, not above seven times a week; went lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter-mark. of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, four times; lived well, and in good compass: and I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all rea- sonable compass, sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lan- tern in the poop,--but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a me- mento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an 1 Part. 2 Intelligence. 4 Have some flesh. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack," a sneak-cup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so. Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Fal- staff meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon like a fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man. the Host. Good, my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone and list to me. P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind arras, and had my pocket picked: this house 6 In the story-book of Reynard and the Fox. 3 Feeds himseif. 7 A term of contempt frequently used by Shaks- 5 Admiral's ship. peare. 402 ACT IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's. P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman- ¡ood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian' may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Host. Say, what thing? what thing? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it; lam an honest man's wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so. Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? Fal. What beast? why, an otter. P. Hen. An otter, sir John? why an otter? Fal. Why? suc's neither fish, nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slan- ders thee most grossly. Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and, said, he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper. P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as good as thy word now? Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. P. Hen. And why not, as the lion? Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villany? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty.--You confess then, you picked my pocket? P. Hen. It appears so by the story. Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified.-Still? -Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad,- How is that answered? P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:-The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord. P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them. P. Hen. Bardolph-- Bard. My lord. P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster, My brother John; this to my lord of Westmore- land.- Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I, Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time.- Jack, Meet me to morrow i'the Temple hall, At two o'clock i'the afternoon: There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive Money, and order for their furniture. The land is burning; Percy stands on high; And either they, or we, must lower lie. [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. Fal. Rare words! brave world!-Hostess, my breakfast, come:- O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Exit. ACT IV. P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall SCENE I- The rebel camp, near Shrewsbury. about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine: it is filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long- winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should 1 A man dressed like a woman, who attends morris-dancers. 2 Swoln, puffy. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. In this fine age, were not thought flattery, Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, Such attribution should the Douglass have, As not a soldier of this season's stamp, Should go so general current through the world. By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy The tongues of soothers; but a braver place In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself Nay, task me to the word; approve me, lord. Doug. Thou art the king of honour: No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beards him. Hot. Do so, and 'tis well :- 3 This expression is applied by way of pre eminence to the head of the Douglas family. 4 Disdain. 5 Meet him face to face. SCENE I. 403 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Enter a Messenger, with letters. Hot. You strain too far. What letters hast thou there?--I can but thank you., rather, of his absence make this use;-- Mess. These letters come from your father,- It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not him- A larger dare to our great enterprise, Than if the earl were here: for men must think, self? Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous sick. Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick, In such a justling time? Who leads his power?¹ Under whose government come they along? Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his physicians. Wor. I would, the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited; His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprise; 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp.- He writes me here,-that inward sickness- And that his friends by deputation could not So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet, To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul remov'd, but on his own. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,- That with our small conjunction, we should on, To see how fortune is dispos'd to us: For, as he writes, there is no quailing2 now; Because the king is certainly possess'd' Of all our purposes. What say you to it? Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off:- And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want Seems more than we shall find it :--Were it good, To set the exact wealth of all our states All at one cast? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good: for therein should we read The very bottom and the soul of hope; The very list, the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes. Doug. 'Faith, and so we should; Where's now remains a sweet reversion: We may boldly spend upon the hope of what Is to come in: A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet, I would your father had here. The quality and hairs of our attempt Brooks no division: It will be thought By some, that know not why he is away, That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; And think, how such an apprehension May turn the tide of fearful faction, And breed a kind of question in our cause: For, well you know, we of the offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement; If we, without his help, can make a head To push against the kingdom; with his help, We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.- Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Is marching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm: What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd,- The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, And bid it pass? Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind; Bated like eagles having lately bath'd;" Glittering in golden coats, like images; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd,- Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch" the world with noble horsemanship. Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; They come like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-ey'd maid of smoky war, All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them: The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, And yet not ours:-Come, let me take my horse, Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, been Against the bosom of the prince of Wales: Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.- O, that Glendower were come! And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence the eye of reason may pry in upon us : Tis absence of your father's draws a curtain, That shows the ignorant a kind of fear Before not dreamt of. 1 Forces. 2 Languishing. 5 Whereas. 4 Line. 6 l'he complexion the character. 3 Informed. Ver. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. Hot. What may the king's whole batcle reach unto? Ver. To thirty thousand. Hot. Forty let it be, My father and Glendower being both away, The powers of us may serve so great a tay. Come, let us make a muster speedily: Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 7 Threw off. 8 Dressed with ostrich feathers 9 Fresh as birds just washed. 10 Armour 11 Bewitch, charm. 404 ACT IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Dng. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear Of death, or de th's hand, for this one half year. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A public road near Coventry. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. Bard. Will you give me money, captain? Fal. Lay out, lay out. Bard. This bottle makes an angel. Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coin- age. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. [Exit. heft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack; whose fellows are these that come after? Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are ex- ceeding poor and bare; too beggarly. Fal. Faith, for their poverty,-I know not where they had that: and for their bareness,-I am sure, they never learned that of me. P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste; Percy is already in the field. Fal. What, is the king encamped? West. He is, sir John; I fear, we shall stay too Fal. Well, Bard. I will, captain: farewell. Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am long. a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press damrably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. non. feast, Hot. We'll fight with him to-night, Wor. It may not be. Doug. You give him then advantage. Ver. Not a whit. Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? Ver. So do we. I press me none but good householders, yeomen's Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest, [Exeunt. sons. inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as SCENE III.-The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. had been asked twice on the banns; such a com- modity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Ver- as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver,2 worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pin's heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as rag- ged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. glutton's dogs licked his sores: and such as, in- Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night. deed, were never soldiers; but discarded unjust Ver. Do not, my lord. serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, re- Doug. You do not counsel well; volted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. of a calm world, and a long peace; ten times more Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life, dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient :3 (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) and such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that If well-respected honour bid me on, have bought out their services, that you would think, I hold as little counsel with weak fear, that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, As you my lord, or any Scot that lives:- lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and Which of us fears. told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed Doug. Yea, or to-night. the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare- Ver. crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, Hot. To-night, say I. that's flat:-Nay, and the villains march wide be- Ver. Come, come, it may not be. twixt the legs, as if they had gyves4 on; for, indeed, wonder much, being men of such great leading," I had the most of them out of prison. There's but That you foresee not what impediments a shirt and a half in all my company; and the half- Drag back our expedition: Certain horse shirt is two napkins, tacked together, and thrown Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: over the shoulders, like a herald's coat without Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from And now their pride and mettle is asleep, my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose inn- keeper of Daintry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge. Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. P. Hen. How now. blown Jack? how now quilt? Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire ?-My good lord of Westmoreland,1 cry you mercy; I thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury. I Content. Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, That not a horse is half the half himself. Hot. So are the horses of the enemy In general, journey-bated, and brought low; The better part of ours is full of rest. Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. [The trumpet sounds a parley. Enter Sir Walter Blunt. West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that, Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, I were there, and you too; but my powers are there If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must away all night. Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as eat to steal cream. a P. Hen. I think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy 1. A fist 4 Fetters. 2 A gun. 5 Daventry. 3 Standard. Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; and 'would to God, You were of our determination! Some of us love you well; and even those some Envy your great deserving, and good name; Because you are not of our quality," 6 Conduct, experience. 7 Fell vehp. SCENE IV. 405 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Bu. stand against us like an enemy. Blunt. And God c.efend, but still I should stand SO, So long as, out of limit, and true rule, You stand against anointed majesty! But, to my charge.-The king hath sent to know The nature of your griefs; and whereupon You conjure from the breast of civil peace Such bold hostility, teaching this duteous land Audacious cruelty: If that the king Have any way your good deserts forgot,- Which he confesseth to be manifold,- He bids you name your griefs; and, with all speed, You shall have your desires, with interest; And pardon absolute, for yourself, and these, Herein misled by your suggestion. Hot. The king is kind; and, well we know, the king Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. My father, and my uncle, and myself, Did give him that same royalty he wears: And,-when he was not six and twenty strong, Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,- My father gave him welcome to the shore: And,-when he heard him swear, and vow to God, He came but to be duke of Lancaster, To sue his livery,2 and beg his peace; With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal,- My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd, Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too. Now, when the lords, and barons of the realm, Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, The more and less³ came in with cap and knee; Met him in boroughs, cities, villages; Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, Gave him their heirs; as pages follow'd him, Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. He presently, as greatness knows itself,- Steps me a little higher than his vow Made to my father, while his blood was poor, Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg; And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees, That lie too heavy on the commonwealth: Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep. Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face, This seeming brow of justice, did he win The hearts of all that he did angle for. Proceeded further; cut me off the heads Of all the favourites, that the absent king In deputation left behind him here, When he was personal in the Irish war. Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. Hot. Then, to the point.- In short time after, he depos'd the king; Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman, March, (Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales, There without ransom to lie forfeited: Disgrac'd me in my happy victories; Sought to entrap me by intelligence; Rated my uncle from the council-board; In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong: And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out This head of safety; and, withal, to pry Into his title, the which we find 1 Grievances. 2 The delivery of his lands. 4 Letter. 3 The greater and the less. Too indirect for long continuance. Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? Hot. Not so, sir Walter: we'll withdraw awhile. Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd Some surety for a safe return again, And in the morning early shall mine uncle Bring him our purposes: and so farewell. Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love. Hot. And, may be, so we shall. Blunt. 'Pray heaven you do. SCENE IV.-York. A room in the archbishop's house. Enter the Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman. Arch. Hie, good sir Michael; bear this sealed brief,4 With winged haste, to the lord mareshal; This to my cousin scroop; and all the rest To whom they are directed: if you knew How much they do import, you would make haste. Gent. My good lod, I guess their tenor. Arch. Like enough you do. To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day. Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch: For. sir, at Shrewsbury, As I am truly given to understand, The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, Meets with lord Harry: and 1 fear, sir Michael- What with the sickness of Northumberland, (Whose power was in the first proportion,) And what with Owen Glendower's absence, thence, (Who with them was a rated sinew too, And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,)- I fear, the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the king. 5 Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear, there's Douglas, And Mortimer. Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry Percy, And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn The special head of all the land together;- The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt, And many more cor-rivals, and dear men Of estimation and command in arms. Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well oppos'd. Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed:" For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king Dismiss his power, he means to visit us,- For he hath heard of cur confederacy,- And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him; Therefore, make haste: I must go write again To other friends; and so farewell, ir Michael. [Exc. severally. ACT V. SCENE I-The king's camp near Shrewsbury. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince Johr of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir John Falstaff K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 5 A strength on which we reckoned. 106 Ao V FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale At his distemperature. P. Hen. The southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize; For nothing can seem foul to those that win.- Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. How new, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well, That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust; And made us doff2 our easy robes of peace, 10 crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: This is not well, my lord, this is not well. What say you to't? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light; And be no more an exhal'd meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times? Wor. Hear me, my liege: For mine own part, I could be well content To entertain the lag-end of my life With quiet hours; for, I do protest, I have not sought the day of this dislike. K. Hen. You have not sought for it! how comes it then? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. P. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks Of favour, from myself, and all our house; And yet, I must remember you, my lord, We were the first and dearest of your friends. For you, my staff of office did I break In Richard's time; and posted day and night To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, When yet you were in place and in account Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. It was myself, my brother, and his son, That brought you home, and boldly did outdare The dangers of the time: You swore to us,- And you did swear that oath at Doncaster,- That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state; Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; And such a flood of greatness fell on you,- What with our help; what with the absent king; What with the injuries of a wanton time; The seeming sufferances that you had borne; And the contrarious winds, that held the king So long in his unlucky Irish wars, That all in England did repute him dead,- And, from this swarm of fair advantages, You took occasion to be quickly woo'd To gripe the general sway into your hand: Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; And, being fed by us, you us'd us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, That even our love durst not come near your sight, For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly Out of your sight, and raise this present head: Whereby we stand opposed by such means As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; 1 Woody. 2 Put off. 3 A chattering bird, a pit. By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, And violation of all faith and troth Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have artion lated,4 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour, that may, please the eye Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news Of hurly-burly innovation: And never yet did insurrection want Such water-colours, to impaint his cause; Nor moody beggars, starving for a time. Of pell-mell havoc and confusion. P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a sou Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, The prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Henry Percy; By my hopes,- This present enterprise set off his head,- I do not think, a braver gentleman, More active-valiant, or more valiant young, More daring, or more bold, is now alive, To grace this latter age with noble deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry; And so, I hear, he doth account me too : Yet this before my father's majesty,- I am content, that he shall take the odds Of his great name and estimation; And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight. K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we ven ture thee, Albeit, considerations infinite Do make against it:-No, good Worcester, no, We love our people well; even those we love, That are misled upon your cousin's part: And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man, Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his : So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do:-But if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So, be gone; We will not now be troubled with reply: We offer fair, take it advisedly. [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon. P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: The Douglas and the Hotspur both together Are confident against the world in arms. K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; For, on their answer, will we set on them: And God befriend us, as our cause is just! [Exeunt King, Blunt, and Prince John. Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well, P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. Fal. "Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay him before his day. What need, I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no mat ter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is 4 Exhibited in articles. SCENE II, III. 407 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. that honour? Air. A trim reckoning!-Who hath Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, it? He that died o'Wednesday. Doth he feel it? Unless a brother should a brother dare No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? To gentle exercise and proof of arms. Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the He gave you all the duties of a man; living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it :-Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; therefore I'll none of it: Honour is a mere scutch-Spoke your deservings like a chronicle; eon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit. Making you ever better than his praise, SCENE II.-The rebel camp. Enter Worcester and Vernon. Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, The liberal kind offer of the king. Ver. 'Twere best he did. Vor. Then are we all undone. It is not possible, it cannot be, The king should keep his word in loving us; He will suspect us still, and find a time To punish this offence in other faults: Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes: For treason is but trusted like the fox; Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, Interpretation will misquote our looks; And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood; And an adopted name of privilege,- A hair-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen: All his offences live pon my head, And on his father's;-we did train him on; And, his corruption being ta'en from us, We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, In any case, the offer of the king. Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so. Here comes your cousin. Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and officers and soldiers, behind. Hot. My uncle is return'd:-Deliver up My lord of Westmoreland.-Uncle, what news? Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. Exit. By still dispraising praise, valued with you: And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital2 of himself; And chid his truant youth with such a grace, As if he master'd there a double spirit, Of teaching, and of earning, instantly. There did he pause: But let me tell the world,- If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe so sweet a hope, So much misconstrued in his wantonness. Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamour'd Upon his follies; never did I hear Of any prince, so wild, at liberty:- But, be he as he will, yet once ere night I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, That he shall shrink under my courtesy.-- Arm, arm, with speed:-And, fellows, soldiers, friends, Better consider what you have to do, Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, Can lift your blood up with persuasion. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. Hot. I cannot read them now.- O gentlemen, the time of life is short; To spend that shortness basely, were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour. An if we live, we live to tread on kings; If die, brave death, when princes die with us! Now for our conscience,-the arms are fair, When the intent of bearing them is just. Enter another Messenger. Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apare. Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, For I profess not talking; Only this- Let each man do his best: and here draw I A sword, whose temper I intend to stain With the best blood that I can meet withal In the adventure of this perilous day. Now,-Esperance !4-Percy !-and set on. Sound all the lofty instruments of war, And by that music let us all embrace: heaven to earth, some of us never shall A second time do such a courtesy. Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid! Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus,For, By now forswearing that he is forsworn: He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge With haughty arms this hateful name in us. Re-enter Douglas. Doug. Arm. gentlemen; to arms! for I have thrown A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth, And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the king. And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads; And that no man might draw short breath to-day, But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt? Ver. No, by soul; I never in my life 1 Painted heraldry in funerals. 2 Recital. 3 Own. [The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. SCENE III-Plain near Shrewsbury. Excus- sions, and parties fighting. Alarum to the bat- tle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus Thou crossest me? what honours dost thou seek Upon my head? Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas; And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, Because some tell me that thou art a king. Blunt. They tell thee true. Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee, Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 4 The motto of the Percy family. 408 ACT V FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot; | Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much :- And thou shalt find a king that will revenge Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. Lord Stafford's death. [They fight, and Blunt is slain. Enter Hotspur. P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. K. Hen. I will do so :- Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holme- My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. don thus, I never had triúmph'd upon a Scot. Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless lies the king. Hot. Where? Doug. Here. Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full well: A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, Until I meet the king. Hot. Up, and away; Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. Other alarums. Enter Falstaff. West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent P. Hen. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help: And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive The prince of Wales from such a field as this; Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on, And rebels' arms triumph in massacres! P. John. We breathe too long:-Come, cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies; for God's sake, come. [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland. P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lancaster, I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; But now, I do respect thee as my soul. K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Piercy at the point, With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrown warrior. P. Hen. Lends mettle to us all! O, this boy [Exit. Alarums. Enter Douglas. Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads: Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here; here's no scoring, but upon the pate.-Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt:- there's honour for you: Here's no vanity!-I am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God keep lead out of me: I need no more weight than mine I am the Douglas, fatal to all those own bowels.-I have led my raggamuffins where That wear those colours on them.-What art thou, they are peppered: there's but three of my hundred That counterfeit'st the person of a king? and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here? Enter Prince Henry. K. Hen. The king hiniself; who, Douglas, grieves at heart, So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very king. I have two boys, P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here? lend me Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field: thy sword: Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff, Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are unreveng'd: Pr'ythee, lend thy sword. Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe a while.-Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure. P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. thou wilt. P. Hen. Give it me: What, is it in the case? Fal. Ay, Hal; 'tis hot, 'tis hot; there's that will sack a city. But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, I will assay thee; so defend thyself. And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ; But mine, I am sure thou art, whoe'er thou be, And thus I win thee. [They fight; the King being in danger, enter Prince Henry. P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, Of Shirly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms: Never to hold it up again! the spirits thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee; Who never promiseth, but he means to pay.- Cheerly, my lord; How fares your grace?- [They fight; Douglas flies [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. And so hath Clifton; I'll to Clifton straight. Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now? K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile:- [Throws it at him, and exit. Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion;3 Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If And show'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life, he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come In this fair rescue thou has brought to me. n his, willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. P. Hen. O heaven: they di me too much in. I like not such grinning honour as sir Walter hath: jury, Give me life: which if I can save, so; if not, That ever said, I hearken'd for your dest. honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end. If it were so, I might have let alce [Exit. The insulting hand of Douglas over you; SCENE IV-Another part of the field. Alarums. Which would have been as speedy in your end, Excursions. Enter the King, Prince Henry, As all the poisonous potions in the world, Prince John, and Westmoreland. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 1 In resemblance. 2 A piece of meat cut crosswise for the gridiron. And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas Gawsey. [Exit Kin, Henry. 3 Reputation. SCENE V. 409 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Enter Hotspur. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. Hot. My name is Harry Percy. P. Hen. Why, then I see A very valiant rebel of the name. I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come To end the one of us; And 'would to God, Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee; And all the budding honours on thy crest I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. Enter Falstaff. [They fight. Fal. Well said, Hal! to it, Hal!-Nay, you shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. Enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hot- spur is wounded, and falls. Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth: I better brook the loss of brittle life, Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my flesh :- But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; And time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, But that the earthy and cold hand of death Lies on my tongue:-No, Percy, thou art dust. And food for [Dies. P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well great heart!- Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound; But now, two paces of the vilest earth life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a true and perfect image of life indeed. The better man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the part of valour is-discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead: How, if he should counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid he would prove the better counterfeit. There- fore I'll make him sure: yea, and I'll swear I kill- ed him. Why may not he rise, as well as I? Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [Stabbing him.] with a new wound in your thigh, come you along with me. [Takes Hotspur on his back. Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh'd Thy maiden sword. P. John. But soft! whom have we here? Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead? P. Hen. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and bleeding Upon the ground.- Art thou alive? or is it phantasy That plays upon our eye-sight? I pr'ythee, speak; We will not trust our eyes, without our ears:- Thou art not what thou seem'st. but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. Fal. No, that's certain; I am not a double man. There is Percy: [Throwing the body down.] if your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee dead. Fal. Didst thou?-Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying!-I grant you, I was down, and out of breath; and so was he: but we rose both at an clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them, instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury that should reward valour, bear the sin rpon their own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, I would make him eat a Is room enough :-This earth, that bears thee dead, piece of my sword. Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. If thou wert sensible of courtesy, I should not make so dear a show of zea... But let my favours hide thy mangled face; And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself For doing these fair rites of tenderness. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remember'd in thy epitaph!- P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John.- Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. [A retreat is sounded The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, To see what friends are living, who are dead. [Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward him! If I do grow great, I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. [Exit, bearing off the body. [He sees Falstaff on the ground. What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell! I could have better spar'd a better man. 0, I should have a heavy miss of thee, If I were :nuch in love with vanity. Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, Though many dearer, in this bloody fray: Embowell'd will I see thee by and by; Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. Fal. [Rising slowly.] Embowell'd! If thou em- bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.- me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no Ill-spirited Worcester!-did we not send grace, counterfeit: To die, is to be a counterfeit; for he Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? [Exit. The SCENE V.-Another part of the field. trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and others; with Worcester, and Vernon, prisoners, is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the And would'st thou turn our offers contrary? 1 Scarf with which he covers Percy's face. 2 Salt. 410 ACT V. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust? Three knights upon our party slain to day, A noble earl, and many a creature else, Had been alive this hour, If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne Betwixt our armies true intelligence. P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you This honourable bounty shall belong: Go to the Douglas, and deliver him Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free: His vafour shown upon our crests to-day, Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to; Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, And I embrace this fortune patiently, Since not to be avoided it falls on me. K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Ver- non too: Other offenders we will pause upon.- [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. How goes the field? P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, The noble Percy slain, and all his men Upon the foot of fear,-fled with the rest; And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, That the pursuers took him. At my tent The Douglas is; and I beseech your grace, "I may dispose of him. With all my heart, K. Hen. Even in the bosom of our adversaries. K. Hen. Then this remains,-that we divide our power.- You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed, To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: Myself,-and you, son Harry,-will towards Wales To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, Meeting the check of such another day: And since this business so fair is done, Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. King Henry the Fourth. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Henry, prince of Wales, afterwards King Henry V.; Thomas, duke of Clarence; Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards (2 Henry V.) duke of Bedford; Prince Humphrey of Gloster, afterwards (2 Henry V.) duke of Gloster; Earl of Warwick; Earl of Westmoreland; Gower; Harcourt; Travers and Morton, domestics of Northumberland. Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. Poins and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry. Shallow and Silence, country Justices. his sons. Davy, servant to Shallow. of the king's party. Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. Earl of Northumberland; Scroop, archbishop of York; Lord Mowbray; Lord Hastings; Lord Bardolph; Sir John Coleville; INDUCTION. enemies to the king. Warkworth. Before Northumberland's castle. Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will stop The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks? I, from the orient to the drooping west, Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold The acts commenced on this ball of earth: Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; The which in every language I pronounce, Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. I speak of peace, while covert enmity, Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: And who but Rumour, who but only I, Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief, Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; And of so easy and so plain a stop, That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it. But what need I thus My well-known body to anatomize Among my household? Why is Rumour here? I run before king Harry's victory; Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, Quenching the flame of bold rebellion Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I To speak so true at first? my office is To noise abroad,-that Harry Monmouth fell Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; And that the king before the Douglas' rage Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 1 Northumberland's castle. Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, re- cruits. Fang and Snare, sheriff's officers. Rumour: A Porter. A Dancer, speaker of the Epilogue. 'Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet. Lords and other attendants; officers, soldiers, mes- senger, drawers, beadles, grooms, &c. Scene, England. This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns Between that royal field of Shrewsbury And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,' Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, And not a man of them brings other news Than they have learn'd of me; From Rumour tongues They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. [Exit. ACT I. SCENE I.-The same. The Porter before the gate; Enter Lord Bardolph. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ?-Where is the earl? Port. What shall I say you are? Bard. Tell thou the earl, That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or chard; Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, And he himself will answer. Bard. Enter Northumberland. Here comes the earl. North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute now Should be the father of some stratagem:2 The times are wild; contention, like a horse Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, And bears down all before him. Bard. Noble earl, I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. North. Good, an heaven will! Bard. As good as heart can wish:- The king is almost wounded to the death; 2 Important or dreadful event. 412 ACT L SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. And, in the fortune of my lord your son, Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John, And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, Is prisoner to your son: 0, such a day, So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, Came not, till now, to dignify the times, Since Cæsar's fortunes! North. How is this deriv'd? Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence; A gentleman well bred, and of good name, That freely render'd me these news for true. North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I sent On Tuesday last to listen after news. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; And he is furnish'd with no certainties, More than he haply may retain from me. Enter Travers. North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with you? Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, A gentleman almost forspent' with speed, That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. He told me, that rebellion had bad luck, And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold: With that, he gave his able horse the head, And, bending forward, struck his armed heels Against the panting sides of his poor jade Up to the rowel-head; and, starting so, He seem'd in running to devour the way, Staying no longer question. North. Ha!--Again. Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold? Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion Had met ill luck? Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what;- If my young lord your son has not the day, Upon mine honour, for a silken point2 I'll give my barony: never talk of it. Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd. But Priani found the fire, ere he his tongue, And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. This thou wouldst say,-Your son did thus, and thus; Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds; But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, Ending with-brother, son, and all, are dead. Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet. But, for my lord your son,-- North. Why, he is dead. See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath! He, that but fears the thing he would not know, Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes, That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton. Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies; And I will take it as a sweet disgrace, And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. I North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. see a strange confession in thine eye: Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so: The tongue offends not, that reports his death: And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead; Not he, which says the dead is not alive. Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office; and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remember'd knolling a departed friend. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe That, which I would to heaven I had not seen: But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd, To Harry Monmouth: whose swift wrath beat down The never-daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) Being bruited' once, took fire and heat away From the best temper'd courage in his troops: For from his metal was his party steel'd; Which once in him abated, all the rest North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. Travers, Give then such instances of loss? Bard. Who, he? He was some hildings fellow, that had stol'n The horse he rode on; and, upon my life, Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. Enter Morton. North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood Hath left a witness'd usurpation.4- Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, To fright our party. North. How doth my son, and brother? Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. Even such a nian, so faint, so spiritless, So dull, so dead in look, so wo-begone, 1 Exhausted. 2 Lace tagged. 3 Hilderling, base, cowardly. 4 An attestation of its ravage. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed; So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas, whose weil-labouring sword Had three times slain the appearance of the king, Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame Of those that turn'd their backs; and, in his flight. Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all Is,-that the king hath won; and hath sent out A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster, And Westmoreland: this is the news in full. North. For this I shall have time enough to mou: n In poison there is physic; and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick Being sick, have in some measure made me well: And as the wretch, whose fever-we aken'd joints, 5 Return of blows. 7 Reported. 6 In few words 8 Let fall. SCENE II. 413 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief, Are thrice themselves; hence therefore, thou nice crutch; A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, Must glove this hand: and hence, thou sickly quoif;2 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. Now bind my brows with iron; and approach The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland! Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not nature's hand Keep the wild flood confin'd! let order die! And let this world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead! Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. Mor. The lives of all your loving complices Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er To stormy passion, must perforce decay. You cast the event of war, my noble lord, And summ'd the account of chance, before you said, Let us make head. It was your presurmise, That in the dole³ of blows your son might drop: You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, More likely to fall in, than to get o'er: You were advis'd, his flesh was capable Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirits Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd; Yet did you say,-Go forth; and none of this, Though strongly apprehended, could restrain The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen, Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, More than that being which was like to be? Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; And, since we are o'erset, venture again. Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods. Mor. 'Tis more than time: And, my most noble lord, I hear for certain, and do speak the truth,-- The gentle archbishop of York is up, With well-appointed powers;4 he is a man, Who with a double surety binds his followers. My lord your son had only but the corps, But shadows, and the shows of men, to fight: For that same word, rebellion, did divide The action of their bodies from their souls; And they did fight with queasiness, constrain'd, As men drink potions; that their weapons only Seem'd on our side, but, for their spirits and souls, This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop Turns insurrection to religion: Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, He's follow'd both with body and with mind; And doth enlarge his rising with the blood Of fair king Richard, scrap' from Pomfret stones; 1 Trifling. 4 Forces. 6 Greater. 2 Cap. 3 Distribution. 5 Against their stomachs. 8 Gibe. 7 Owned. Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; And more, and less, do flock to follow him. North. I knew of this before; but, to speak truth. This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. Go in with me; and counsel every man The aptest way for safety, and revenge: Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed; Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt SCENE II.-London. A street. Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler. Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water: but, for the party that owed' it, he might have more diseases than he knew for. Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to girds at me; The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow, that hath o'erwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee into my service for any other reason than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate 10 till now: but I will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile appa- rel, and send you back again to your master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face royal: God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never earn six- pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his father was a bache- lor. He may keep his own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him.--What said master Dumbleton about the satin, for my short cloak, and slops? Page. He said, sir, you should procure him bet- ter assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his bond and yours; he liked not the security. Fal. Let him be damned like a glutton! may his tongue be hotter!-A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security!- The whore- son smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough11 with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon-security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in security; for he hath the hom of abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to light him.- Where 8 Bardolph ? Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your worship a horse. Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a horse in Smithfield; an I could get me but a wife 9 A root supposed to have the shape of a man 10 A little figure cut in an agate. 11 In their debt. 414 ACT I. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Ch. Just. I think, you are falen into the dis- ease; for you hear not what I say to you. Fal. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an' please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend the attention of your ears; and I are not, if I become your physician. in the stews, 1 were manned, horsed, and wived.' Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an attendant. Page. Sir. here comes the nobleman that com- mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. Fal. Wait close; I will not see him. Ch. Just. What's he that goes there? Atten. Falstaff an't please your lordship. Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord; but not s Atten. He, my lord? but he hath since done patient: your lordship may minister the pt 1.1 good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty; now going with some charge to the lord John of how I should be your patient to follow your pre- scriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a scruple itself. Lancaster. Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back again. Atten. Sir John Falstaff! Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any thing good.-Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must speak with him. Atten. Sir John,-- Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were mat- ters against you for your life, to come speak with me. Fal. As I was then advised by my learned coun- sel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in great infamy. Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the king lack subjects? do not the rebels need sol- diers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the name of rebel-means were greater, and my waist slenderer. lion can tell how to make it. Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live in less. Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. Atten. You mistake me, sir. Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so. Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than an honest man. Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill. you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- posting that action. Fal. My lord? Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou gett'st any leave not a sleeping wolf. of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert setter be hanged: You hunt-counter, hence! avaunt! Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the bet- ter part burnt out. Fal. A wassel³ candle, my lord; all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, but should have his effect of gravity. Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. Fal. My good lord!-God give your lordship good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I heard say, your lordship was sick: 1 hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel4 is light; lordship, to have a reverend care of your health. but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your without weighing: and yet, in some respects, 1 expedition to Shrewsbury. grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell: Virtue is of so Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his ma- little regard in these coster-monger times, that true jesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. valour is turned bear-herd: Pregnancy is made a Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty:-You would tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving not come when I sent for you. reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent to man, Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen as the malice of this age shapes them, are not into this same whoreson apoplexy. worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let not the capacities of us that are young: you me speak with you. measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness of Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of your galls: and we that are in the vaward' of our Sethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleep-youth, I must confess, are wags too. ing in the blood, a whoreson tingling. Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. scroll of youth, that are written down old with all Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white peard? a the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your deafness. voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? 1 Alluding to an old proverb: Who goes to Westminster for a wife, to St. Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a horse, may meet with a whore, a knave, and a jade. 2 A catch-pole or bum-bailiff. 3 A large candle for a feast. 4 The coin called an angel. 6 Readiness. 5 Pass current. 7 Forepart, SCENE III. 415 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. [Exit. your wit single? and every part about you blasted wit will make use of any thing; I will turn dis- with antiquity ?2 and will you yet call yourself eases to commodity. young? Fie, fie, fie, sir John! SCENE III.-York. A room in the archbishop's palace. Enter the archbishop of York, the lords Hastings, Mowbray, and Bardolph. Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known our means; Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a round belly. For my voice,-I have lost it with hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only old in judgment and understanding; And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, and he that will caper with me for a thousand Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes:- marks, let him lend me the money, and have at And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? him. For the box o'the ear that the prince gave Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms: you, he gave it like a rude prince, and you took But gladly would be better satisfied, it like a sensible lord. I have check'd him for it; How, in our means, we should advance ourselves and the young lion repents: marry, not in ashes, To look with forehead bold and big enough and sackcloth; but in new silk, and old sack. Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better companion!' Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince! I cannot rid my hands of him. Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and prince Harry: I hear, you are going with lord John of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of Northumberland. Upon the power and puissance of the king. Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file To five and twenty thousand men of choice; And our supplies live largely in the hope Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns With an incensed fire of injuries. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, stand- eth thus ;- Whether our present five and twenty thousand May hold up head without Northumberland. Hast. With him, we may. Bard. Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at home, that our armies join not in a hot day! Ay, marry, there's the point: for, by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, But, if without him we be thought too feeble, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be My judgment is, we should not step too far a hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, Till we had his assistance by the hand: I would I might never spit white again. There is For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but Conjecture, expectation, and surmise I am thrust upon it: Well, I cannot last ever: Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. But it was always yet the trick of our English na- Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph; for, indeed, tion, if they have a good thing, to make it too com- It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. mon. If you will needs say, I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest; And God bless your expedition! Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, to furnish me forth? Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply, Flattering himself with project of a power Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: And so, with great imagination, Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, And, winking, leap'd into destruction. Hast. But, by your leave it never yet did hurt, To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war ;- Indeed the instant action (a cause on foot,) [Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. Lives so in hope, as in an early spring Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. We see the appearing buds: which, to prove fruit, A man can no more separate age and covetous- Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, ness, than he can part young limbs and lechery: That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the We first survey the plot, then draw the model; other; and so both the degrees prevent my And when we see the figure of the house, curses.-Boy!-- Page. Sir? Fal. What money is in my purse? Page. Seven groats and two-pence. Then must we rate the cost of the erection: Which if we find outweighs ability, What do we then, but draw anew the model In fewer offices; or, at least desist Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump-To build at all? Much more, in this great work, tion of the purse borrowing only lingers and Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.-Go, And set another up.) should we survey bear this letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to The plot of situation, and the model; the prince; this to the earl of Westmoreland; and Consents upon a sure foundation; this to old mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly Question surveyors; know our own estate, sworn to marry since I perceived the first white How able such a work to undergo, hair on my chin: About it; you know where to To weigh against his opposite; or else, find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout! or, a We fortify in paper, and in figures, gout of this pay! for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, it i do halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pensions shall seem the more reasonable: A good 1 Small. 2 Old age. 3 A large wooden hammer so heavy as to re- quire three men to wield it. Using the names of men, instead of men Like one. that draws the model of a house Beyond his power to build it; who, half through Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cos: A naked subject to the weeping clouds, And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 5 Agree. 4 Anticipate. 416 ACT II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Hast. Grant that our hopes (yet likely for fair birth,) Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd The utmost man of expectation; I think, we are a body strong enough, Even as we are, to equal with the king. Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thousand? Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord Bardolph. For his divisions, as the times do brawl, Are in three heads: one power against the French, And one against Glendower; perforce, a third Must take up us: So is the unfirm king In three divided; and his coffers sound With hollow poverty and emptiness. Arch. That he should draw his several strengths together, And come against us in full puissance, Need not be dreaded. Hast. If he should do so, He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh Baying him at the heels: never fear that. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmore- land: Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth: But who is substituted 'gainst the French, I have no certain notice. Arch. Let us on; And publish the occasion of our arms. The commonwealth is sick of their own choice, Their over-greedy love hath surfeited:- A habitation giddy and unsure Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. O thou fond many! with what loud applause Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, Before he was what thou would'st have him be? And being now trimm'd2 in thine own desires, Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up, And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times? They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, Are now become enamour'd on his grave: Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, When through proud London he came sighing on After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, Cry'st now, O earth, yield us that king again, And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst! Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be gone. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE 1.-London. A street. Enter Hostess; Fang, and his boy, with her; and Snare follow- ing. Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? Fang. It is entered. Host. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeo- man? will a' stand to't? Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare? Host. O lord, ay: good master Snare. 1. Multitude. 2 Dress'd. 3 A bailiff's follower. 4 Thrust. 5 Grasp.: Snare. Here, here. Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. Host. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered him and all. Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for he will stab. Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed me in mine own house, and that inost beastly: in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if his weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will spare neither man, woman, nor child. Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust. Host. No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow. Fang. An I but fist him once; an a' come but within my vice ;- Host. I am undone by his gong; I warrant you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score:-Good master Fang, hold him sure;-good master Snare, let him not 'scape. He comes continually to Pie- corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle; and he's indited to dinner to the lubbar's head in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, since my exion is entered, and my case so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long loan for a poor lone woman to bear: And I have borne, and borne, and borne; and have been fubbed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing; unless a woman should be made an ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong.- Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do me, do me, do me your offices. Fal. How now? whose mare's dead? what's the matter? Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis- tress Quickly. Fal. Away, varlets!-Draw, Bardolph; cut me off the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. Host. Throw me in the channel? I'll throw thee in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bas- tardly rogue!-Murder, murder! O thou honey, suckles villain! wilt thou kill God's officers, and the king's? O thou honey-seed" rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a man-queller, and a woman-queller. Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. Fang. A rescue! a rescue! Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two.- Thou wo't, wo't thou? thou wo't, wo't theu? do, do, thou rogue! do, thou hemp-seed! Fal. Away, you scullion! you rampallion! you fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe. Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. Ch. Just. What's the matter? keep the peace here, ho! Host. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech you, stand to me! Ch. Just. How now, sir John? what, are you brawling here? Doth this become your place, your time, and busi ness? You should have been well on your way to York.- Stand from him, fellow; Wherefore hang'st thou on him? 6 Homicidal. 7 Homicide. SCENE II. 417 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please| your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit. Ch. Just. For what sum? Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for all, all I have: he hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his :-but I will have some of it out again, or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if have any vantage of ground to get up. I Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John? Fie! what man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not ashamed, to enforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of Wales Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. Fal. As I am a gentleman;- Host. Nay, you said so before. Fal. As I am a gentleman;-Come, no more words of it. Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my dining-chambers. Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking: and for thy walls,-a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy hu- Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? mours, there is not a better wench in England. Go, Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy-wash thy face, and draw thy action: Come, thou self, and the money too. Thou didst swear to me must not be in this humour with me; dost not know upon a parcel-gilti goblet, sitting in my Dolphin me? Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty upon Wednesday in Whitsun week, when the prince nobles; i'faith, I am loath to pawn my plate, in broke thy head for liking his father to a singing- good earnest, la. man of Windsor; thou didst swear to me then, as Fal. Let it alone; I'll make other shift: you'll I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make be a fool still. a Fal. Will I live?-Go, with her, with her; [To Bardolph.] hook on, hook on. Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at supper? me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my not good wife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in gown. I hope, you'll come to supper: You'l! pay then, and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to me all together? borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us, she had good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so fa- miliarity with such poor people; saying, that ere long they should call me madam? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath; deny it, if thou canst. Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is like you: she hath been in good case, and, the truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress against them. Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquaint- ed with your manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such more than impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level consideration; you have, as it appears to me, practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made her serve your uses both in purse and person. Host. Yea, in troth, my lord. Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace:-Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done with her; the one you may do with sterling money, and the other with current repentance. Fal. No more words; let's have her. [Exeunt Host. Bard. officers, and page, Ch. Just. I have heard better news. Fal. What's the news, my good lord? Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night? Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well: What's the news, my lord? Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? Gow. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse, Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble lord? Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently: Come, go along with me, good master Gower. Fal. My lord! Ch. Just. What's the matter? Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner? Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here: I thank you, good sir John. Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap with- Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower? out reply. You call honourable boldness, impudent Ch. Just. what foolish master taught you these sauciness: if a man will make court'sy, and say manners, sir John? nothing, he is virtuous: No, my lord, my humble Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he duty remembered, I will not be your suitor; I say was a fool that taught them me.-This is the right to you, I do desire deliverance from these officers, fencing grace, my lord; tap for tap, and so part fair. being upon hasty employment in the king's affairs. Ch. Just. Now the lord lighten thee? thou art Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do a great fool. [Exeunt. wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputation,' SCENE II.-The same. Another street. Enter and satisfy the poor woman. [Taking her aside. Fal. Come hither, hostess. Enter Gower. Ch. Just. Nov, master Gower, what news? 1 Partiy gilt. 2 Snub, check. Prince Henry and Poins. P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. Porns. Is it come to that? I had thought wear- ness durst not have attached one of so high b.ood 3 Suitable to your character. 4 Withdraw, 418 ACT II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Enter Bardolph and Page. Bard. 'Save your grace! P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph! Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the page.) bush you now? What a maidenly man at arms a you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore P. Hen. 'Faith, it does me; though it discolours] the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer? Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied, as to remember so weak a composition. P. Hen. Belike then my appetite was not princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble you become! Is it such a matter, to get a pottle considerations make me out of love with my great- pot's maidenhead? ness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his Page. He called me even now, my lord, through thy name? or to know thy face to-morrow? or to away! take note how many pair of silk stockings thou face from the window; at last I spied his eyes; and. hast; viz. these, and those that were the peach-methought, he had made two holes in the alewife's coloured ones? or to bear the inventory of thy new petticoat, and peeped through. P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited? shirts; as, one for superfluity, and one other for use?-but that, the tennis-court keeper knows bet- Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, ter than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, not done a great while, because the rest of thy low- away! countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen,' shall inherit his kingdom; but the midwives say, the children are not in the fault: whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened. Poins. How ill it follows, after you have labour- ed so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell me, how many good young princes would do so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this time is? P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? Poins. Yes; and let it be an excellent good thing. P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one thing that you will tell. I P. Hen. Why, I tell thee,-it is not meet that should be sad, now my father is sick albeit I could tell to thee (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad indeed too. P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy? Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him her dream. There it is, boy. P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. [Gives him money. Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept, from cankers!-Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee. Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among you, the gallows shall have wrong. P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming to town; there's a letter for you. doth the Martlemas, your master? Poins. Delivered with good respect.-And how Bard. In bodily health, sir. Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physi- cian: but that moves not him; though that be sick, dies not. it P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my dog: and he holds his place; for look you, how he writes. Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject. P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency: Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so sick and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation say, There is some of the king's blood spilt: How of sorrow. Poins. The reason? P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if should weep? Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- crite. I Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight,--Every man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself. Even like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick their finger, but they comes that? says he, that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as ready as a borrower's cap; I am the king's poor cousin, sir. P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from Japhet. But the letter:- - Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry, prince of Wales, greeting.-Why, this is a certificate. P. Hen. Peace! P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps Poins. I will imitate the honourable Roman in the road-way better than thine: every man would think me a hypocrite indeed. And what accites brevity:-he sure means brevity in breath; short- your most worshipful thought, to think so? Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and so much engraffed to Falstaff. P. Hen. And to thee. Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of. I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. winded.-I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins, for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewell. P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he My lord, I will had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat him eat it. villain have not transformed him ape. 1 Children wrapt up in his old shirts. 2 An ale-house window. Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; John, with my brothers and sisters, and Sir John, with all Europe. steep this letter in sack, and make P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his 3 Martinmas, St. Martin's day is Nov. 11. 4 Swollen excrescence. SCENE III, IV. 419 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I Wherein the noble youth did ess themselves. marry your sister? Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune! but I never said so. Hem. Well, thus we play the fools with the ime; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us.-Is your master here in London? Bard. Yes, my lord. P. Hen. Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old frank?1 Bard. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap. P. Hen. What company? Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church. P. Hen. Sup any women with him? Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. P. Hen. What pagan may that be? Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- woman of my master's. P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the town bull.-Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper? Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; 'il follow you. P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,-and Bardolph ;-no word to your master, that I am yet come to town: There's for your silence. Bard. I have no tongue, sir. Page. And for mine, sir,-I will govern it. P. Hen. Fare ye well; go-[Exeunt Bardolph and Page.]-this Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint Alban's and London. He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait: And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish, Became the accents of the valiant; For those that could speak low, and tardily, Would turn their own perfection to abuse, To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait, In diet, in affections of delight, In military rules, humours of blood, He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashion'd others. And him,-O wondrous hirn! O miracle of men !-him did you leave (Second to none, unseconded by you,) To look upon the hideous god of war In disadvantage; to abide a field, Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name Did seem defensible:--so you left him: Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong, To hold your honour more precise and nice With others, than with him; let them alone; The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong: Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. North. Beshrew your heait, Fair daughter! you do draw my spirits from me, With new lamenting ancient oversights. But I must go, and meet with danger there; Or it will seek me in another place, And find me worse provided. Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, Till that the nobles, and the armed commons,. Have of their puissance made a little taste. Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the king, P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not our-Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, selves be seen? To make strength stronger; but, for all our loves, Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, First let them try themselves: So did your son; and wait upon him at his table, as drawers. He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow; P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy descen- And never shall have length of life enough, sion it was Jove's case. From a prince to a 'pren To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, tice? a low transformation! that shall be mine: That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, for, in every thing, the purpose must weigh with For recordation to my noble husband. [Exeunt North. Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind, Before the castle. As with the tide swell'd up into its height, Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, That makes a still-stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back :- the folly. Follow me, Ned. SCENE III.-Warkworth. and Lady Percy. North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, Give even way unto my rough affairs: Put not you on the visage of the times, And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars! The time was, father, that you broke your word, When you were more endear'd to it than now; When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, Threw many a northward look, to see his father Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two honours lost: yours, and your son's. For yours,-may heavenly glory brighten it! For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun In the grey vault of heaven: and, by his light, Did all the chivalry of England move To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass 2 Ill-betide. 1 Sty. 3 An apple that will keep two years. I will resolve for Scotland; there am I, Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-London. A room in the Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap. Enter two Drawers. apple-Johns? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? an apple-John.3 2 Draw. Mass, thon sayest true: the prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him and told him there were five more sir Johns: and, putting off his hat, said, I will now tuke my leave of these six dry, round, old. wither'd knights. It angered him to the heart; but he hath forgot that. 1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down: And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise ;4 mis- tress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. De- spatch:--The room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight. 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master Poins anon: and they will put on two of our 4 Sneak was a street minstrel: a noise of mu sicians anciently signified a concert. 420 ACT i. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. jerkins, and aprons; and sir John must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis: It will be an excellent stratagem. 2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess?- Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, si John; there comes no swaggerers' here. Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; your Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are and, as he said to me,-it was no longer ago than before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day; in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge Wednesday last,-Neighbour Quickly, says he;-- beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire: and master Dumb, our minister, was by then;-Neigh your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose: bour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil; But, i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries; for, saith he, you are in an ill name ;-now he said and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it per-so, I can tell whereupon; for, says he, you are an fumes the blood ere one can say,-What's this? honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take How do you now? Doll. Better than I was. Hem. Host. Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold. Look, here comes sir John. Enter Falstaff, singing. heed what guests you receive: Receive, says he, here;-you would bless you to hear what he said: no swaggering companions.--There comes none -no, I'll no swaggerers. Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, he; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. hound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, Fal. When Arthur first in court.-Empty the jordan.-And was a worthy king: [Exit Drawer.] if How now, mistress Doll? Host. Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth. Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick. Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me? Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. Doll. I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I make them not. -Call him up, drawer. Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater: But I do not love swaggering; by my troth, I am the worse, when one says-swagger: feel, masters, how Í shake; look you, I warrant you. Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you an help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that. Doll. So you do, hostess. Host. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. Pist. 'Save you, sir John! Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess. Doll. Ay, marry; our chains, and our jewels. Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and owches;-for to serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged two bullets. chambers bravely:- Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang offend her. yourself! Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no two never meet, but you fall to some discord: you man's pleasure, I. are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confir- charge you. mities. What the good-year !3 one must bear, and Doll. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy compa- that must be you: [To Doll.] you are the weaker nion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! Doll. Can a weak empty vessel hear, such a huge I am meat for your master. full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy hulk better stuffed in the hold.-Come, I'll be bung, away! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle and whether I shall eve. see thee again, or no, with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket- there is nobody cares. hilt stale juggler, you!-Since when, I pray you, sir?-What, with two points" on your shoulder? much 18 Re-enter Drawer. Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you. Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. Fal. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here: discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain. Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither; it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England. Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, Doll. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, by my faith; I must live amonst my neighbors; art thou not ashamed to be called-captain? Il I'll no swaggerers: I am in good naine and fame captains were of my mind, they would truncheon with the very best:--Shut the door;-there comes you out, for taking their names upon you before no swaggerers here: I have not lived all this you have earned them. You a captain, you slave! while. to have swaggering now:-Shut the door, for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a I pray you. bawdy-house?-He a captain! Hang him, rogue! 1 Merry doings. 2 Small pieces of ordnance. 3 Mrs. Quickly's blunder for goujere, i. e. pox. 4 Ensign 5 A blustering, fighting fellow. 6 Gamester. 7 Laces, marks of his commission. 8 An expression of disdain. SCENE IV. 421 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and cakes. A captain! these villains will make the frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, word captain as odious as the word occupy; which alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your was an excellent good word before it was ill-sort- naked weapons. [Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph. ed: therefore, captains had need look to it. Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. Pist. Not I: tell thee what, corporal Bar- dolph ;- I could tear her :-I'll be revenged on her. Page. Pray thee, go down. Pist. I'll see her damned first;-to Pluto's damn- ed lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tor- tures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down! down, dogs! down, faitors!! Have we not Hiren here ?2 Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late, i'faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler. Pist. These be good humours, indeed! pack-horses, Shall And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,3 And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. Shall we fall foul for toys? Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words. Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon. Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins; Have we not Hiren here? Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What the good-year! do you think I would deny her? for God's sake, be quiet. Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis:4 Come, give's some sack. Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me con- tenta.- Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire: Give me some sack;-and, sweetheart, lie thou there. [Laying down his sword. Come we to full points here; and are et ceteras nothing? Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: What! we have seen the seven stars. Doll. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags ?6 Doll. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. Host. Are you not hurt i'the groin? methought, he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. Re-enter Bardolph. Fal. Have you turned him out of doors? Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. Fal. A rascal! to brave me! Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face;-come on, you whoreson chops :-Ah, rogue! i'iaith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain! Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket. Dell. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets. Enter music. Page. The music is come, sir. Fal. Let them play;-Play, sirs.-Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver. Doll. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and body for heaven? foining o'nights, and begin to patch up thine old Enter behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised like drawers. Fal. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's head: do not bid me remember mine end. Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well. Doll. They say, Poins has a good wit. Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet. Doll. Why does the prince love him so then? Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dra- gons; and rides the wild mare with the boys; and Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove- jumps upon joint-stools; and swears with a good groat shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here. Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue ?-- [Snatching up his sword. Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!8 Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! Host. Here's goodly stuff toward! Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. Doll. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. Fal. Get you down stairs. [Drawing, and driving Pistol out. Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear 1 Traitors, rascals. 2 A quotation from a play of G. Peele's. 3 Blunder for Hannibal. 4 Parody of a line in the Battle of Alcasar, an old play. grace; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him: for the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois. P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off? Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. P. Hen, Look, if the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot. Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many years outlive performance? Fal. Kiss me, Doll. P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc tion! what says the almanac to that? 5 Fist. 7 Throw. 9 Thrusting. 6 Common hacknies 8 Part of an ancient song 422 ACT III, SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Poins. And, iook, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping to his master's old tables; his note-book, his counsel-keeper. Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. Doll. Nay, truly; I kiss thee with a most con- stant heart. Fal. I am old, I am old. Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all. where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy,-there is a good angel about him; but the devil outbids him too. P. Hen. For the women,- Fal. For one of them,-she is in hell already, and burns, poor soul! For the other, I owe her money; and whether she be damned for that, I know not. Host. No, I warrant you. Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle? of? I shall Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late, upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy we'll to bed. Thou'It forget me, when I am gone. house, contrary to the law; for the which, I think, Doll. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an thou wilt howl. thou sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself hand- some till thy return.--Well, hearken the end. Fal. Some sack, Francis. P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's-And art not thou Poins his brother? P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead? Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer. P.Hen. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears. Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth, welcome to London.-Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are you come from Wales? Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majes- ty,-by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. Host. All victuallers do so: What's a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent? P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, Doll. What says your grace? Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against. Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Francis. Enter Peto. P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news? Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster; And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, Come from the north: and, as I came along, Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to And asking every one for sir John Falstaff. blame, [Leaning his hand upon Doll. So idly to profane the precious time; Doll. How! you fat fool, I scorn you. Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt, When tempest of commotion, like the south, revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. not the heat. night. P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you; how Give me my sword, and cloak:-Falstaff, good vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman? Host. 'Blessing o'your good heart! and so she is, by my troth. Fal. Didst thou hear me? I P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew, was at your back; and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing. [Exe. P. Henry, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [Knocking heard.]. More knocking at the door? Re-enter Bardolph. How now? what's the matter? Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; A dozen captains stay at door for you. Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. To the Page.]- Farewell, hostess;-Farewell, Doll.-You see, my P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you. the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me; and call me-sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what?! Fal. No abuse, Hal. Poins. No abuse! Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, to Doll. I cannot speak ;-If my heart be not ready burst:-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Exe. Fal. and Bard. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but wicked might not fall in love with him:-in which an honester, and truer-hearted man,-Well, fare doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and thee well. a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal;-none, Ned, none;--no, bovs, none. P. Hen. See, now, whether pure fear, and en-! tire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this vir- tuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is the boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked? Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir recoverable: and his fi ce is Lucifer's privy kitchen, 2 A short cloak. 1 1 An astronomical term. Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet, Host. What's the matter? Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master. Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. ACT III. [Exe. SCENE I-A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, in his night-gown, with a Page. k. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey, and o Warwick SCENE II. 423 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, | When Richard,-with his eye brimfull of teats, And well consider of them: Make good speed. Then check'd and rated by Northumberland,- [Exit Page. Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne;- Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent But that necessity so bow'd the state, How many thousands of my poorest subjects Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, And steep my senses in forgetfulness? Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, In loathsome beds: and leav'st the kingly couch, A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell? Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly,' death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, 2 lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Enter Warwick and Surrey. War. Many good morrows to your majesty! K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords? War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords. Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? War. We have, my liege. K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom How foul it is; what rank diseases grow, And with what danger, near the heart of it. War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd; Which to his former strength may be restor❜d, With good advice, and little medicine :-- My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. K. Hen. O heaven! that one might read the book of fate; And see the revolution of the times Make mountains level, and the continent (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself Into the sea! and, other times, to see The beachy girdle of the ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock, And changes fill the cup of alteration With divers liquors! O, if this were seen, The happiest youth,-viewing his progress through, What perils past, what crosses to ensue, Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 'Tis not ten years gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feast together, and, in two years after, Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since This Percy was the man nearest my soul; Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs, And laid his love and life under my foot; Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, Gave hiin defiance. But which of you was by, (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember) [To Warwick. 1 No:se. 2 Those in lowly situations. That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss: The time shall come, thus did he follow it, The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head Shall break into corruption :-so went on, Foretelling this same time's condition, And the division of our amity. War. There is a history in all men's lives, Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd: The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, With a near aim, of the main chance of things As yet not come to life; which in their seeds, And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. Such things become the hatch and brood of time; And, by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess, That great Northumberland, then false to him, Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness; Which should not find a ground to root upon, Unless on you. K. Hen. Are these things then necessities? Then let us meet them like necessities:- And that same word even now cries out on us; They say, the bishop and Northumberland Are fifty thousand strong. War. It cannot be, my lor: Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the fear'd:-Please it your grace, To go to bed: upon my life, my lord, The powers that you already have sent forth, Shall bring this prize in very easily. To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill; And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add Unto your sickness. K. Hen. I will take your counsel: And, were these inward wars once out of hand, We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Éxe. SCENE II.-Court before Justice Shallow's house, in Gloucestershire. Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull- calf, and servants, behind. Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by the rood. And how doth my good cousin, Si- lence? Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bed-fellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daugh ter Ellen? Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin William is become a good scholar: He is at Ox- ford still, is he not? Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. Shal. He must then to the inns of courts shortly: I was once of Clement's-Inn: where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet. Sil. You were called-lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Stafford- shire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pickbone, 3 Cross. 424 ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. and Will Squele, a Cotswold man,-you had not sir John.-Give me your good hand, give me your four such swing-bucklers' in all the inns of court worship's good hand: By my troth, you look well, again and I may say to you, we knew where the and bear your years very well: welcome, good sir bona-robas2 were; and had the best of them all at John. commandment. Then was Jack Falstaff, now sir Fal. I am glad to see you well, good mastet John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mowbray, duke Robert Shallow:-Master Sure-card, as I think. of Norfolk. Shal. No, sir John; it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me. Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers? Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should be of the peace. Shal. The same sir John, the very same. I saw him break Skogan's head at the court-gate, when Sil. Your good worship is welcome. he was a crack, not thus high: and the very same Fal. Fie! this is hot weather.-Gentlemen, day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruit-have you provided me here half a dozen sufficient erer, behind Gray's-Inn. O, the mad-days that I men? have spent! and to see how many of mine old ac- quaintances are dead! Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ' Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. Shal. Where's the roll? where's the roll? where's Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. Shal. Certain, 'tis certain; very sure, very sure: the roll?-Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so: death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all; all Yea, marry, sir:-Ralph Mouldy:-let them ap- shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stam- pear as I call; let them do so, let them do so.- Let me see; Where is Mouldy? ford fair? Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. Shal. Death is certain.-Is old Double of your town living yet? Sil. Dead, sir. Moul. Here, an't please you. Shal. What think you, sir John? a good-limbed fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. Fal. Is thy name Mouldy? Moul. Yea, an't please you. shal. Dead!-See, see!-he drew a good bow;- And dead!-he shot a fine shoot:-John of Gaunt Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. loved him well, and betted much money on his Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith! things head. Dead!-he would have clapped i'the clout that are mouldy, lack use: Very singular good!- at twelve score;4 and carried you a forehand shaft In faith, well said, sir John; very well said. a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a man's heart good to see.-How a score of ewes now? Sil. Thereafter as they be: a score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds. Shal. And is old Double dead? Enter Bardolph, and one with him. Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men, as I think. Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I be- seech you, which is justice Shallow? Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir; a poor esquire of this county, and one of the king's justices of the peace: What is your good pleasure with me? Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you: my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant leader. Shal. He greets me well, sir; I knew him a good backsword man: How doth the good knight? may I ask, how my lady his wife doth? Bard. Sir, pardon; a soldier is better accommo- dated, than with a wife. Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow. Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you could have let me alone: my old dame will be un- done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her drudgery: you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I. Fal. Go to; peace, Mouldy, you shall go. Moul. dy, it is time you were spent. Moul. Spent! Shal. Peace, fellow, peace; stand aside; Know you where you are?-For the other, sir John:-let me see;-Simon Shadow! Fal. Ay marry, let me have him to sit under: he's like to be a cold soldier. Shal. Where's Shadow? Shad. Here, sir. Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou? Shad. My mother's son, sir. Fal. Thy mother's son! like enough; and thy father's shadow: so the son of the female is the shadow of the male: It is often so, indeed; but not much of the father's substance. muster-book. Shal. Do you like him, sir John? Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir; and it is well Fal. Shadow will serve for summer,-prick him; said, indeed, too. Better accommodated!-it is-for we have a number of shadows to fill up the good; yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. Accommo- dated!-it comes from accommodo: very good; a good phrase. Shal. Thomas Wart! Fal. Where's he? Wart. Here, sir. Fal. Is thy name wart? Wart, Yea, sir. Bard. Pardon me, sir; I have heard the word. Phrase, call you it? By this good day. I know not the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my Ful. Thou art a very ragged Wart. sword. to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John? ceeding good command. Accommodated; that is, Fal. It were superfluous; for his apparel is built when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon when a man is,-being,-whereby, he may be pins: prick him no more. thought to be accommodated; which is an excel- ent thing. Enter Falstaff. Shal, Ha, ha, ha!--you can do it, sir; you can do it: I commend you well.-Francis Feeble! Fee. Hero, sir. Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble? Shal. It is very just:--Look, here comes good Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 4 Hit the white mark at twelve so re yards. Brave. 1 Rakes, or rioters. 2 Ladies of pleasure. 3 Boy. 5 SCENE II. 425 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand Fai You may: but if he had been a man's tailor, my friend; and here is four Harry ten shillings in he would have pricked you.-Wilt thou make as French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done as lief be hanged, sir, as go: and yet, for mine in a woman's petticoat? own part, sir, I do not care; but, rather, because am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a de- sire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care for mine own part, so much. Fee. I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more. Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse.- Prick the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; deep, master Shallow. Fee. I would, Wart might have gone, sir. Fal. I would, thou wert a man's tailor; that thou might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I can- not put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of so many thousands: Let that suffice, most for- cible Feeble. Fee. It shall suffice, sir. I Bard. Go to; stand aside. Moul. And, good master corporal captain, for my old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has no- body to do any thing about her, when I am gone: and she is old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. Bard. Go to; stand aside. Fee. By my troth, I care not;-a man can die but once-we owe God a death;-I'll ne'er bear a base mind:-an't be my destiny, so;-an't be not, so: No man's too good to serve his prince, Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble.- and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this Who is next? Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green! Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. Bull. Here, sir. Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow!-Come, prick the Bull-calf, till he roar again. Bull. O lord! good my lord captain.- Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? Bull. O lord, sir! I am a diseased man. Fal. What disease hast thou? Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which I caught with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his coronation day, sir. year, is quit for the next. Bard. Well said; thou'rt a good fellow. Fee. 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind. Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices. Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have? Shal. Four, of which you please. Bard. Sir, a word with you:-I have three pound to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. Fal. Go to; well. Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you haze? Fal. Do you choose for me. Shal. Marry then,-Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, and Shadow. Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we will have away thy cold; and I will take such Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf:-For you, Mouldy, order, that thy friends shall ring for thee.-Is here stay at home still; you are past service: and, for all? your part, Bull-calf-grow till you come unto it; Shal. Here is two more called than your num-I will none of you. ber; you must have but four here, sir;-and so, I Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong: pray you, go in with me to dinner. they are your likeliest men, and I would have you served with the best. Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I can- not tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to troth, master Shallow. choose a man? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give lay all night in the windmill in St. George's-fields? me the spirit, master Shallow.-Here's Wart;- Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no you see what a ragged appearance it is: he shall more of that. charge you, and discharge you, with the motion oi Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane a pewterer's hammer; come off, and on, swifter Night-work alive? Fal. She lives, master Shallow. than he that gibbets-on the brewer's bucket. And this same half-fac'd fellow, Shadow,-give me this man: he presents no mark to the enemy: the foe- Shal. She never could away with me. Fal. Never, never: she would always say, she man' may with as great aim level at the edge of a could not abide master Shallow. Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. pen-knife: And, for a retreat,-how swiftly wili Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold me the spare men, and spare me the great ones.- her own well? Put me a caliver2 into Wart's hand, Bardolph. Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus. Shal. Nay, she must be old; she cannot choose Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So :--very but be old; certain, she's old; and had Robin well:-go to:-very good:-exceeding good.-0, Night-work by old Night-work, before I came to give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald Clement's-Inn. shot. Well said, i'faith, Wart; thou art a good scab: hold, there's a tester for thee. Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen Shal. He is not his craft's-master, he doth not de that that this knight and I have seen!-Ha, sir it right. I remember at Mile-end green (when i John, said I well? lay at Clement's-Inn,-I was then sir Dagonet, in Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, Arthur's show,) there was a little quiver fellow, master Shallow. and 'a would manage you his piece thus: and 'a Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have; would about, and about, and come you in, and in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word was, come you in: rah, tah, tah, would 'a say; bounce, Hem, boys!-Come, let's to dinner; come, let's would 'a say; and away again would 'a go, and to dinner:-0, the days that we have seen!-again would 'a come:-I shall never see such a Come, come. [Exe. Falstaff, Shallow, and Silence. fellow. 1 Enemy. 2 Gun. 3 March. 1 4 Shooter. 5 An exhibition of archery. 426 ACT IV SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shal-As might hold sortance with his quality, low. God keep you, master Silence; I will not The which he could not levy; whereupon use many words with you:-Fare you well, gentle- He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, men both: I thank you: I must a dozen mile to- To Scotland: and concludes in hearty prayers, night.-Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. That your attempts may overlive the hazard, Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper And fearful meeting of their opposite. your affairs, and send us peace! As you return, Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him tonch visit my house; let our old acquaintance be re- ground, ewed: peradventure, I will with you to the court. And dash themselves to pieces. Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. Shal. Go to; I have spoke, at a word. Fare you [Exeunt Shallow and Silence. well. Hast. Enter a Messenger. Now, what new: 7 Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar- In goodly form comes on the enemy: Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph, out. Enter Westmoreland. Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. West. Health and fair greeting from our general, The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, a peace; Then, my loa Recruits, &c.] As I return, I will fetch off these And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number, justices: I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to this Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them vice of lying! This same starved justice hath done Let us sway on, and face them in the field. nothing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull- street; and every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I do remem- ber him at Clement's-Inn, like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when he was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife: he was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were invisible: he was the very genius of What doth concern your coming? famine; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores West. called him-mandrake: he came ever in the rear- Unto your grace do I in chief address ward of the fashion; and sung those tunes to the The substance of my speech. If that rebellion over-scutched huswives that he heard the carmen Came like itself, in base and abject routs, whistle, and sware-they were his fancies, or his Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, good-nights. And now is this Vice's dagger3 be-And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary; come a squire; and talks as familiarly of John of I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, Gaunt, as if he had been sworn brother to him: In his true, native, and most proper shape, and I'll be sworn he never saw him but once in the You, reverend father, and these noble lords, Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head, for crowd-Had not been here, to dress the ugly form ing among the marshal's men. I saw it; and told Of base and bloody insurrection John of Gaunt, he beat his own name: for you With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,- might have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into an Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd; eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a man- Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch sion for him, a court; and now has he land and Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutcr'ċ beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if Whose white investments figure innocence, I return: and it shall go hard, but I will make him The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,- a philosopher's two stones to me: If the young dace Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? shape, and there an end. ACT IV. [Exit. Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, Your pens to lances; and your tongue divine To a loud trumpet, and a point of war? Arch. Wherefore do I this?-so the question stands. SCENE I-A forest in Yorkshire. Enter the Briefly to this end :-We are all diseas'd; archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, others. Arch. What is this forest call'd? Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall your grace. please Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send disco- verers forth, To know the numbers of our enemies. Hast. We have sent forth already. Arch. and And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, And we must bleed for it: of which disease Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, I take not on me here as a physician; Nor do I as an enemy to peace, Troop in the throngs of military men: But, rather, show a while like fearful war, To diet rank minds, sick of happiness: And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. I have in equal balance justly weigh'd What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 'Tis well done. My friends, and brethren in these great affairs, I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd New-dated letters from Northumberland; Their cola intent, tenour and substance, thus:- Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 1 In Clerkenwell. (2) Titles of little poems. SA wooden dagger like that used by the modern harlequin. 4 Broke. 6 Be suitable, 8 Grievances 5 Gaunt is thin, slender. 7 Completely accoutred SCENE L 427 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. We see which way the stream of time doth run, And are entorc'd from our most quiet sphere By the rough torrent of occasion: And have the summary of all our griefs, When time shall serve, to show in articles; Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, And might by no suit gain our audience: When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, We are denied access unto his person, Even by those men that most have done us wrong. The dangers of the days but newly gone, (Whose memory is written on the earth With yet appearing blood,) and the examples Of every minute's instance, (present now,) Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms: Not to break peace, or any branch of it; But to establish here a peace indeed, Concurring both in name and quality. West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? Wherein have you been galled by the king? What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you? That you should seal this lawless bloody book Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, To brother born a household cruelty, I make my quarrel in particular. West. There is no need of any such redress; Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all, That feel the bruises of the days before; And suffer the condition of these times To lay a heavy and unequal hand Upon our honours? West. O my good lord Mowbray, Construe the times to their necessities, And you shall say indeed,-it is the time, And not the king, that doth you injuries. Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, Either from the king, or in the present time, That you should have an inch of any ground To build a grief on: Were you not restor❜d To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories, Your noble and right-well-remember'd father's? Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost, That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me? The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him: And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he,- Being mounted, and both rous'd in their seats, Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, Their armed staves' in charge, their beavers2 down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together; Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, O, when the king did throw his warder4 down His own life hung upon the staff he threw: Then threw he down himself; and all their lives, That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know not what: The earl of Hereford was reputed then In England the most valiant gentleman; Cried hate upon him; and all their prayers, and love, Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king But this is mere digression from my purpose.-- Here come I from our princely general, To know your griefs; to tell you from his grace, That he will give you audience: and wherein It shall appear that your demands are just, You shall enjoy them; every thing set off, That might so much as think you enemies. Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer: And it proceeds from policy, not love. West. Mowbray, you overween," to take it so: This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: For, lo! within a ken, our army lies; Upon mine honour, all too confident To give admittance to a thought of fear. Our battle is more full of names than yours, Our men more perfect in the use of arms, Our armour all as strong, our cause the best; Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good:- Say you not then, our offer is compell'd. Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. West. That argues but the shame of your offence: A rotten case abides no handling. Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission, In very ample virtue of his father, To hear, and absolutely to determine Of what conditions we shall stand upon? West. That is intended" in the general's name: 8 I muse, you make so slight a question. Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this schedule;9 For this contains our general grievances:- Each several article herein redress'd; All members of our cause, both here and hence, That are insinew'd to this action, Acquitted by a true substantial form: And present execution of our wills To us, and to our purposes, consign'd; We come within our awful banks10 again, And knit our powers to the arm of peace. West. This will I show the general. Please you, lords, In sight of both our battles we may meet: And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! Or to the place of difference call the swords Which must decide it. Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me, That no conditions of our peace can stand. Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace Upon such large terms, and so absolute, As our conditions shall consist upon, Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such, That every slight and false-derived cause, Yea, every idle, nice," and wanton reason, Shall, to the king, taste of this action: That, were our royal faiths12 martyrs in love, Who knows, on whom fortune would then have We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, smil'd? But, if your father had been victor there, He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry: For all the country, in a general voice, 1 Lances, 2 Helmets. 4 Truncheon. 6 Sight. 3 The eye-holes of helmets. 5 Think too highly. That even our corn shall seem as light a's chaff, And good from bad find no partition. Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this,-the king is weary 9 Inventory. 7 Understood. 8 Wonder. 10 Proper limits of reverence. 11 Trival. 12 The faith due to a king. 428 AcT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Of dainty and sucn picking' grievances: For he hath found,-to end one doubt by death, Revives two greater in the heirs of life. And therefore will he wipe his tables² clean; And keep no tell-tale to his memory, That may repeat and history his loss To new remembrance: For full well he knows, He cannot so precisely weed this land, As his misdoubts present occasion: His foes are so enrooted with his friends, That, plucking to unfix an enemy, He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. So that this land, like an offensive wife, That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes ; As he is striking, holds his infant up, And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm That was uprear'd to execution. In deeds dishonourable? You have taken up," Under the counterfeited zeal of God, The subjects of his substitute, my father; And, both against the peace of heaven and him, Have here up-swarm'd them. Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster I am not here against your father's peace: But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form, To hold our safety up. I sent your grace The parcels and particulars of our grief; The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court, Whereon this Hydra son of war is born: Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep, With grant of our most just and right desires; Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods And true obedience of this madness cur'd, On late offenders, that he now doth lack The very instruments of chastisement: So that his power, like to a fangless lion, May offer, but not hold. Arch. 'Tis very true;- And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal, If we do now make our atonement well, Our peace will, like a broken limb united, Grow stronger for the breaking. Mowb. Be it so. Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. Re-enter Westmoreland. West. The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your lordship, To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies? Mowb. Your grace of York, in god's name then set forward. Arch. Before, and greet his grace:-my lord, we come. Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes To the last man. Hast. And though we here fall down: We have supplies to second our attempt; If they miscarry, theirs shall second them: And so, success of mischief shall be born; And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, Whiles England shall have generation. P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much too shallow, To sound the bottom of the after-times. West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly, How far forth you do like their articles? P. John. I like them all, and do allow them. well: And swear here by the honour of my blood, My father's purposes have been mistook; [Exeunt. And some about him have too lavishly Wrested his meaning, and authority.- Enter My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; Hast-Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, Prince Discharge your powers unto their several counties, and As we will ours: and here, between the armies, Let's drink together friendly and embrace; SCENE II.-Another part of the forest. from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop, ings, and others; from the other side, John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, officers, attendants. P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, cousin Mowbray :- Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop ;- And so to you, lord Hastings,-and to all.- My lord of York, it better show'd with you, When that your flock, assembled by the bell, Encircled you, to hear with reverence Your exposition on the holy text; Than now to see you here an iron man,3 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, Turning the word to sword, and life to death. That man, that sits within a monarch's heart, And ripens in the sunshine of his favour, Would he abuse the countenance of the king, Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach, In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop, It is even so :-Who hath not heard it spoken, How deep you were within the books of God? To us, the speaker in his parliament; To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself; The very opener, and intelligencer, Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, And our dull workings: 0, who shall believe, But you misuse the reverence of your place; Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, As a false favourite doth his prince's name, 1 Piddling, insignificant. 2 Book for memorandums. 3 Clad in armour. 4 Labours of thought. I Of our restored love, and unity. Arch. I take your princely word for these re- dresses. P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word: And thereupon I drink unto your grace. Hast. Go, captain, [To an officer] and deliver to the army This news of peace: let them have pay, and part; I know it will well please them : Hie, thee, captain. [Exit Officer. Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. West. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew what pains I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, You would drink freely: but my love to you Shall show itself more openly hereafter. Arch. I do not doubt you. West. I am glad of it.- Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season; For I am, on the sudden, something ill. Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry But heaviness foreruns the good event. 5 Raised in arms. 7 Approve. 6 Succession. 8 Forces SCENE III. 429 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden sorrow Serves to say thus,-Some good thing comes to- morrow. Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be [Shouts within. P. John. The word of peace is render'd; Hark, how they shout! true. Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory. Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; For then both parties nobly are subdued, And neither party loser. P. John. Go, my lord, And, let our army be discharged too.- Exit Westmoreland. And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains¹ March by us; that we may peruse the men We should have cop'd withal. Arch. Go, good lord Hastings, And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. [Exit Hastings. P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night together.- Re-enter Westmoreland. Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? West. The leaders, having charge from you to stand, Will not go off until they hear you speak. P. John. They know their duties. Re-enter Hastings. Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already: Like youthful steers2 unyok'd, they take their courses East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up, Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place. West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason:- And you, lord archbishop,-and you, lord Mowbray, Of capital treason I attach you both. Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honourable ? West. Is your assembly so? Arch. Will you thus break your faith? P. John. I pawn'd thee none: I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, Whereof you did complain; which, by mine honour, I will perform with a most Christian care. But, for you, rebels,-look to taste the due Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. Most shallowly did you these arms commence, Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence.- Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray; Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day.- Some guard these traitors to the block of death; Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I dc sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trem- bling, and do observance to my mercy. Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in that thought, yield me. Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb, undoes me.-Here comes our general. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland, and others. P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now;- Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.- [Exit West. Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while? When every thing is ended, then you come : These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, One time or other break some gallows' back. Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have foundered nine-score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and valorous enemy: But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that may justly say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome,-I came, saw, and overcame. I P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your deserving. I Fal. I know not; here he is, and here I yield him: and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lord, will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: To the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which show like pins' heads to her; believe not the word of the noble: therefore iet me have right, and let desert mount. P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. Fal. Let it shine then. P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will. P. John. Is thy name Coleville? Cole. It is, my lord. P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Coleville. Fal. And a famous true subject took him. Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, That led me hither: had they been ruled by me, You should have won them dearer than you have. Fal. I know not how they sold themselves: but is-thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another part of the Forest.- Alarums. Excursions. Enter Falstaff and Cole- vile, meeting. Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition are you; and of what place, I pray?. Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name Colevile of the dale. Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight is your degree; and your place, the dale: Cole- vile shall still be your name;-a traitor your de- gree; and the dungeon your place,-a place deep enough; so shall you still be Colevile of the dale. 1 Each army. 28 2 Young bullocks. I thank thee for thee.. Re-enter Westmoreland. P. John. Now, have you left pursuit? West. Retreat is made, and execution stay's. P. John. Send Coleville, with his confederates, 4 Cæsar. 3 Foolishly. 430 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. To York, to present execution:- Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. [Exeunt some with Colevile. And now despatch we toward the court, my lords; I hear, the king my father is sore sick: Our news shall go before us to his majesty,- Which, cousin, you shall bear, to comfort him; And we with sober speed will follow you. Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire: and, when you come to court, stand my good lord,' pray, in your good report. P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I in my con- dition, 2 SCENE IV.-Westminster. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Warwick, and others. K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give suc cessfa' end To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, We will our youth lead on to higher fields, And draw no swords but what are sanctified. Our navy is address'd, our power collected, Our substitutes in absence well invested, And every thing lies level to our wish: Only, we want a little personal strength; And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, Come underneath the yoke of government. War. Both which, we doubt not but your majesty Humphrey, my son of Gloster, Where is the Prince your brother? P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. K. Hen. And how accompanied? P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Cla- rence, with him? P. Humph. No, my good lord; he is in presence here. Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. Fal. I would you had but the wit; 'twere bet-Shall soon enjoy. ter than your dukedom.-Good faith, this same K. Hen. young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a. man cannot make him laugh;-but that's no mar-, vel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish- meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sick- ness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and cowards;-which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it: it ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours which en- veron it: makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second pro- Thou hast a better place in his affection, perty of your excellent sherris is,-the warming of Than all thy brothers: cherish it, my boy; the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the And noble offices thou may'st effect liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusilla- Of mediation, after I am dead, Cla. What would my lord and father? K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of Clarence. How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother? nimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms it, Between his greatness and thy other brethren :- and makes it course from the inwards to the parts Therefore, omit him not; blunt not his love: extreme. It illumineth the face; which, as a bea-Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, con, gives warning to all the rest of this little king- By seeming cold, or careless of his will. dom, man, to arm: and then the vital commoners, For he is gracious, if he be observ'd;" and inland petty spirits, muster me all to their cap- He hath a tear for pity, and a hand tain, the heart; who, great, and puffed up with Open as day for melting charity: this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint; valour comes of sherris: So that skill in the wea- As humorous as winter, and as sudden pon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it a-As flaws congealed in the spring of day. work and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd. a devil; till sack commences it, and sets it in act Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth: valiant: for the cold blood he did naturally inherit But, being moody, give him line and scope; of his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excel- Confound themselves with working. Learn this lent endeavour of drinking good, and good store of Thomas, fertile sherris, that he is become very hot, and va- And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends; liant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in; principle I would teach them, should be,-to for- That the united vessels of their blood, swear thin potations, and addict themselves to Mingled with venom of suggestion, sack. Enter Bardolph. How now, Bardolph ? Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: I have him already tempering between my finger and my thumb, and shortly wall seal with him. Come away (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, Thomas? Cla. He is not there to-day; he dines in London. K. Hen. And how accompanied? canst thou tell that? Cla. With Poins, and other his continual fol- lowers. K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; [Exeunt. 1 Stand my good friend. 2 in my present temper. Inventive. 4 Brings it int: action. 6 Ready, prepared. 5 An allusion to the old use of sealing with 7 Has an attention shown him. wax. 8 Wolf's-bane, a poisonous herb. SCENE IV. 431 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. And he, the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them: Therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death; The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, In forms imaginary, the unguided days, And rotten times, that you shall look upon When I am sleeping with my ancestors. For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, O, with what wings shall his affections fly Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look up! War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits Are with his highness very ordinary. Stand from him, give him air; he'll straight be well. Cla. No, no; he cannot long hold out these pangs; The incessant care and labour of his mind Hath wrought the mure,2 that should confine it in, So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. P. Humph. The people fear me ;3 for they do observe War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him Unfather'd heirs,+ and loathly birds of nature: quite: The prince but studies his ompanions, Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the lan- guage, "Tis needful, that the most immodest word Be look'd upon, and learn'd: which once attain'd, Your highness knows, comes to no further use, But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms, The prince will, in the perfectness of time, Cast off his followers: and their memory Shall, as a pattern or a measure, live, By which his grace must mete the lives of others; Turning past evils to advantages. K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave her comb In the dead carrion.-Who's here? Westmoreland? Enter Westmoreland. The seasons change their manners, as the years Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb be- tween:6 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, Say, it did so, a little time before That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence, Into some other chamber: softly, 'pray. [They convey the king into an inner part of the room, and place him on a bed. Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; Unless some dull" and favourable hand West. Health to my sovereign! and new happi- Will whisper music to my weary spirit. ness Added to that that I am to deliver! Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand: Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, Are brought to the correction of your law; There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd, But peace puts forth her olive every where. The manner how this action hath been borne, Here at more leisure may your highness read; With every course, in his particular.' K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, Which ever in the haunch of winter sings The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. Enter Harcourt. Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty; And, when they stand against you, may they fall As those that I am come to tell you of! The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, With a great power of English, and of Scots, Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: The manner and true order of the fight, This packet, please it you, contains at large. K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news make me sick? Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach, and no food,- Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast, And takes away the stomach,-such are the rich, That have abundance, and enjoy it not.. I should rejoice now at this happy news; And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy :- O me! come near me, now I am much ill. P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty! Cla. [Swoons. O my royal father! 1 The detail contained in prince John's letter. 2 Worked the wall. 3 Make me afraid. 4 Monsters. 5 As if the year. War. Call for the music into the other room. K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. War. Less noise, less noise. P. Hen. Enter Prince Henry. Who saw the duke of Clarence? Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. P. Hen. How now! rain within doors, and none abroad! How doth the king? P. Humph. Exceeding ill P. Hen. Tell it him. Heard he the good news yet? P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. P. Hen. If he be sick With joy, he will recover without physic. War. Not so much noise, my lords:-sweet prince, speak low; The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. Wor. Will't please your grace to go along with us? P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the king. [Exeunt all but P. Henry. Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow, Being so troublesome a bedfellow? O polish'd perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night-sleep with it now! Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, As he, whose brow, with homely biggin' bound, Snores out the watch of night. O majesty! When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 6 An historical fact, on October 12, 1411. 7 Melancholy, soothing. 8 Gates. 9 Cap. 432 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Perforce must move.-My gracious lord! my fa- With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. ther!- This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep, That from this golden rigol¹ hath divorc'd' So many English kings. Thy due, from me, Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood; Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously: My due, from thee, is this imperial crown; Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,- [Putting it on his head. Which heaven shall guard: And put the world's whole strength Into one giant arm, it shall not force This lineal honour from me: This from thee Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! [Exit. Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. Cla. Doth the king call? War. What would your majesty? How fares your grace? K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords? Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, Who undertook to sit and watch by you. K. Hen. The prince of Wales? Where is he? let me see him: He is not here. War. This door is open; he is gone this way. P. Humph. He came not through the chamber where we stay'd. K. Hen. Where is the crown? who took it from my pillow? War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence:-go, seek him out. Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose My sleep my death ?-- Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. Exit Warwick. This part of his conjoins with my disease, And helps to end me.-See, sons, what things you are! How quickly nature falls into revolt, When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown? Re-enter Prince Henry. Lo, where he comes.-Come hither to me, Harry:- Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. I [Exe. Clarence, Prince Humphrey, Lords, &c. P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought: stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours Before thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth! Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind," That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some few hours, Were thine without offence; and, at my death, Thou hast seal'd up my expectation:5 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts; Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, To stab at half an hour of my life. What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? Then get thee gone; and dig my grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head: Only compound me with forgotten dust; Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; For now a time is come to mock at form, Harry the Fifth is crown'd :-Up, vanity! Down, royal state! all you sage counsellors, hence And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum: Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? Be happy, he will trouble you no more: England shall double gild his treble guilt; England shall give him office, honour, might: For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks Have broke their sleep with thoughts their brains The muzzle off restraint, and the wild dog with care, Their bones with industry; For this they have engrossed and pil'd up, The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold; For this they have been thoughtful to invest Their sons with arts, and martial exercises: When, like the bee, tolling from every flower The virtuous sweets; Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey, We bring it to the hive; and, like the bees, Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste Yield his engrossments³ to the ending father.- Re-enter Warwick. Now, where is he that will not stay so long Till his friend sickness hath determin'd4 me? War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks; With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow, That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood," Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 1 Circle. 2 Taking toll. 3 Accumulations. Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege! but for my tears, [Kneeling. The moist impediments unto my speech, I had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown; And He that wears the crown immortally, Long guard it yours! If I affect it more, Than as your honour, and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, (Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, And found no course of breath within your majesty, How cold it struck my heart! if I do feign, 0, let me in my present wildness die ; 4 Ended. 5 Confirmed my opinion. SCENE I. 433 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. And never live to show the incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) I spake unto the crown, as having sense, And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending, Hath fed upon the body of my father; Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. Other, less fine in carat, is more precious, Preserving life in med'cine potable:2 But thou, most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd, Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on my head; To try with it,-as with an enemy, That had before my face murder'd my father,- The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine Did, with the least affection of a welcome, Give entertainment to the might of it; Let God for ever keep it from my head! And make me as the poorest vassal is, That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! K.Hen. O my son ! Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence, That thou might'st win the more thy father's love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed; And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, I met this crown; and I myself know well, How troublesome it sat upon my head: To thee it shall descend with better quiet, Better opinion, better confirmation; For all the soils of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand; And I had many living, to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances; Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed, Wounding supposed peace: all these bold fears,4 Thou see'st, with peril I have answered: For all my reign hath been but as a scene Acting that argument; and now my death Changes the mode: for what in me was purchas'd, Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green; And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends, Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out; By whose fell working I was first advanc'd, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displac'd: which to avoid, I cut them off; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land; Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, May waste the memory of the former days. More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How came I by the crown, O God, forgive! And grant it may with thee in true peace live! P. Hen. My gracious liege, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me; Then plain, and right, must my possession be: 2 To be taken. 1 Quality. 3 Spot, dirt. 4 Frights. 5 State of things. Which I, with more than with a common pain, 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick, Lords, and others. K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. P. John. Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal father! K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son John; But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown From this bare wither'd trunk: upon thy sight, My worldly business makes a period.- Where is my lord of Warwick? P. Hen. My lord of Warwick! K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong Unto the lodging where I first did swoon? War. 'Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord. K. Hen. Laud be to God!-even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem; Which vainly I suppos'd, the Holy Land :- But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE 1.-Glostershire. A hall in Shallow's house. Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away to-night.--What, Davy, I say! Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shal- low. Shal. I will not excuse you; you shall not be excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is no excuse shall serve; you shall not be excused. -Why, Davy! Davy. Here, sir. Enter Davy. Shai. Davy, Davy, Davy,-let me see, Davy; let me see:-yea, marry, William cook, bid him come hither.-Sir John, you shall not be excused. Davy. Marry, sir, thus ;-those precepts' cannot be served: and, again, sir,-Shall we sow the head- land with wheat? Sha. With red wheat, Davy. But for William cook;--Are there no young pigeons? Davy. Yes, sir.-Here is now the smith's note, for shoeing, and plough-irons. Shal. Let it be cast, and paid:-Sir John you shall not be excused. Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had:-And, sir, do you mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day, at Hinkley fair? Davy; a couple of short-legged hens: joint of Shal. He shall answer it:-Some pigeons mutton; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well; A friend i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, and will backbite. 6 Purchase, in Shakspeare, frequently means stolen goods. 7 Warrants 8 Accounted up. 434 ACT V. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir; [ for they have marvellous foul linen. Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy busi- ness, Davy. Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance Wil- liam Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. Ch. Just. I would, his majesty had call'd me with him: The service that I truly did his life, Hath left me open to all injuries. War. Indeed, I think, the young king loves you not. Ch. Just. I know, he doth not; and do arm my- self, Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my To welcome the condition of the time; knowledge. Which cannot look more hideously upon me Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. sir: but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his friend's request. An Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarence, honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when Westmoreland, and others." a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry. sir, this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice O, that the living Harry had the temper in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen! man, I have but a very little credit with your wor- How many nobles then should hold their places, ship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir; there- fore, I beseech your worship, let him be counte- nanced. Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, sir John? Come, off with your boots.-Give me your hand, master Bardolph. Bard. I am glad to see your worship. Shal, I thank thee with all my heart, kind master Bardolph:-and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! Ch. Just. Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd. P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. War. We do remember; but our argument Is all too heavy to admit much talk. P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made us heavy! Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier! P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend, indeed: Fal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shal- low. Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bar- dolph and Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, And I dare swear, you borrow not that face I should make four dozen of such bearded hermit's- Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own. staves as master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to see the semblable coherence of his men's spirits to find, and his: They, by observing him, do bear them-You stand in coidest expectation: selves like foolish justices; he, by conversing with I am the sorrier; 'would, 'twere otherwise. them, is turned into a justice-like serving-man; their spirits are so married in conjunction with the Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff fair; participation of society, that they flock together in Which swims against your stream of quality. consent, like so many wild geese. If I had a suit Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in to master Shallow, I would humour his men, with honour, War. Here comes the prince. the imputation of being near their master: if to his Led by the impartial conduct of my soul; men, I would curry with master Shallow, that no And never shall you see, that I will beg man could better command his servants. It is cer- A ragged and forestall'd remission.- tain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, If truth and upright innocency fail me, Is caught, as men take diseases, one of another: I'll to the king my master that is dead, therefore, let men take heed of their company. I And tell him who hath sent me after him. will devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep prince Harry in continual laughter, the wear- ing-out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums. O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never had the ache in his shoulders! O, you shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up.2 Shal. [Within.] Sir John! Fal. I come, master Shallow; I come, master Shallow, [Exit Falstaff. SCENE II-Westminster. A room in the palace. Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Justice. War. How now, my lord chief justice? whither away? Enter King Henry V. Ch. Just. Good morrow; and heaven save your majesty! Sits not so easy on me as you think.- King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear: This is the English, not the Turkish court; Not Amurath an Amurath³ succeeds, But Harry, Harry: Yet be sad, good brothers, For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you; Sorrow so royally in you appears, That I will deeply put the fashion on, And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad: But entertain no more of it, good brothers. Than a joint burden laid upon us all. For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, I'll be your father and your brother too; Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. Yet weep, that Harry's dead; and so will I: He's walked the way of nature; By number, into hours of happiness. But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears And, to our purposes, he lives no more. Ch. Just. How doth the king? War. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. War. 1 A serious face. 2 Full of wrinkles. 3 Emperor of the Turks, died in 1596; his son who succeeded him, had all his brothers strangled. SCENE III. 435 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. P. John, &c. We hope no other from your ma- To frustrate prophecies; and to raze out jesty. Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down King. You all look strangely on me:-and you After my seeming. The tide of blood in me most; [To the Chief Justice. Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now: You are, I think, assur'd I love you not. Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea; Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. And flow henceforth in formal majesty. King, No! Now call we our high court of parliament: And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, That the great body of our state may go In equal rank with the best-govern'd nation; That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us; In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.- [To the Lord Chief Justice.. Our coronation done, we will accite," As I before remember'd, all our state: And (God consigning to my good intents,) No prince, nor peer. shall have just cause to say, Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exe. How might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me? What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison, The immediate heir of England! Was this easy? May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten? Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father; The image of his power lay then in me: And, in the administration of his law, Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, Your highness pleased to forget my place, The majesty and power of law and justice, The image of the king whom I presented, And struck me in my very seat of judgment; Whereon, as an offender to your father, I gave bold way to my authority, And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Be you contented, wearing now the garland, To have a son set your decrees at nought; To pluck down justice from your awful bench; To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person Nay, more; to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings n a second body.2 Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours; Be now the father, and propose a son: Hear your own dignity so much profan'd, See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd; And then imagine me taking your part, And, in your power, soft silencing your son: After this cold considerance, sentence me; And, as you are a king, speak in your state,3 What I have done, that misbecame my place, My person, or my liege's sovereignty. King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well: Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword: And I do wish your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words;- Happy am I, that have a man so bold, That dares do justice on my proper son: And not less happy, having such a son, That would deliver up his greatness so, Into the hands of justice.-You did commit me: For which, I do commit into your hand The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear; With this remembrance,-That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand: You shall be as a father to my youth: My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practis'd, wise directions.- And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ;- My father is gone wild into his grave, For in his tomb lie my affections; And with his spirit sadly I survive, To mock the expectation of the world; 1 Crown. 2 Treat with contempt your acts executed by a representative. $ In your regal character and office SCENE III.-Glostershire. The garden of Shal- low's house. Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph, the Page, and Davy. Shal. Nay, you shail see mine orchard: where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of caraways, and so forth; -come, cousin Silence;-and then to bed. and a rich. Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beg- Davy; spread, Davy; well said, Davy. gars all, sir John:-marry, good air.-Spread, Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving-man, and your husbandman. Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, sir John.-By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper:--A good varlet. Now sit down, now sit down:-come, cousin. Sil. Ah, sirrah! quoth-a,-we shall Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing. And praise heaven for the merry year; When flesh is cheap and females dear, And lusty lads roam here and there, So merrily, And ever among so merrily. Fal. There's a merry heart!-Good master SI- lence, I'll give you a health for that anon. Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. Davy. Sweet sir, sit; [Seating Bardolph and the Page at another table.] I'll be with you anon:-- most sweet sir, sit.--Master page, good master page, sit: proface! What you want in meat, we'll all. have in drink. But you must bear; The heart's [Exit. Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph;-and my little soldier there, be merry. Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife's as all;" [Singing. For women are shrews, both short and tall: 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, And welcome merry shrove-tide. Be merry, be merry, &c. Fal. I did not think, master Silence had been a man of this mettle. Sil. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now. 4 Gravely. 5 Summon. 6 Italian, much good may it do you. 7 As all women are. 436 ACT V.. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Re-enter Davy. Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats¹ for you. [Setting them before Bardolph. Shal. Davy,- Davy. Your worship?--I'll be with you straight. [To Bard.]-A cup of wine, sir? Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine, And drink unto the leman mine; And a merry heart lives long-a. Fal. Well said, master Silence. [Singing. Sil. And we shall be merry;-now comes in the sweet of the night. Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings And shall good news be baffled? Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breed- ing. Pist. Why then, lament therefore. Shal. Give me pardon, sir;-If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways; either to utter them, or to conceal them. am, sír, under the king, in some authority. Pist. Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die. Shal. Under king Harry. Pist. I Harry the fourth? or fifth? Shal. Harry the fourth. Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: If thou want- Pist. A foutra for thine office!- est any thing, and will not call, beshrew thy heart. Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; -Welcome, my little tiny thief; [To the Page.] Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth: and welcome, indeed, too. I'll drink to master When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like Bardolph, and to all the cavaleroes³ about London. The bragging Spaniard. Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. Bard. An I might see you there, Davy. Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together. Ha! will you not, master Bardolph? Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle-pot. Shal. I thank thee:-The knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that: he will not out; he is true bred. Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be merry. [Knocking heard.] Look who's at door there: Ho! who knocks? [Exit Davy Fal. Why, now you have done me right. [To Silence, who drinks a bumper. Sil. [Singing.] Do me right, And dub me knight:4 Samingo.5 Is't not so? Fal. 'Tis so. Sil. Is't so? Why, then say, an old man can do somewhat. Re-enter Davy. Fal. What! is the old king dead? Pist. As nail in door: The things I speak are just. Fal. Away, Bardolph; saddle my horse.-Mas- ter Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine.-Pistol, I will double-charge thee with dignities. Bard. O joyful day!-I would not take a knight- hood for my fortune. Pist. What? I do bring good news? Fal. Carry master Silence to b d.-Master Shal- low, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am for- tune's steward. Get on thy boots; we'll ride all Bardolph.]-Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and, night-0, sweet Pistol :-Away, Bardolph. [Exit withal, devise something, to do thyself good.- Boot, boot, master Shallow; I know, the young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses; the laws of England are at my commandment. Happy are they which have been my friends; and wo to my lord chief justice! Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! Where is the life that late I led? say they: Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days. Pistol come from the court with news. Fal. From the court? let him come in.- How now, Pistol? Enter Pistol. Pist. God save you, sir John! Fal. What wind blew you here, Pistol? Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good-Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm. Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a be; but goodman of Barson. Pist. Puff? Puff Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!- Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, And golden times, and happy news of price. Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man this world. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. A street. Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly, and Boli Tear- sheet. Host. No, thou arrant knave; I would I might die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. to me; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, 1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over lately killed about her. I warrant her: There hath been a man or two Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook," you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged ras- cal; an the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain. Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come! he would make this a bloody day to somebody. But of I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry! Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base! I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 1 Apples commonly called russetines. 2 Sweetheart. 3 Gay fellows. cushions again; you have but eleven now. Come, 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of I charge you both to go with me; for the man is dead, that you and Pistol beat among you. 5 It should be Domingo; it is part of a song in of Nashe's plays. 4 He who drank a bumper on his knees to the one health of his mistress, was dubbed a knight for the evening 6 A term of reproach for a catchpoll. 7 To stuff her out to counterfeit pregnancy. ww Robinson KING HENRY V. AND FALSTAFF. FALSTAFF.My King! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart!" KING.I know the not, oll man : fall to thy prayers." "Henry V." Part II., Act V., Scene IV. OF SCENE V. 437 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. Doll. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a cen- ser! I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue-bottle rogue! you filthy famished cor- rectioner! if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half- kirtles.2 1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. Host O, that right should thus overcome might! Well; of sufferance comes ease. Doll. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice. Host. Ay; come, you starved blood-hound. Doll. Goodman death! goodman bones! Host. Thou atomy, thou! Doll. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal! 1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. SCENE V-A public place near Westminster Abbey. Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from the coronation: Despatch, despatch. Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp4 of fame! Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy! King. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain man. Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you what 'tis you speak? Fal. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! King. I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy prayers; How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane; But, being awake, I do despise my dream. Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace; Leave gormandizing; know, the grave doth gape For thee thrice wider than for other men :- Reply not to me with a fool-born jest ; Presume not, that I am the thing I was: For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive, That I have turn'd away my former self; So will I those that kept me company. When thou dost hear I am as I have been, Approach me; and thou shalt be as thou wast, The tutor and the feeder of my riots: Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death,- As I have done the rest of my misleaders,- Not to come near our person by ten mile. For competence of life, I will allow you; That lack of means enforce you not to evil: And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, Fal. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me.-O, We will,-according to your strength, and quali- if I had had time to have made new liveries, i [Exeunt Grooms. Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, and the Page. Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; I will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon him, as 'a comes by; and do but mark the counte- nance that he will give me. Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. ties,- lord, would have bestowed the thousand pound I bor- Give you advancement.-Be it your charge, my rowed of you. [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor show doth better: this doth infer the zeal To see perform'd the tenor of our word.- I had to see him. Shal. It doth so. Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. Shal. It doth so. Fal. My devotion. Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have pa- tience to shift me. Shal. It is most certain. Set on. [Exeunt King, and his train. Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. Shal. Ay, marry, sir John; which I beseech you to let me have home with me. Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not you grieve at this; I shall be sent for in private to him: look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear not your advancement; I will be the man yet, that shall make you great. Shal. I cannot perceive how; unless you give Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat-me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I ing with desire to see him: thinking of nothing beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hun- else: putting all affairs else in oblivion; as if there dred of my thousand. were nothing else to be done, but to see him. Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est 'Tis all in every part. Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, And make thee rage. Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, Is in base durance, and contagious prison; Haul'd thither By most mechanical and dirty hand:- Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's snake, For Doll is in; Pistol speaks nought but truth. Fal. I will deliver her.. [Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds. Enter the King and his train, the Chief Justice among them. Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal! my royal Hal! 1 Beadles usually wore a blue livery. 2 Short cloaks. Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you heard, was but a colour. Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. Fal. Fear no colours; go with me to dinner. Come, lieutenant Pistol;-come, Bardolph :-1 shall be sent for soon at night. Re-enter P. John, the Chief Justice, Officers, &c. Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet: Take all his company along with him. Fal. My lord, my lord,- Ch. Just. I cannot now speak: I will hear you soon. Take them away. Pist. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. [Ere. Fal. Shal. Pist. Bard. Page, and officers. P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's. He hath intent, his wonted followers Shall all be very well provided for; But all are banish'd, till their conversations, 3 "Tis all in all, and all in every part. 4 Child, offspring. 5 Henceforward. 438 ACT V. SECOND PART OF KING IIENRY IV. Appear more wise and modest to the world. Ch. Just. And so they are. P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my lord. Ch. Just. He hath. the First and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps no author has ever, in two plays, afforded so much delight. The great events are interesting, for the fate of kingdoms depends upon them; the slighter occurrences are diverting, and, except one P. John. I will lay odds,-that, ere this year or two, sufficiently probable; the incidents are expire, We bear our civil swords, and native fire, As far as France: I heard a bird so sing, Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. Come, will you hence? EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY A DANCER. [Exeunt. multiplied with wonderful fertility of invention; and the characters diversified with the utmost nicety of discernment, and the profoundest skill in the nature of man. The prince, who is the hero both of the comic and tragic part, is a young man of great abilities, and violent passions, whose sentiments are right, though his actions are wrong; whose virtues are obscured by negligence, and whose understanding FIRST, my fear; then, my court'sy; last, my is dissipated by levity. In his idle hours he is speech. My fear is, your displeasure; my court'sy, rather loose than wicked; and when the occasion my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If forces out his latent qualities, he is great without you look for a good speech now, you undo me: for effort, and brave without tumult. The trifler is what I have to say, is of mine own making; and roused into a hero, and the hero again reposes in what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove the trifler. The character is great, original, and just. mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to Percy is a rugged soldier, choleric and quarrel- the venture.-Be it known to you, (as it is very some, and has only the soldier's virtues, generosity well,) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing and courage. play, to pray your patience for it, and to promise But Falstaff! unimitated, unimitable Falstaff! you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with how shall I describe thee? thou compound of sense this; which if, like an ill venture, it come unluck- and vice; of sense which may be admired, but not ily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, esteemed; of vice which may be despised, but lose. Here, I promised you, I would be, and here hardly detested. Falstaff is a character loaded I commit my body to your mercies: bate me some, with faults, and with those faults which naturally and I will pay you some, and, as most debtors do, produce contempt. He is a thief and a glutton, a promise you infinitely. coward and a boaster; always ready to cheat the If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, weak, and prey upon the poor; to terrify the timo- will you command me to use my legs? and yet rous, and insult the defenceless. At once obsequi- that were but light payment,-to dance out of your ous and malignant, he satirizes in their absence debt. But a good conscience will make any possi- those whom he lives by flattering. He is familiar ble satisfaction, and so will I. All the gentlewo-with the prince only as an agent of vice; but of men here have forgiven me; if the gentlemen will this familiarity he is so proud, as not only to be not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the gen- supercilious and haughty with common men, but tlewomen, which was never seen before in such an to think his interest of importance to the duke of assembly. Lancaster. Yet the man thus corrupt, thus despi- One word more, I beseech you. If you be not cable, makes himself necessary to the prince that too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author despises him, by the most pleasing of all qualities, will continue the story, with sir John in it, and perpetual gaiety; by an unfailing power of exciting make you merry with fair Katharine of France: laughter, which is the more freely indulged, as his where, for any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a wit is not of the splendid or ambitious kind, but sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard consists in easy scapes and sallies of levity, which opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is make sport, but raise no envy. It must be ob- not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs served, that he is stained with no enormous or san- are too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down before you;-but, indeed, to pray for the queen. the Fourth: guinary crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but that it may be borne for his mirth. JOHNSON. The moral to be drawn from this representation is, that no man is more dangerous than he that, with a will to corrupt, hath the power to please; and I fancy every reader, when he ends this play, that neither wit nor honesty ought to think them- cries out with Desdemona, 'O most lame and im- selves safe with such a companion, when they see potent conclusion! As this play was not, to our Henry seduced by Falstaff. knowledge, divided into acts by the author, I could be content to conclude it with the death of Henry called the First and Second Parts of Henry the Mr. Upton thinks these two plays improperly Fourth. The first play ends, he says, with the In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.' peaceful settlement of Henry in the kingdom by These scenes, which now make the fifth act of the defeat of the rebels. This is hardly true; for Henry the Fourth, might then be the first of Henry the rebels are not yet finally suppressed. The the Fifth; but the truth is, that they do not unite second, he tells us, shows Henry the Fifth in the very commodiously to either play. When these various lights of a good-natured rake, till, on his plays were represented, I believe they ended as they father's death, he assumes a more manly character. are now ended in the books; but Shakspeare seems This is true; but this representation gives us no to have designed that the whole series of action, idea of a dramatic action. These two plays will from the beginning of Richard the Second, to the appear to every reader, who shall peruse them end of Henry the Fifth, should be considered by without ambition of critical discoveries, to be so the reader as one work upon one plan, only broken connected, that the second is merely a sequel to into parts by the necessity of exhibition. the first; to be two, only because they are too None of Shakspeare's plays are more read than long to be one. JOHNSON. KING HENRY V. Kmy Henry the Fifth PERSONS REPRESENTED. Duke of Gloster, brothers to the king. Duke of Bedford, S Duke of Exeter, uncle to the king. Duke of York, cousin to the king. Charles the Sixth, king of Frence. Lewis, the dauphin. Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbou. The Constable of France. Rambures, and Grandpre, French lords. Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and Warwick. Governor of Harfleur. Montjoy, a French herald Archbishop of Canterbury. Bishop of Ely. Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scroop, Sir Thomas Grey, conspirators against the king. Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen, Mac- morris, Jamy, officers in king Henry's army. Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the same. Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly servants to Ful- staff, now soldiers in the same. Boy, servant to them. A Herald. Chorus. Enter Chorus. O, FOR a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and, at his heels, Leash'd in, like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, 2 Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth So great an object: Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France? or may we cram Within this wooden O, the very casques, That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little place, a million; And let us, cypners to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work: Suppose, within the girdle of these walls Are now ccnfin'd two mighty monarchies, Whose high-upreared and abutting fronts The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: Into a thousand parts divide one man, And raake imaginary puissance: Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i'the receiving earth: For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; Turning the accomplishments of many years Into an hour-glass; For the which supply, Admit me Chorus to this history; Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 1 An allusion t the circular form of the theatre. Ambassadors to the king of England. Isabel, queen of France. Katharine, daughter of Charles and Isabel. Alice, a lady attending on the princess Katharine. Quickly, Pistol's wife, a hostess, Lords, ladies, officers, French and English soldiers, The Scene at the beginning of the play, lies in messengers and attendants. England; but afterwards, wholly in France. ACT 1. SCENE I-London. An ante-chamber in the King's palace. Enter the Archbishop of Canter- bury, and Bishop of Ely. Canterbury. MY lord, I'll tell you,-that self bill is urg'd, Which, in the eleventh year o'the last king's reign Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, But that the scambling and unquiet time Did push it out of further question.4 Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now? Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against us, We lose the better half of our possession: For all the temporal lands, which men devout By testament have given to the church, Would they strip from us; being valued thus,- As much as would maintain, to the king's honour, Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights; Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied; And to the coffers of the king beside, A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bill. Ely. This would drink deep. Cant. "Twould drink the cup and all. Ely. But what prevention? Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard, Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not, The breath no sooner left his father's body, But that his wildness, mortified in him, Seem'd to die too: yea, at that very moment, Consideration like an angel came, And whipp'd the offending Adam out of hins; Leaving his body as a paradise, To envelop and contain celestial spirits. Never was such a sudden scholar made: 2 Helmets. 3 Powers of fancy. 4 Debate 440 ACT I. KING HENRY V. Never came reformation in a flood, With such a heady current, scouring faults; Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, As in this king. Ely. We are blessed in the change. Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire, the king were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say,-it hath been all-in-all his study: List' his discourse of war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; So that the art and practic part of life Must be the mistress to this theoric:2 Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it, Since his addiction was to courses vain : His companies³ unletter'd, rude, and shallow; His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the net- tle; And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality; And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, Unseen, yet crescive4 in his faculty. Cant. It must be so: for miracles are ceas'd; And therefore we must needs admit the means, How things are perfected. Ely. But, my good lord, How now for mitigation of this bill Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty Incline to it, or no? Cant. He seems indifferent; Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, Than cherishing the exhibiters against us: For I have made an offer to his majesty,- Upon our spiritual convocation; And in regard of causes now in hand, Which I have open'd to his grace at large, As touching France,-to give a greater sum Than ever at one time the clergy yet Did to his predecessors part withal. Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord? Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; Save, that there was not time enough to hear (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,) The severals, and unhidden passages, Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms; And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, Deriv'd from Edward, his great-grandfather. Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off? Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, Crav'd audience: and the hour, I think, is come, To give him hearing: Is it four o'clock? Ely. It is. Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy; Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. Ely. I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it. [Exeunt. 1 Listen to. 2 Theory. 3 Companions. SCENE II- The same. A room of state in the same. Enter King Henry, Gloster. Bedford, Exe- ter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and attendants. K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter bury? Exe. Not here in presence. K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin; we would be re solv'd, Before we hear him, of some things of weight, That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of Ely. Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne, And make you long become it! K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. My learned lord, we pray you to proceed; And justly and religiously unfold, Why the law Salique, that they have in France, Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading, Or nicely charge your understanding soul With opening titles miscreate, whose right Suits not in native colours with the truth; For God doth know, how many, now in health, Shall drop their blood in approbation Of what your reverence shall incite us to: Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, How you awake the sleeping sword of war; We charge you in the name of God, take heed: For never two such kingdoms did contend, Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops Are every one a wo, a sore complaint, 'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords That make such waste in brief mortality. Under this conjuration, speak, my lord: And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd As pure as sin with baptism. Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign,-and you peers, That owe your lives, your faith, and services, To this imperial throne ;-There is no bar To make against your highness' claim to France. But this, which they produce from Pharamond,- In terram Salicam mulieres nè succedant, No woman shall succeed in Salique land: Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze, To be the realm of France, and Pharamond The founder of this law and female bar. Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, That the land Salique lies in Germany, Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, There left behind and settled certain French; Who, holding in disdain the German women, For some dishonest manners of their life, Establish'd there this law, to wit, no female Should be inheritrix in Salique land; Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, Is at this day in Germany call'd-Meisen. Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law Was not devised for the realm of France: Nor did the French possess the Salique land Until four hundred one and twenty years After defunction of king Pharamond, 4 Increasing. 5 Spurious. 6 Explain. SCENE II. 441 KING HENRY V. Idly suppos'd the founder of this law; Who died within the year of our redemption Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the great Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French Beyond the river Sala, in the year Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, Did, as heir general, being descended Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, Make claim and title to the crown of France. Hugh Capet also,-that usurp'd the crown Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male Of the true line and stock of Charles the great,- To fine his title with some show of truth, (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) Convey'd himself as heir to the lady Lingare, Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth, Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, Could not keep quiet in his conscience, Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain: By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great Was re-united to the crown of France. So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear To hold in right and title of the female: So do the kings of France unto this day; Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, To bar your highness claiming from the female; And rather choose to hide them in a net, Than amply to imbares their crooked titles Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make this claim? Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign! For in the book of lumbers is it writ,- When the son dies, let the inheritance Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; Look back unto your mighty ancestors: Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb, From whom you clain; invoke his warlike spirit, And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince; Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France; Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling; to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility.4 O noble English, that could entertain With half their forces the full pride of France; And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work, and cold for action! Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead, And with your puissant arm renew their feats: You are their heir, you sit upon their throne; The blood and courage that renowned them. Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege, Is in the very May-morn of his youth, Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth, Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, As did the former lions of your blood. West. They know, your grace hath cause, and means, and might; 1 Make showy or specious. 2 Derived his title. 3 Lay open. 4 At the battle of Cressy. 5 The borders of England and Scotland. So hath your highness; never king of England Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects; Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right: In aid whereof, we of the spirituality Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, As never did the clergy at one time Bring in to any of your ancestors. K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French; But lay down our proportions to defend Against the Scot, who will make road upon us With all advantages. Cant. They of those marches, gracious sove- reign, Shall be a wall sufficient to defend Our inland from the pilfering borderers. K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers only, But fear the main intendments of the Scot, Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us; For you shall read, that my great grandfather Never went with his forces into France, But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, With ample and brim fulness of his force; Galling the gleaned land with hot essays; Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns, That England, being empty of defence, Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighbourhood. Cant. She hath been then more fear'd' than harm'd, my liege: For hear her but exampled by herself,- When all her chivalry hath been in France, And she a mourning widow of her nobles, She hath herself not only well defended, But taken, and impounded as a stray, The king of Scots; whom she did send to France, To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings; And make your chronicle as rich with praise, As is the ooze and bottom of the sea With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. West. But there's a saying, very old and true,- If that you will France win, Then with Scotland first begin: For once the eagle England being in prey, To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs; Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home: Yet that is but a curs'd necessity; Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, The advised head defends itself at home: For government, though high, and low, and divide Put into parts, doth keep in one concent; Congruing in a full and natural close, Like music. Cant. True: therefore doth heaven lower The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavour in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey-bees; Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king, and officers of sorts: 10 6 General disposition. 7 Frightened. 8 Harmony. 9 Agreeing. 10 Different degrees. 442 ACT II. KING HENRY V. Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage tuey with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor: Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, Delivering o'er to executors2 pale The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,- That many things having full reference To one concent, may work contrariously; As many arrows, loosed several ways, Fly to one mark; As many several ways meet in one town; As many fresh streams run in one self sea; As inany lines close in the dial's centre; So may a thousand actions, once afoot, End in one purpose, and be all well borne Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. Divide your happy England into four; Whereof take you one quarter into France, And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. If we, with thrice that power left at home, Cannot defend our own door from the dog, Let us be worried; and our nation lose The name of hardiness, and policy. K. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the dauphin. [Exit an attendant. The King ascends his throne. Now are we well resolv'd: and,-by God's help, And yours, the noble sinews of our power,- France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, Or break it all to pieces: Or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery,3 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms: Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall, with full mouth, Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worship'd with a waxen epitaph. Enter Ambassadors of France. Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin dauphin; for, we hear, Your greeting is from him, not from the king. Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us leave Freely to render what we have in charge; Or shall we sparingly show you far off The dauphin's meaning, and our embassy? K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness, Tell us the dauphin's mind. Amb. Thus then, in few. Your highness, lately sending into France, Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third. In answer of which claim, the prince our master Says, that you savour too much of your youth; And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, That can be with a nimble galliard won; 1 Sober, grave. 3 Dominion. 2 Executioners. 4 An ancient dance. 5 A place in the tennis-court into which the ball is sometimes struck You cannot revel into dukedoms there: He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this, Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, Hear no more of you. This the dauphin speaks. K. Hen. What treasure, uncle? Tennis-balls, my liege. Exe. K. Hen. We are glad, the dauphin is so pleas- ant with us; His present, and your pains, we thank you for: When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace. play a set, Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard;5 Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, That all the courts of France will be disturb'd With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valu'd this poor seat" of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common, That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the dauphin,-I will keep my state; Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, When I do rouse me in my throne of France. For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for working days; But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince,-this mock of his Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; And in whose name, Tell you the dauphin, I am coming on, To venge me as I may, and to put forth My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. So, get you hence in peace; and tell the dauphin, His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.- Convey them with safe conduct.-Fare you well. [Exeunt Ambassadors. Exe. This was a merry message. K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. [Descends from his throne, Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour, That may give furtherance to our expedition: For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected; and all things thought upon, More feathers to our wings; for, God before, That may, with reasonable swiftness, add We'll chide this dauphin at his father's door. Therefore, let every man now task his toougth, That this fair action may on foot be brought. ACT II. Enter Chorus. Exeunt. Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 6 A term at tennis. 7 The throne. 8 Withdrawing from the court. SCENE I. 443 KING HENRY V. And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man: They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; Following the mirror of all Christian kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries. For now sits Expectation in the air; And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. The French, advis'd by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear; and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England!-model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart,- What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,- One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second, Henry lord Scroop of Masham; and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland,- Have, for the gilt2 of France, (0 guilt, indeed!) Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; And by their hands this grace of kings must die (If hell and treason hold their promises,) Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on; and well digest The abuse of distance, while we force a play. The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; The king is set from London; and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton: There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: And thence to France shall we convey you safe, And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We'll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. SCENE I.-The same. Eastcheap. Enter Nym and Bardolph. Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends et? have edges. It must be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife -good corporal, be patient here.-How now, mine host Pistol? 4 Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me-host? Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term: Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. Quick. No, by my troth, not long: for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight, [Nym draws his sword.] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! O Lord! here's corporal Nym's-now we shall have wilful adultery and murder committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph,- good corporal, offer nothing here. Nym. Pish! Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland! Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a man, and put up thy sword. Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sword. Pist. Solus, egregious dog? O viper vile! The solus in thy most marvellous face; And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;' The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! I do retort the solus in thy bowels: For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, And flashing fire will follow. Nym. I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have a humour to knock you indifferently well: If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour your with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: If you would walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that's the humour of it. Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale." [Pistol and Nym draw. Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say:-he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [Draws. Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little: but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles;-but Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give; that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will Thy spirits are most tall. wink, and hold out mine iron: It is a simple one; Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, but what though? it will toast cheese; and it will in fair terms; that is the humour of it. endure cold as another man's sword will: and there's the humour of it. Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France; let it be so, good corporal Nym. Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the I rendezvous of it. Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and, certainly, she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her. O Pist. Coup le gorge, that's the word, ?-1 thee defy again, hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get? No; to the spital go, And from the powdering tub of infamy, Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,10 Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse: have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly For the only she; and Pauca, there's enough. Enter the Boy. Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my Nym. I cannot tell; things must be as they may: would to bed,-Good Bardolph, put thy nose be- master, and you, hostess:-he is very sick, and men may sleep, and they may have their throats tween his sheets, and do the office of a warming about them at that time; and, some say, knives pan: 'faith, he's very ill. 9 Hospital. 10 Of Cressida's nature, see the play of Troilus Name of a demon. and Cressida. 12. e. The king of France. 3 What I am resolved on. 2 Golden money. 4 Clown. 8 Bloodhound. 5 Par Dieu! 6 7 Breathe your last. 11 Formerly. 444 ACT II. KING HENRY V. Bard. Away, you rogue. My Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pud- ding one of these days: the king has killed his And heart.-Good husband, come home presently. [Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy. Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; Why, the devil, should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? Pist. Base is the slave that pays. Nym. That now I will have; that's the humour of it. Pist. As manhood shall compound; Push home. Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends. an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pry'thee, put up. Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting? Pist. A noble¹ shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ;- Is not this just ?-for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. Nym. I shall have my noble? Pist. In cash most justly paid. Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it. Re-enter Mrs. Quickly. Quick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to sir John: Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, that's the even of it. Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted, and corroborate. Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours, and careers. Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. lord of Cambridge,-and my kind lord of Masham,- you, my gentle knight,-give me your thoughts: Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, Will cut their passage through the force of France; Doing the execution, and the act, For which we have in head2 assembled them? Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. K. Hen. I doubt not that: since we are well persuaded, We carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair consent with ours; Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us. Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd, Than is your majesty; there's not, I think, a subject, That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness Under the sweet shade of your government. Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies, Have steep'd their galls in honey; and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand, Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, According to the weight and worthiness. Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil; And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your grace incessant services. K. Hen. We judge no less.-Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday, That rail'd against our person: we consider, It was excess of wine that set him on ; And, on his more advice, we pardon him. Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: Let him he punish'd, sovereign; lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. Grey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction. K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on distemper, Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, [Exeunt. When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested, SCENE II.-Southampton. A council-chamber. Appear before us ?-We'll yet enlarge that man, Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey,-in their Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these dear care, traitors. Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosom sat, Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely favours,- That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His 30vereign's life to death and treachery! Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge, Grey, Lords, and Attendants. K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. 1 A coin, value six shillings and eight-pence. 2 Force. 3 Compounded. 4 Recompense. And tender preservation of our person,- Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes; Who are the late commissioners? Cam. I one, my lord; Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. Scroop. So did you me, my liege. Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there is yours;- There yours, lord Scroop of Masham;-and, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:- My lord of Westmoreland,-and uncle Exeter, Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.- We will aboard to-night.-Why, how now, gentle men? What see you in those papers, that you lose 5 Better information. 7 Lately appointed. 6 Prayers. SCENE III. 445 KING HENRY V. So much complexion?-Look ye, how they change' For this revolt of thine, methings, is like Their cheeks are paper.-Why, what read you Another fall of man.-Their faults are open, there, That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? Cam. 1 do confess my fault; And do submit me to your highness' mercy. Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. K. Hen. The mercy that was quick¹ in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd: You must not dare, for shame, to talk cf mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, As dogs upon their masters, worrying them.- See you, my princes, and my noble peers, These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge nere,- You know, how apt our love was, to accord To furnish him with all appertinents Belonging to his honour; and this man. Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd, And sworn unto the practices of France, To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is,-hath likewise sworn.-BuO! What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold, Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use? May it be possible, that foreign hire Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, That might annoy my finger? Lis so strange, That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason, and murder, ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not whoop at them: But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder: And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, That wrought upon thee so preposterously, H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence: And other devils, that suggest by treasons, Do botch and bungle up damnation With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd From glistering semblances of piety; But he, that temper'd thee, bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same dæmon, that hath gull'd thee thus, Should with his lion gait' walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar4 back, And tell the legions-I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 0, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou: Seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou: Come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou: Seem they religious? Why, so didst thou: Or are they spare in diet; Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood; Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement;" Not working with the eye, without the ear, And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? Such, and so finely bolted, didst thou seem: And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued," With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; 1 Living. 3 Pace, step. 2 Rendered thee pliable. 4 Tartarus. Arrest them to the answer of the law;- And God acquit them of their practices! Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard earl of Cambridge. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry lord Scroop of Masham. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd; And I repent my fault, more than my death; Which I beseech your highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it. Cam. For me, the gold of France did not seduce; Although I did admit it as a motive, The sooner to effect what I intended: But God be thanked for prevention; Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason, Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, Prevented from a damned enterprise: My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspir'd against our royal person, Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom unto desolation. Touching our person, seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death: The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you Patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences!-Bear them hence. [Exeunt conspirators guarded. Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. We doubt not of a fair and lucky war; Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now, But every rub is smoothed on our way. Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God, Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance. No king of England, if not king of France. [Exe. SCENE III-London. Mrs. Quickly's house in Eastcheap. Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolph, and Boy. Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines. Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn."- Bardolph, be blithe ;-Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead; And we must yearn therefore. Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'et he is, either in heaven, or in hell! Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell; he's in Ar- thur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 5 Accomplishment. 6 Sifted. 7 Endowed 8 Attend. 9 Grieve. 29 446 Аст II KING HENRY V. 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had For England his approaches makes as fierce, been any christom' child; 'a parted even just be- As waters to the sucking of a gulf. tween twelve and one, e'en at turning o'the tide; It fits us then, to be as provident for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and As fear may teach us, out of late examples play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, Left by the fatal and neglected English I knew there was but one way; for his nose was Upon our fields. as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. Dau. My most redoubted father, How now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be of It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe: good cheer. So 'a cried out-God, God, God! For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, three or four times: now I, to comfort him, bid (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in him, 'a should not think of God; I hoped, there question,) was no need to trouble himself with any such But that defences, musters, preparations, thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected, his feet: I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, As were a war in expectation. and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth, his knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone. Nym. They say, he cried out for sack. Quick. Ay, that 'a did. Bard. And of women. Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. Boy. Yes, that 'a did; and said, they were devils incarnate. Quick. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked. Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have him about women. Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle wo- men: but then he was rheumatic;2 and talked of the whore of Babylon. To view the sick and feeble parts of France: And let us do it with no show of fear; No, with no more, than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance: For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not. Con. O peace, prince dauphin You are too much mistaken in this king: Question your grace the late ambassadors,- With what great state he heard their embassy. How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and, withal, How terrible in constant resolution,- Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent upon Bardolph's nose; and 'a said, it was a black Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, soul burning in hell-fire? Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service. Nym. Shall we shog off? the king will be gone from Southampton Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring, and be most delicate. Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable, But though we think it so, it is no matter: Pist. Come, let's away.-My love, give me thy In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh lips. Look to my chattels, and my moveables: Let senses rule; the word is, Pitch and Pay; Trust none; For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes, And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals.3-Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys; To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu. Pist. Let housewifery appear; keep close, 1 thee command. Quick. Farewell; adieu. The enemy more mighty than he seems, So the proportions of defence are fill'd; Which, of a weak and niggardly projection, Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting A little cloth. Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong; And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet hin The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain," That haunted us in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame, When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire,-on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun,- [Exeunt. Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him SCENE IV-France. A room in the French' The patterns that by God and by French fathers, Mangle the work of nature, and deface King's palace. Enter the French King attended; Had twenty years been made. This is a stem the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Consta- Of that victorious stock; and let us far ble, and others. The native mightiness and fate of him. Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns, To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth,- And you, prince dauphin,-with all swift despatch, To line, and new repair, our towns of war, With men of courage, and with means defendant: 1 A child not more than a month old. 2 Mrs. Quickly means lunatic. 3 Dry the eyes. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Ambassadors from Henry king of England, Do crave admittance to your majesty. Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them. [Exe. Mess. and certain Lords You see this chace is hotly follow'd, friends. 4 Render it callous, insensible. 5 In making objections. 6 Wasted, exhausted. 7 Lineage. SCENE I. 447 KING HENRY V. Dau. Turn head, and stop pureuit: for coward] dogs Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe! Must spend their mouths, when what they seem to And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference threaten, Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short; and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head: Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting. Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and train. Fr. King. From our brother England? Exe. From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven, By law of nature, and of nations, 'long To him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordinance of times, Unto the crown of France. That you may know, 'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd, He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper. In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing you, overlook this pedigree: And, when you find him evenly deriv'd From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, Edward the third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger. Fr. King. Or else what follows? Exe. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove; (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws: and on your head Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message; Unless the dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England. Dau. For the dauphin, I stand here for him; What to him from England? Exe. Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, con- tempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king: and, if your father's highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He'll call you to so hot an answer for it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance. Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply, It is against my will: for I desire Nothing but odds with England; to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with those Paris balls. 1 Recound, echo. 3 Sterns of the ships. 2 Bank or shore. (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) Between the promise of his greener days, And these he masters now; now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain; which you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. Fr. King. You shall be soon dispatch'd, with fair conditions: A night is but small breath, and little pause, To answer matters of this consequence. ACT III. Enter Chorus. [Exeunt. Cho. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. Play with your fancies; and in them behold, Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: 0, do but think, You stand upon the rivage2 and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Either past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance: For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Behold the ordnance on their carriages, Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege: With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry-that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock4 now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum: and chambers go off. And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. SCENE I.-The same. Before Harfleur. Ala- rums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloster, and soldiers, with scaling-ladders. K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! 4 The staff which holds the match used in firing cannon. 5 Small pieces of ordnance. 448 ACT HI. KING HENRY V. In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage: Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head, Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm As fearfully, as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty' his confounded2 base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height!-On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is feta from fathers of war-proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.4 Dishonour not your mothers; now attest, That those, whom you call'd fathers, did you! Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war!-And you, yeomen, 1 Nym. These be good humours! -your honour wins bad humours. [Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph, fol lowed by Fluellen. Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such antics do it, not amount to a man. For Bardolph,-he is white- livered, and red-faced; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol,-he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,-he hath heard, that men of few words are the best' men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it,- beget purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not; twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching; good and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchiefs: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine; for it is plain. pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy. For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge, Cry-God for Harry! England! and Saint George! [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak with you. SCENE II-The same. Forces pass over; then enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol and Boy. Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the so good to come to the mines: For, look you, the breach! mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, is countermines: by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow 10 look you,) is dight himself four yards under the up all, if there is not better directions. Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound; Knocks go and come: God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy. 'Would I were in an ale-house in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. Pist. And I: If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie. Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish- man; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? Gow. I think, it be. will verify as much in his peard: he has no more Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld: I directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing captain Jamy, with him. on bough. Enter Fluellen. Flu. Got's plood!-Up to the preaches, you rascals! will you not up to the preaches? Driving them forward Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet chuck! 1 A mole to withstand the encroachment of the tide. 2 Worn, wasted. 3 Fetched. Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- tleman, that is certain; and of great expedition, ticular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my par will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. Gow. How now, captain Macmorris? have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er? 4 Matter, subject. 6 Earth. 7 Bravest. 9 Digged. 10 Blow. 5 Commander. 8 Pocket affron's SCENE III, IV. 449 KING HENRY V. Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work isn And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,- give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my In liberty of bloody hand, shall range hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work With conscience wide as hell; mowing like grass Ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed Your fresh-air virgins, and your flowering infants. up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. What is it then to me, if impious war,- O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,- done! Do, with his smirch'd2 complexion, all fell feats Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will Enlink'd to waste and desolation? you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, you? as partly touching or concerning the disci-If your pure maidens fall into the hand plines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of Of hot and forcing violation? argument, look you, and friendly communication; What rein can hold licentious wickedness, partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the When down the hill he holds his fierce career? satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the We may as bootless spend our vain command direction of the military discipline; that is the point. Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, Jamy. It sall be very gud, gud. feith, gud cap- As send precepts to the Leviathan tains both: and I sall quit you with gud leave, as To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleus, I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. Take pity of your town, and of your people, Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command'; me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to dis- O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. calls us to the breach; and we talk, and, by Chrish, If not, why, in a moment, look to see do nothing; 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd ligge i'the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sall I surely At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. do, that is the breff and the long: Mary, I wad full What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? fain heard some question 'tween you tway. Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end: under your correction, there is not many of your The dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, nation- Returns us-that his powers are not yet ready Mac. Of my nation? What ish my nation? ish To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy: What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? Enter our gates; dispose of us, and ours; Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise For we no longer are defensible. than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I K. Hen. Open your gates.-Come, uncle Exeter, shall think you do not use me with that affability as Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, in discretion you ought to use me, look you; being And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,- of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in The winter coming on, and sickness growing other particularities. Upon our soldiers,-we'll retire to Calais. Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my-To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest, self: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. To-morrow for the march are we addrest. Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [A parley sounded. Gow. The town sounds a parley. [Flourish. The King, &c. enter the town. SCENE IV.-Rouen. A room in the palace. Enter Katharine and Alice. Kath. Alice, tu as esté en Angleterre, et tu parles Alice. Un peu, madame. Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will bien le language. De so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Before the gates of Harfleur. The Governor and some citizens on the walls: the English forces below. Enter King Henry and his train." K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit: Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves; Or, like to men proud of destruction, Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; 1 Requite, answer. 2 Soiled. $ Cruel. Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'ap- en Anglois? prenne à parler. Comment appellez vous la main, Alice. Le main? elle est appellée, de hand. Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? Alice. Les doigts? ma foy, je oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendray. Les doigts? je pense, qu'ils sont appellé de fingres; ouy, de fingres. Kath. Le main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense, que je suis le bon escolier. Pay gagné deux mots d'Anglois vistement. Comment appelles vous les ongles? Aice. Les ongies? les appellons, de nails. Kath. De nails. Escoutez; dites moy, parle bien; de hand, de fingres, de nails. Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort Anglois. 4 Without success. 5 Prepared. 450 ACT 1. KING HENRY V. Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le bras. Alice. De arm, madame. Kath. Et le coude. Alice. De elbow. Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. Alice. Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. Kath. Excusez moy, Alice; escoutez: De hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. Alice. De elbow, madame. Kath. O Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; De elbow. Comment appellez vous le col? Alice De neck, madame. Kath. De neck: Et le menton? Alice. De chin. Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck: le menton, de sin. Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur; en verite vous prononces les mots aussi droict que les natifs d'Angleterre. Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people Poor-we may call them, in their native lords. Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; Our madams mock at us; and plainly say, Dau. By faith and honour, Our mettle is bred out; and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth, To new-store France with bastard warriors. Bour. They bid us-to the English dancing, schools, And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos; Saying, our grace is only in our heels, And that we are most lofty runaways. Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him hence: Kath. Je ne doute point d'appendre par la Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.- grace de Dieu; et en peu de temps. Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ay enseignee? Kath. Non, je reciteray a vous promptement. De hand, de fingre, de nails. Alice. De nails, madame.. Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. Kath. Ainsi dis je; de elbow, de neck, et de sin: Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe? Alice. De foot, madame; et de con. More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques, Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, For your great seats, now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land Kath. De foot et de con? O Siegneur Dieu! ces With penons painted in the blood of Harfleur: sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et im-Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow pudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: Upon the valleys; whose low vassal seat Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les seign-The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: eurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il faut de foot, Go down upon him,-you have power enough,- et de con, neant-moins. Je reciterai une autre fois And in a captive chariot, into Rouen ma lecon ensemble: De hand, de fingre, de nails, de Bring him our prisoner. arm, de elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de con. Con. Alice. Excellent, madame! Kath. C'est a disner. This becomes the great. Sorry am I, his numbers are so few, ssez pour une fois; allons nous His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march; [Exeunt. For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear, SCENE V-The same. Another room in the And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others. Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Fr. King. "Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Some. Con. An if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dau. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury,1 Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters ? Montjoy: And let him say to England, that we send To know what willing ransom he will give.- Prince dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.- And quickly bring us word of England's fall. Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all; [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The English camp in Picardy. Enter Gower and Fluellen. Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman Gow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you bastards! Mort de ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm In that nook-shotten' isle of Albion. from the bridge? Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent ser- vice committed at the pridge. Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe? Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Con. Dieu de battailles! where have they this Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull? On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns! Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein'd' jades, their barley broth, 1 Lust. 2 Projected. 3 Over-strained. with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers: he the 'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with is not (Got be praised, and plessed!) any hurt ir. excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at 4 Dances. 5 Pendants, small flags. SCENE VI. 451 KING HENRY V. the pridge,-I think, in my very conscience, he is bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in estimation in the 'orld: but I did see him do gal-the phrase of war, which they trick up with new- lant service. Gow. What do you call him? Flu. He is called-ancient Pistol. Gow. I know him not. Enter Pistol. Flu. Do you not know him? Here comes the man. Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. Flu. Ay, I praise Got; and I have merited some love at his hands. tuned oaths: And what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on! But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous mistook. Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower;-I do per- ceive he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the 'orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat, will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the king is coming; and I must speak with him I Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of from the pridge. heart, Of buxom valour, hath,-by cruel fate, And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind, That stands upon the rolling restless stone,- Enter King Henry, Gloster, and soldiers. Flu. Got pless your majesty! K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? camest thou from the bridge? Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of is painted plind, with a muffler2 before her eyes, to Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge; signify to you that fortune is plind: And she is the French is gone off, look you; and there is gal- painted also with a wheel; to signify to you, lant and most prave passages: Marry, th'athversary which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and was have possession of the pridge; but he is en- inconstant, and variations, and mutabilities: and forced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is which rolls, and rolls, and rolls;-In good truth, a prave man. the poet is make a most excellent description of fortune: fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stolen a pix, and hanged must a' be, A damned death! Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: But Exeter hath given the doom of death, For pix of little price. Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice; And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach: Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. Pist. Why then rejoice therefore. Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re- joice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used. Pist. Die and be damned; and figo4 for thy friendship! Flu. It is well. Pist. The fig of Spain ! Flu. Very good. [Exit Pistol. K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? Flu. The perdition of th'athversary hath been very great, very reasonably great; marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man; his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and some- times red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out. K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut off:-and we give express charge, that in our marches through the country there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for: none of the French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language; For when lenity and cru- elty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. Mont. You know me by my habit. K. Hen. Well, then, I know thee; what shall I know of thee? Mont. My master's mind. K. Hen. Unfold it. Mont. Thus says my king:-Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; sleep: Advantage is a better soldier, than rash- I remember him now; a bawd, a cut-purse. ness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Flu. I'll assure you, a' utter'd as prave 'ords at Harfleur; but that we thought not good to bruise the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day: an injury, till it were full ripe:-now we speak But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that upon our cue," and our voice is imperial: England- 13 well, I warrant you, when time is serve. shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now admire our sufferance. Bid him, therefore, con- and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his sider of his ransom; which must proportion the return to London, under the form of a soldier. And losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, such fellows are perfect in great commanders' the disgrace we have digested; which in weight names: and they will learn you by rote, where ser- to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For vices were done;-at such and such a sconce, at our losses, his exchequer is too poor; for the effu- such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off sion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own per- 1 Valour under good command. 5 2 A fold of linen which partially covered the face. 3 A small box in which were kept the conse- crated wafers. 4 An allusion to the custom in Spain and Italy, of giving poisoned figs. 5 An entrenchment hastily thrown up. 6 i. e. By his herald's coat. 7 In our turn. 452 ACT III. KING HENRY V. son, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worth- dull elements of earth and water never appear in less satisfaction. To this add-defiance: and tell him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, mounts him: he is, indeed, a horse; and all other whose condemnation is pronounced. So far my jades you may call-beasts. king and master; so much my office. K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy quality. Mont. Montjoy. K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king,-I do not seek him now; But could be willing to march on to Calais, Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth, (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) My people are with sickness much enfeebled; My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have, Almost no better than so many French; Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 1 thought, upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen.-Yet, forgive me, God, That I do brag thus !-this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am; My ransom, is this frail and worthless trunk; My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; Yet, God before,2 tell him we will come on, Though France himself, and such another neigh- bour, Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. Go, bid thy master well advise himself: If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this: We would not seek a battle, as we are; Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it; So tell your master. ness. Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- [Exit Montjoy. Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge; it now draws toward night :- Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves; And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exe. SCENE VII.-The French camp, near Agin- court. Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and others. Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. "Would, it were day! Orl. You have an excellent armour; but let my norse have his due. Con. It is the best horse of Europe. Orl. Will it never be morning? Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you talk of horse and armour,- Orl. You are as weil provided of both, as any prince in the world. Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse. Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. Orl. No more, cousin. Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into elo- quent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of nature,- I Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. Dau. Then did they imitate that which I com- posed to my courser; for my horse is my mistress. Orl. Your mistress bears well. Dau. Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress. Con. Ma foy! the other day, methought, your mistress shrewdly shook your back. Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. Con. Mine was not bridled. Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kerne4 of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait trossers." Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. Dau. Be warned by me then: they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress. Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her own hair. Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress. Dau. Le chien est retourné à son propre vomisse- ment, et la truie lavée au bourbier: thou makest use of any thing. Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it? Con. Stars, my lord. Dan. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. Con. And yet my sky shall not want. Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superflu- ously; and 'twere more honour, some were away. Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted. Dau. What a long night is this!--I will not Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his change my horse with any that treads but on four desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-mor- pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as row a mile, and my way shall be paved with Eng- if his entrails were hairs;3 le cheval volant, the lish faces. Pegasus, qui a les narines de feu! When I bestride Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the faced out of my way: But I would it were morn- earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of ing, for I would fain be about the ears of the his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. English. Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the 1 Hinderance. 2 Then used for God being my guide. Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners? 3 Alluding to the bounding of tennis balls which were stuffed with hair. 4 Soldier. 5 Trowsers. SCENE I. 453 KING HENRY V. Con. You must first go ourself to hazard, ere you have them. Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [Exit. Orl. The dauphin longs for morning. Ram. He longs to eat the English. Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gal- lant prince. Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath. Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of France. Con. Doing is activity: and he will still be doing. Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep that good name still. Orl. I know him to be valiant. only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm: Come, shall we about it? Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,--by ten, We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exe. ACT IV. Enter Chorus. Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive Con. I was told that, by one that knows him The secret whispers of each other's watch: better than you. Orl. What's he? Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he cared not who knew it. Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and, when it appears, it will bate.' Orl. Ill will never said well. Con. I will cap that proverb with-There is flattery in friendship. Orl. And I will take up that with-Give the devil his due. Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd4 face: Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents, The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, The confident and over-lusty' French Do the low-rated English play at dice; And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, So tediously away. The poor condemned English, with-A pox of the devil. Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how Sit patiently, and inly ruminate much--A fool's bolt is soon shot. Con. You have shot over. Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. Enter a Messenger. The morning's danger; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. Con. Who hath measured the ground? Mess. The lord Grandpré. Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.- Would it were day!-Alas, peor Harry of England! -he longs not for the dawning, as we do. Orl. What a wretched and peevish2 fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge! Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. Let him cry-Praise and glory on his head! For forth he goes, and visits all his host; Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile; And calls them-brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note, How dread an army hath enrounded him; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night: But freshly looks, and overbears attaint, With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: intellectual armour, they could never wear such A largess universal, like the sun, heavy head-pieces. His liberal eye doth give to every one, Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all, creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Behold, as may unworthiness define, Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the A little touch of Harry in the night: mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads And so our scene must to the battle fly; crushed like rotten apples: You may as well say,- Where (O for pity!) we shall much disgrace- that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on With four or five most vile and ragged foils, the lip of a lion. Right ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous,- Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see; the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, Mindings true things, by what their mockeries be. leaving their wits with their wives: and then give them great meals of beef, and iron, and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Con. Then we shall find to-morrow-they have [Exit. SCENE I.-The English camp at Agincourt. Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster. K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great danger; 2 Foolish. 3 Gently, lowly. 1 An equivoque in terms in falconry: he means, 4 Discoloured by the gleam of the fires. his valour is hid from every body but his lackey, and when it appears it will fall off. 5 Over-saucy. 6 Calling to remembrance, 454 ACT IV. KING HENRY V. The greater therefore should our courage be.- Good-morrow, brother Bedford.-God Almighty There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out; For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful, and good husbandry: Besides, they are our outward consciences, And preachers to us all; admonishing, That we should dress us fairly for our end. Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself. Enter Erpingham. K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. Gow. Captain Fluellen! Flu. So! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the univer- sal 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise, Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him Good-morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham: A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France. Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me all night. better, Since I may say-now lie I like a king. Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a pains, Upon example; so the spirit is eased: And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave, and newly inove With casted slough¹ and fresh legerity.2 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.-Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp; Do my good-morrow to them; and, anon, Desire them all to my pavilion. Glo. We shall, my liege. [Exe. Glo. and Bed. Erp. Shall I attend your grace? K. Hen. No, my good knight; Go with my brothers to my lords of England: I and my bosom must debate a while, And then I would no other company. Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! [Exit Erpingham. K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully. Pist. Qui va là? Enter Pistol. K. Hen. A friend. Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer; Or art thou base, common, and popular? K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike? K. Hen. Even so: What are you? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are better than the king. Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp³ of fame; Of parents good, of fist most valiant: I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings I love the lovely bully. What's thy name? K. Hen. Harry le Roy. Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou Cornish crew? K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen? K. Hen. Yes. prating coxcomb; in your own conscience now? Gow. I will speak lower. Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter Bates, Court and Williams. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- ing which breaks yonder? Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.- Who goes there? K. Hen. A friend. Will. Under what captain serve you? K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide. Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions: his cere- monies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. of Bates. He may show what outward courage he will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here. Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, Upon Saint Davy's day. K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. Pist. Art thou his friend? K. Hen. And his kinsman too. Pist. The figo for thee then! K. Hen. I thank you: God be with you! Pist. My name is Pistol called. K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any where but where he is. Bates. Then 'would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved. K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone; howsoever you speak this, to [Exit. feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die 1 Slough is the skin which serpents annually throw off. 2 Lightness, nimbleness. 3 Son. 4 Agrees. 5 Qualities SCENE I, 455 KING HENRY V. any where so contented, as in the king's company;| his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Will. That's more than we know. Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us. Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all-We died at such a place; some, swearing; some, crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor behind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some, upon their children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die well, that die in battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed. fully: but, when our throats are cut, he may be Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheer- ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then? That's a pe rilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and pri vate displeasure can do against a monarch! you may in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying! K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round;5 should be angry with you, if the time were con- Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. K. Hen. I embrace it. I venient. Will. How shall I know thee again? K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Will. Here's my glove; give me another of thine. K. Hen. There. Will. This will I also wear in my cap: ifever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, by this hand I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge . Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command, transport- ing a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation :-But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his sol- diers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. they purpose their services. Besides, there is no Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all how to reckon. K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company. unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty them the guilt of premeditated and contrived mur- French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they der; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken bear them on their shoulders: But it is no English seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bul- treason, to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of the king himself will be a clipper. [Exe. Soldiers. peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, have defeated the law, and out-run native punish- Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and ment, though they can outstrip men, they have no Our sins, lay on the king;-we must bear all. wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is O hard condition! twin-born with greatness, his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for Subjécted to the breath of every fool, before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! quarrel where they feared the death, they have What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, borne life away; and where they would be safe, That private men enjoy? they perish: Then if they die unprovided, no more And what have kings, that privates have not too, is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was Save ceremony, save general ceremony? before guilty of those impieties for the which they And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? should every soldier in the wars do as every sick What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? man in his bed, wash every mote out of his con- O ceremony, show me but thy worth! science: and dying so, death is to him advantage; What is the soul of adoration? or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, such preparation was gained: and, in him that Creating awe and fear in other men? escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see Than they in fearing. his greatness, and to teach others how they should What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, prepare. Will. "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness. And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; Will it give place to flexure and low bending? and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 1 The last day, the day of judgment. 2 Suddenly. 3 i. e. Punishment in their native country. 4 To pay here signifies to bring to account, to purish. Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, 5 Too rough. 6 What is the real worth and intrinsic value of adoration?" 456 ACT IV. KING HENRY V. That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king, that find thee; and I know, "Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced' title running 'fore the king, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; Never sees horrid night, the child of hell; But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Doth rise, and help Hyperion2 to his horse; And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. Enter Erpingham. Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- sence, Seek through your camp to find you. K. Hen. Dau. Vias-les eaux et la terre- Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu- Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my lord constable! Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides; That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage: Ha! Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we then behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger. Mess. The English are embattled, you french peers. Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, Good old knight, That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,- Who, in unnecessary action, swarm About our squares of battle,-were enough [Exit. To purge this field of such a hildings foe; Though we, upon this mountain's basis by, Took stand for idle speculation: Collect them all together at my tent: I'll be before thee. Erp. I shall do't, my lord. K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, O Lord, O not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Towards heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do: Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter Gloster. But that our honours must not. What's to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount: For our approach shall so much dare the field, That England shall crouch down in fear, and yield. Enter Grandpré. Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favour'dly become the morning field: Their ragged curtains" poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. Their horsemen set like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips: The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes; And in their pale dull mouths the gimmals bit Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. SCENE II.-The French camp. Enter Dauphin, Description cannot suit itself in words, Glo. My liege! K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ?-Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee:- The day, my friends, and all things, stay for me. [Exeunt. Orleans, Rambures, and others. Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords. Dau. Montez à cheval:-My horse! valet! lac- quay! ha! Orl. O brave spirit! 1 Farced is stuffed. The tumid puffy titles with which a king's name is introduced. 2 The sun. 3 An old encouraging exclamation. 4 Do them cut. extinguish them. To démonstrate the life of such a battle In life so lifeless as it shows itself. Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, 5 Mean, despicable. 6 The name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet. 7 Colours. 8 Ring. SCENE III. 457 KING HENRY V. And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them? Con. I stay but for my guard; On, to the field: I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-- Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, [Exe. From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered: Enter the We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; Salis- For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition: 2 And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day. Enter Salisbury. SCENE III.-The English camp. English host; Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, bury, and Westmoreland. Glo. Where is the king? Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. West. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand. Exe. There's five to one: besides, they all are fresh. Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all! I'll to my charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford,- My dear lord Gloster,-and my good lord Exeter,-And And my kind kinsman,-warriors all, adieu! Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee! Exe. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day: And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. [Exit Salisbury. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness: Princely in both. West. O that we now had here Enter King Henry. But one ten thousand of those men in England, That do no work to-day! K. Hen. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland?-No, my fair cousin : If we are mark'd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not, if men my garments wear; Sucn outward things dwell not in my desires: But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour, As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more: Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company, That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd-the feast of Crispian: He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He, that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, And say-to-morrow is Saint Crispian: Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars, And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day. Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day: Then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as household words,- 1 Grieves. 2 i. e. This day shall advance him to the rank of a gentleman. The French are bravely³ in their battles set, will with all expedience charge on us. K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now! K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin? West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more' help, might fight this battle out! K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men ; Which likes me better, than to wish us one.- You know your places: God be with you all! Tucket. Enter Montjoy. Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow: For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted.-Besides, in mercy, The constable desires thee thou wilt minds Thy followers of repentance; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor bodies Must lie and fester. K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? Mont. The constable of France. K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back: Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? The man, that once did sell the lion's skin While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, Find native graves; upon the which, I trust, Shall witness live in brass of this day's work: And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. Mark then a bounding valour in our English; That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, Killing in relapse of mortality. Break out into a second course of mischief, Let me speak proudly;-Tell the constable, 3 Gallartly. 4 Expedition. 5 Remind. 6 i. e. In brazen plates anciently let into tomb stones. 458 ACT IV. KING HENRY V. We are but warriors for the working-day: 1 Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd' With rainy marching in the painful field; There's not a piece of feather in our host, (Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) And time hath worn us into slovenry: But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim: And my poor soldiers tell me-yet ere night They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, And turn them out of service. If they do this, (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald; They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, Shall yield them little, tell the constable. faites vous prest; car ce soldat icy est disposé tou à cette heure de couper vostre gorge. Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant, Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents escus. Pist. What are his words? Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is gen- tleman of a good house; and, for his ransom, he will give you two hundred crowns. Pist. Tell him,-my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take. Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement. de Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well: pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. les escus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for vous donner la liberté, le franchisement. ransom. Enter the Duke of York. York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.4 K. Hen. Take it, brave York.-Now, soldiers, march away:- - Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingué seigneur d'Angleterre. Pist. Expound unto me, boy. Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath [Exeunt. fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of Alarums: England. SCENE IV.-The field of battle. Excursions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol, and Boy. Pist. Yield, cur. Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité. Pist. Quality, call you me ?-Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu! Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman:- Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.- Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol. I Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. [Exit French Soldier. did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true,-The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i'the old play, that every one may pare his nails Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark;-with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox," Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransom. Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy! Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat, In drops of crimson blood. Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras? Pist. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious" mountain goat, Offer'st me brass? Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy! Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?- Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, What is his name. Boy. Escoutez; Comment estes-vous appellé ? Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. Boy. He says, his name is-master Fer. Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him :-discuss the same in French unto him. Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and fer- ret, and firk. Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ? Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous 1 We are soldiers but coarsely dressed. 2 Golden show, superficial gilding. 3 Soiled. 4 Vanguard. 5 An old cant word for a sword, so called from a famous sword-cutler of the name of Fox. and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the baggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it, but boys. [Exit. SCENE V.-Another part of the field of battle. Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, Constable, Rambures, ana others. Con. O diable! Orl. O seigneur !-le jour est perdu, tout est perdu! Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes.-O meschante for- tune!- Do not run away. A short alarum. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. Dau. O perdurable 10 shame!-let's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let us die instant: Once more back again; And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door, Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,¹¹ 6 The diaphragm. 8 Pieces of money. 10 Lasting. 11 7 Lascivious. 9 Chastise. 11 i. e. Who has no more gentility. SCENE VI, VIL 459 KING HENRY V. His fairest daughter is contaminate. Gower: What call you the town's name where Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Alexander the pig was born? Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives Unto these English, or else die with fame. Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field, To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be short; else, shame will be too long. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Another part of the field.-Ala- rums. Enter King Henry and forces; Exeter, Gow. Alexander the great. Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckoning, save the phrase is a little variations. Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in Macedon; his father was called-Philip of Mace- don, as I take it. Flu. I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain,-If you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover and others. countrymen : But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. Exe. The duke of York commends him to your majesty. K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice, within this hour, I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting; From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. Exe. In which array (brave soldier) doth he lie, Larding the plain: and by his bloody side (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes, That bloodily did yawn upon his face; And cries aloud,-Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast; As, in this glorious and well-foughten field, We kept together in our chivalry! Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up: He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says,-Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd' A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd; But I had not so much of man in me, But all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears. a river at Monmouth; it is called Wye, at Mon- mouth: but it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, (God knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his aies and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. Gow. Our king is not like him in that: he never killed any of his friends. Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and finished. I speak but in the figures and compari- sons of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Mon- mouth, in right wits and his goot judgments, is turn away the fat knight with the great pelly doub- let: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I am forget his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff. Flu. That is he: I can tell you, there is goot men porn at Monmouth. Gow. Here comes his majesty. Alarum. Enter King Henry, with a part of the English forces; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter, and others. K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant.-Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill; If they will fight with us, bid them come down If they'll do neither, we will come to them, Or void the field; they do offend our sight: And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have; [Exeunt. And not a man of them, that we shall take, Ala-Shall taste our mercy:-Go, and tell them so. Enter Montjoy. K. Hen. I blame you not; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.-Alarum. But hark! what new alarum is this same?- The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:- Then every soldier kill his prisoners; Give the word through. SCENE VII.-Another part of the field. rums. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis express- ly against the law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered, in the 'orld: In your conscience now, is it not? Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. K. Hen. How now, what means this, herald?} know'st thou not, Gow. "Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle. That I have fa'd these bones of mine for ransom? have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned Com'st thou again for ransom? and carried away all that was in the king's tent; Mont. No, great king: wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused I come to thee for charitable license, every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a That we may wander o'er this bloody field, gallant king! Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain 1 Reached. 2 Scour. To book our dead, and then to bury them: To sort our nobles from our common men; For many of our princes (wo the while!) Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; 460 ACT IV. KING HENRY V. (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king, To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies. K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not, if the day be ours, or no; For yet a many of your horsemen peer, And gallop o'er the field. Mont. The day is yours. K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!- What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by? Mont. They call it-Agincourt. K. Hen. Then call we this-the field of court, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. tation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack sauce, as ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and lis earth, in my conscience, la. K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the fellow. Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. K. Hen. Who servest thou under? Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. Flu. Gower is a goot captain; and is goot know- ledge and literature in the wars. K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alençon and myself were down together, I plucked this glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a Agin-friend to Alençon and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thon dost love me. Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your ma- jesties is remembered of it, the Welshman did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the service; and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour: For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too! K. Hen. Thanks, geed my countryman. Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's country- man, I care not who know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be Got so long as your majesty is an honest man. K. Hen. God keep me so!-Our heralds go with him; Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts.-Call yonder fellow hither. [Points to Williams. Exe. Mont. and others. Ece. Soldier, you must come to the king. K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap? Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. K. Hen. An Englishman? Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that swagger'd with me last night: who, if 'a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove in his cap (which he swore, as he was a sol- dier, he would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out scundly. K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it fit this soldier keep his oath? Flu. He is a craven' and a villain else, an't please your majesty, in my conscience. K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is ne- cessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: If he be perjured, see you now, his repu- 1 Coward. 2 High rank. Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all; but would fain see it once; an please Got of his grace, that I might see it. I to K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him my tent. Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick,-and my brother Gloster, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: The glove, which I have given him for a favour, May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear; It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: If that the soldier strike him (as, I judge By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) Some sudden mischief may arise of it; For I do know Fluellen vaiiant, And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly will return an injury: Follow, and see there be no harm between them.- Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII.-Before King Henry's Pavilion. Enter Gower and Williams. Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. Enter Fluellen. Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I pe seech you now, come apace to the king: there is more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge to dream of. Will. Sir, know you this glove? Flu. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove. Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it. Strikes him. Flu. 'Sbuld, an arrant traitor, as any's in the universal 'orld, or in France, or in England. Gow. How now, sir? you villain! Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. Will. I am no traitor. Flu. That's a lie in thy throat.-1 charge you in his majesty's name, apprehend him; he's a friend of the duke Alencon's. Enter Warwick and Gloster. War. How now, how now! what's the matter? 3 For saucy Jack. SCENE VIII. 461 KING HENRY V. Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got One huudred twenty-six: added to these, for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Here is his majesty. Enter King Henry and Exeter. K. Hen. How now! what's the matter? Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon. Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; The rest are-princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead,- Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France; fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures, promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard strike him, if he did: I met this man with my glove Dauphin; in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. John, duke of Alençon; Antony, duke of Brabant, Flu. Your majesty hear now (saving your ma- The brother to the duke of Burgundy; jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beg- And Edward, duke of Bar: of lusty earls, garly, lousy knave it is: I hope, your majesty is Grandpré, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, pear me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, Beaumont, and Marle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. that this is the glove of Alençon, that your majes- Here was a royal fellowship of death!- ty is give me, in your conscience now. Where is the number of our English dead? K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: Look, here! [Herald presents another paper. is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire: Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer None else of name; and, of all other men, for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart: Ascribe we all.-When, without stratagem, never came any from mine, that might offend your But in plain shock, and even play of battle, majesty. Was ever known so great and little loss, On one part and on the other?-Take it, God, For it is only thine! Exe. 'Tis wonderful! K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the villag: your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech And be it death proclaimed through our host, you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for To boast of this, or take that praise from God, had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; Which is his only. therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. Flu. 'Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with tell how many is killed? crowns, And give it to this fellow.-Keep it, fellow; And wear it for an honour in thy cap, Till I do challenge it.-Give him the crowns: And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknow- ledgment, That God fought for us. Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. K. Hen. Do we all holy rites; Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum. mettle enough in his pelly:-Hold, there is twelve The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep We'll then to Calais; and to England then; you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. Will. I will none of your money. Flu. It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: 'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. Enter an English Herald. K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number'd? Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. [Delivers a paper. K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle? Exe. Charles, duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; John, duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. F. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, ACT V. Enter Chorus. Exeunt. Cho. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, That I may prompt them: and of such as have, I humbly pray them to admit the excuse Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the king Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea, Which, like a mighty whiffler' 'fore the king, Seems to prepare his way: so let him land; And, solemnly, see him set on to London. That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this So swift a pace hath thought, that even now number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 1 An officer who walks first in processions. 30 462 ACT V. KING HENRY V. You may imagine him upon Blackheath: Where that his lords desire him to have borne¹ His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, Before him, through the city: he forbids it, Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens! The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,- Like to the senators of the antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels,- Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cæsar in: As, by a lower but by loving likelihood,3 Were now the general of our gracious empress4 (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, How many would the peaceful city quit, To welcome him? much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry. Now in London place him; (As yet the lamentation of the French Invites the king of England's stay at home: The emperor's coming in behalf of France, To order peace between them ;) and omit All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, Till Harry's back-return again to France; There must we bring him; and myself have play'd The interim, by remembering you-'tis past. Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance After your thoughts, straight back again to France. [Exit. SCENE I.-France. An English court of guard. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past. Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it? Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time. and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again. You called me yesterday, mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if vou can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished" him. Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days -Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb. Pist. Must I bite? Flu. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities. Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat, and eke I swear- Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by. Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat. Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occa- sions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them; that is all. Pist. Good. Flu. Ay, leeks is goot:-Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. Pist. Me a groat! Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. Pist. All hell shall stir for this. [Exit. Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol,-which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yester- Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly day, look you, and pid me eat my leek: it was in knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition,- a place where I could not breed no contentions begun upon an nonourable respect, and worn as with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. Enter Pistol. Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a tur- key-cock. a memorable trophy of predeceased valour,-and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleekings and galling at this gen tleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh cor rection teach you a good English condition. Fare Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.-Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you ye well. scurvy, lousy knave, Got pless you! Pist. Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. [Exit. Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife10 with me News have I, that my Nell is dead i'the spital" now? Of malady of France; And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. do not love it, nor your affections, and your appe-To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: tites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. And patches will I get unto these scars, would desire you to eat it. 1 i. e. To order it to be borne. 2 Transferring all the honours of conquest from himself to God. 3 Similitude. 4 The earl of Essex in the reign of Elizabeth. 5 Spitted, transfixed.' [Exit. 6 Dost thou desire to have me put thee to death?' 7 Stunned. 8 Scoffing, sneering. 9 Temper. 10 For iilt. 11 Hospital SCENE II. 463 KING HENRY V. SCENE II.-Troyes in Champagne. An apart-|To swearing, and stern looks, diff is' attire, ment in the French King's palace. Enter, at And every thing that seems unnatural. one door, King Henry, Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, Which to reduce into our former favour, Warwick, Westmoreland, and other lords; at You are assembled: and my speech entreats another, the French king, queen Isabel, the prin- That I may know the let, why gentle peace cess Katharine, lords, ladies, &c. the duke of Should not expel these inconveniences, Burgundy, and his train. And bless us with her former qualities. K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met! Unto our brother France,-and to our sister, Health and fair time of day:-joy and good wishes To o ir most fair and princely cousin Katharine; And (as a branch and member of this royalty, By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ;- And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England; fairly met:- So are you princes English, every one. Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, As we are now glad to behold your eyes; Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them Against the French, that met them in their bent, The fatal balls of murdering basilisks: The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, Have lost their quality; and that this day Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, Great kings of France and England! That I have labour'd With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours, To bring your most imperial majesties Unto this bar¹ and royal interview, Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, That, face to face, and royal eye to eye, You have congreeted; let it not disgrace me, If I demand, before this royal view, What rub, or what impediment, there is, Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, Should not, in this best garden of the world, Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd; And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, Corrupting in its own fertility. Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached,- Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon; while that the coulter2 rusts, That should deracinate such savagery: The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness: and nothing teems, But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility. And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, Defective in their natures, grow to wildness: Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, The sciences that should become our country; But grow, like savages,-as soldiers will, That nothing do but meditate on blood,- 2 Plowshare. 1 Barrier. 3 To deracinate is to force up the roots. K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, Whose want gives growth to the imperfections Which you have cited, you must buy that peace With full accord to all our just demands; Whose tenors and particular effects You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which, as yet, There is no answer made. K. Hen. Well then, the peace, Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye O'er-glanc'd the articles: pleaseth your grace To appoint some of your council presently To sit with us once more, with better heed To re-survey them, we will, suddenly, Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. K. Hen. Brother, we shall.-Go, uncle Exeter,- And brother Clarence-and you, brother Gloster,- Warwick-and Huntingdon,-go with the king: And take with you free power, to ratify, Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best Shall see advantageable for our dignity, Any thing in, or out of, our demands; And we'll consign thereto.-Will you, fair sister, Go with the princes, or stay here with us? Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them; Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. K. Hen. Yet leave our cousir. Katharine here with us; She is our capital demand, compris'd Within the fore-rank of our articles. Q. Isa. She hath good leave. [Exeunt all bus Henry, Katharine, and her gentlewoman. K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair, Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms Such as will enter at a lady's ear, And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England. K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? me. Kath. Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is--like K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are like an angel. Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable d les anges? Alice. Ouy, vrayment (sauf vostre grace) ainsi dit il. K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it. Kath. O bon Dieu! les angues des hommes sont pleines des tromperies. K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceits? Alice. Ouy; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits; dat is de princess. K. Hen. The princess is the better Englisk 1 Extravagant. 5 Appearance 6 Hinderance. 464 ACT V KING HENRY V woman. I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy un- shall never move thee in French, unless it be to derstand.ng: I am glad, thou canst speak no bet- laugh at me. ter English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le François que vous me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think, I parlez, est meilleur, que l'Anglois lequel je parle. had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no K. Hen. No, 'faith, 'tis not, Kate; but thy speak- ways to mince it in love, but directly to say-I love ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, you: then, if you urge me further than to say-must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Do you in faith? I wear out my suit. Give me Kate, dost thou understand thus much English? your answer; i'faith, do; and so clap hands and a Canst thou love me? Kath. I cannot tell. bargain: How say you, lady? Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, I'll ask them. Come, I know, thou lovest me: and or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: at night when you come into your closet, you'll for the one, I have neither words nor measure; and question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a that you love with your heart: but, good Kate, mock lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because with my armour on my back, under the correction I love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into (as I have a saving faith within me, tells me,-thou a wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound shalt,) I get thee with scambling, and thou must my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder: Shall butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off: but, not thou and I, between Saint Dennis and Saint before God, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out George, compound a boy, hall French, half English, my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protesta- that shall go to Constantinople, and take the Turk tion; only downright oaths, which I never use till by the beard? shall we not? what sayest thou, urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst flower-de-luce? love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not Kath. I do not know dat. worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for K. Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will endea- cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst vour for your French part of such a boy; and, for love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee-that my English moiety, take the word of a king, and a I shall die, is true; but-for thy love, by the Lord, bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katha- no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear rine du monde, mon tres chere et divine deesse? Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined³ con- Kath. Your majesté 'ave fausse French enough stancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because to deceive the most sage demoiselle dat is en France. he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these K. Hen. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate: ly into ladies' favours,-they do always reason them- which honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me; yet selves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, not- a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a withstanding the poor and untempering effect of my straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition! he white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face was thinking of civil wars when he got me; there- will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good fore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an heart, Kate, is the sun and moon; or, rather, the aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou the better I shall appear: my comfort is, that old would have such a one, take me: And take me, age, that ill-layer up of beauty, can do no more take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: And spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, what savest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear and fairly, I pray thee. me, better and better; And therefore tell me, most Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your of France? maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart K. Hen. No; it is not possible, you should love with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand, the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you and say-Harry of England, I am thine: which should love the friend of France; for I love France word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear, withal, so well, that I will not part with a village of it; I but I will tell thee aloud-England is thine, Ire- will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is land is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantage- mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and net is thine; who, though I speak it before his face, you are mine. if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; answer in broken music; for thy voice is music, which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like and thy English broken: therefore, queen of all, a new-married wife about her husband's neck, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English, hardly to be shook off. Quand j'ay la possession Wilt thou have me? de France, et quand vous avez la possession de moi, (let me see, what then? Saint Dennis be my speed!)-donc vostre est France, et vous estes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak so much more French: I 1 In dancing. 2 i. e. Like a young lover, awkwardly. 3 He means, resembling a plain piece of metal, which has not yet received any impression. Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere. K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate. Kath. Den it shall also content me. K. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I call you-my queen. 4 Fall away. 5, i. e. Though my face has no power to softer your HENRY V. AND KATHARINE OF FRANCE. KING HENRY.- 'O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings." "Henry V." Act V., Scene II. SCENE II. 465 KING HENRY V. Kath. Laissez. mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: a fair French city, for one fair French maid that nia foy je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre stands in my way. grandeur, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspect- serviteure; excusez moy je vous supplie, mon tres ively, the cities turned into a maid; for they are puissant seigneur. all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never entered K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. Kath Les dames, et damoiselles. pour estre baisees devant leur nopces, il n'est past le coutume de France. K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife? Fr. King. So please you. K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities you K. Hen. Madam, my interpreter, what says she? talk of, may wait on her; so the maid, that stood Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies in the way of my wish, shall show me the way to cf France-I cannot tell what is baiser, en English. my will. K. Hen. To kiss. Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moy. K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say? Alice. Ouy, vrayment. Fr. King. We have contented to all terms of reason. K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England? West. The king hath granted every articlé. His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all, According to their firm proposed natures. K. Hen. O, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this:- kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined Where your majesty demands-That the king of within the weak list of a country's fashion: we are France, having any occasion to write for matter of the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that grant, shall name your highnesss in this form, and follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-with this addition, in French,-Notre tres cher filz faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice Henry, roy d'Angleterre, heretier de France; and fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss: thus in Latin,-Præclarissimus filius noster Hen- therefore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her.]ricus, rex Anglia, et hores Francia. You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother so denied, more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in But your request shall make me let it pass. the tongues of the French council; and they should K. Hen. I pray you then, in love and dear alli- sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general ance, petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. Let that one article rank with the rest: Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy. And, thereupon, give me your daughter. Bedford, Gloster, Exeter. Westmoreland, and other French and English Lords. Bur. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you our princess English? K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin how perfectly I love her; and that is good English. Bur. Is she not apt? Fr. King. Take her, fair son; and from her blood raise up Issue to me: that the contending kingdoms Of France and England, whose very shores look pale With envy of each others happiness, May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz; and my con- In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance dition is not smooth: so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France, so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his true likeness. Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle: if conjure up love in her, in his true likeness, he must appear naked, and blind: Can you blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the app arance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to. K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield; as love is blind, and enforces. Bur. They are then excused my lord, when they see not what they do. K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent to winking. All. Amen. K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate:--and bear me witness all, That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish. Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! As man and wife, being two, are one in love, o be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, To make divorce of their incorporated league; That English may as French, French English men, Receive each other!-God speak this Amen! All. Amen! K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage :-on which day, Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning: for maids, My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, well summered and warm kept, are like flies at And all t' e peers', for surety of our leagues- Bartholowew-tide, blind, though they have their Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; eyes; and then they will endure handling which And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be! [Exeunt before could not abide looking on. Enter Chorus. K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a hot summer; and so I will catch the fly, your Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen, cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. Bur. As love is, my lord, befo: e it loves. K. Hen. It is so, and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness; who cannot see many 1 Slight barrier. 2 Temper. Our bending author hath pursu'd the story. In little room confining mighty men. Mangling by starts the full course of their glory 3 Application. 4 i. e. Unequal to the weight of the subject. 466 Aor V. KING HENRY V. king is well supported, except in his courtship, where he has neither the vivacity of Hal, nor the grandeur of Henry The humour of Pistol is very happily continued: his character has perhaps been the model of all the bullies that have yet appeared on the English stage. Small time, but in that small, most greatly liv'd, This star of England: fortune made his sword; By which the world's best garden' he achiev'd, And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king Of France and England, did this king succeed; Whose state so many had the managing, The lines given to the Chorus have many ad- That they lost France, and made his England mirers; but the truth is, that in them a little may bleed: be praised, and much must be forgiven; nor can Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake it be easily discovered, why the intelligence given In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit. by the Chorus is more necessary in this play, than in many others where it is omitted. The great defect of this play is, the emptiness and narrow- This play has many scenes of high dignity, and ness of the last act, which a very little diligence many of easy merriment. The character of the might have easily avoided. 1 France. JOHNSON. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. PERSONS REPRESENTED. King Henry the Sixth. Vernon, of the white rose, or York faction Duke of Gloster, uncle to the king, and protector. Basset, of the red rose, or Lancaster faction. Duke of Bedford, uncle to the king, and regent Charles, dauphin, and afterwards king of France. of France. Reignier, duke of Anjou, and titular king of Naples, Thomas Beaufort, duke of Exeter, great uncle to Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Alencon. the king. Governor of Paris. Bastard of Orleans Henry Beaufort, great uncle to the king, bishop Master-gunner of Orleans, and his son. of Winchester, and afterwards cardinal. General of the French forces in Bordeaux. John Beaufort, earl of Somerset; afterwards duke. A French Sergeant. Richard Plantagenet, eldest son of Richard, late earl of Cambridge; afterwards duke of York. Earl of Warwick. Eart of Salisbury. Earl of Suffolk. Lord Talbot, afterwards earl of Shrewsbury. John Talbot, his son. Ed.nund Mortimer, earl of March. Mortimer's keeper and a lawyer. Sir John Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy. Sir William Glansdale. Sir Thomas Gargrave. Mayor of London. Woodville, lieut. of the tower. ACT I. SCENE I-Westminster Abbey. Dead march Corpse of King Henry the Fifth discovered ly- ing in state; attended on by the Dukes of Bed- ford, Gloster, and Exeter; the earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, Heralds, &c. Bedford. HUNG be the heavens with black,' yield day to night! Comets, importing change of times and states, Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky; And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, That have consented unto Henry's death! Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long! England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. Glo England ne'er had a king, until his time. Virtue he had, deserving to command: His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams; His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, More dazzled and drove back his enemies, Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. Exe. We mourn in black; Why mourn we not in blood? Henry is dead, and never shall revive: Upon a wooden coffin we attend; And death's dishonorable victory We with our stately presence glorify, Like captives bound to a triumphal car. What shall we curse the planets of mishap, A Porter. An old shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. Margaret, daughter to Reignier; afterwards mar- ried to King Henry. Countess of Auvergne. Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc. Fiends appearing to la Pucelle, lords, warders, of the Tower heralds, officers, soldiers, mes- sengers, and several attendants, both on the English and French. Scene, partly in England and partly in France That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? Or shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, By magic verses have contriv'd his end? Win. He was a king blessed of the King of kings Unto the French the dreadful judgment day So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: The church's prayers made him so prosperous. Glo. The church! where is it? Had not church men pray'd, His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: None do you like but an effeminate prince. Whom, like a school-boy, you may overawe. Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art pro tector; And lookest to command the prince and realm. Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe, More than God, or religious churchmen, may. Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, Except it be to pray against thy foes. Bed. Cease cease these jars, and rest your minds in peace! Let's to the altar:-Heralds, wait on us :---- Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms; Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead.- Posterity, await for wretched years, When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck, Our isle be made a nourish³ of salt tears, And none but women left to wail the dead.- Henry the Fifth! thy ghost I invocate; Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils! Combat with adverse planets in the heavens! 2 There was a notion long prevalent, that life 1 Aliuding to our ancient stage-practice when might be taken away by metrical charms. a tragedy was to be acted. 3 Nurse was anciently so spelt. 468 ACT I. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI A far more glorious star thy soul will make, Than Julius Cæsar, or bright- Enter a Messenger. Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all! Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: Guienne, Champaigne, Rheinis, Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. Bed. What say'st thou man, before dead Henry's corse? Speak softly or the loss of those great towns Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. Glo. Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up? If Henry were recalled to life again, These news would cause him once more yield the ghost. Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd? Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. Among the soldiers this is muttered.- That here you maintain several factions: And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought, You are disputing of your generals. One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost; Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; A third man thinks, without expense at all, By guileful fair words peace may be obtain❜d. Awake, awake, English nobility! Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot: Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; Of England's coat one half is cut away. Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, These tidings would call forth her flowing tides.' Bed. Me they concern; regent I am of France. Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France.- Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes, To weep their intermissive miseries. 2 Enter another Messenger. No leisure had he to enrank his men; He wanted pikes to set before his archers; Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges, They pitched in the ground confusedly, To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. More than three hours the fight continued Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him; Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew: The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms. All the whole army stood agaz'd on him: His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain, And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward; He being in the vaward (plac'd behind, With purpose to relieve and follow them,) Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. Hence grew the general wreck and massacre; Enclosed were they with their enemies: A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace, Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back; Whom all France, with their chief assemble:1 strength, Durst not presume to look once in the face. Bed. Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself, For living idly here, in pomp and ease, Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd. 3 Mess. O no, he lives; but is took prisoner, And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford. Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay: I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne, His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.- Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, 2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: mischance, France is revolted from the English quite; Except some petty towns of no import: The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; Reigneir, duke of Anjou, doth take his part; The duke of Alençon flieth to his side. Exe. The dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats: Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward- ness? An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, Wherewith already France is overrun, Enter a third Messenger. 3 Mess. My gracious lords,-to add to your la- ments, Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,- I must inform you of a dismal fight, Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. Win. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so? 3 Mess. O no; wherein lord Talbot was o'er- thrown: The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, Retiring from the siege of Orleans, Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, By three and twenty thousand of the French Was round encompassed and set upon : 1 Her, i. e. England's. Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 3 Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; The English army is grown weak and faint: The earl of Salisbury craveth supply, And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn; Either to quell the dauphin utterly, Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. To go about my preparation. Bed. I do remember it; and here take leave, [Exit. [Exit. Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can, To view the artillery and munition: And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Ex. Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is, Being ordain'd his special governor ; And for his safety there I'll best devise. Win. Each hath his place and function to attend: I am left out; for me nothing remains. But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office; The king from Eltham I intend to send,, And sit at chiefest stern of publick weal. [Exit. Scene closes. SCENE II.-France. Before Orleans. Enter Charles, with his forces; Alencon, Reignier, and others. Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens, 2 i. e. Their miseries which have had only a short intermission. SCENE II. 469 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. So in the earth, to his day is not known: Late did he shine upon the English side; Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. What towns of any moment, but we have? At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans; Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat bull-beeves; Either they must be dieted like mules, And have their provender tied to their mouths, Or piteous they will look like drowned mice. Reig. Let's raise the siege; Why live we idly here? Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; And he may well in fretting spend his gall, Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. Char. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush them. on [Exe. Re- Now for the honour of the forlorn French:- Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. Alarums; excursions; afterwards a retreat. enter Charles, Alençon, Reignier, and others. Char. Whoever saw the like? what men have I?- Dogs! cowards! dastards!-I would ne'er have fled, But that they left me 'midst my enemies. Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; He fighteth as one weary of his life. The other lords, like lions wanting food, Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.' Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records, England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, During the time Edward the third did reign. More truly now may this be verified; For none but Samsons and Goliases, It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose They had such courage and audacity? Char. Let's leave this town; for they are hair- brain'd slaves, And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: Of old I know them; rather with their teeth The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege. Reig. I think, by some odd gimmals2 or device, Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on; Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone. Alen. Be it so. Enter the Bastard of Orleans. Bast. Where's the prince dauphin? I have news for him. Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer appall'd; Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand: A holy maid hither with me I bring, Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, And drive the English forth the bounds of France. The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome: What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, For they are certain and unfallible. Char. Go, call her in: [Exit Bastard.] But, firs to try her skill, Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place: Question her proudly, let thy locks be stern:- By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. [Retires Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans and others. Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous feats? Puc Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile me?- Where is the dauphin?--come, come from behind; I know thee well, though never seen before. Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hic from me: In private will I talk with thee apart:- Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while. Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd To shine on my contemptible estate: Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks, God's mother deigned to appear to me; And, in a vision full of majesty, Will'd me to leave my base vocation, And free my country from calamity: Her aid she promised, and assured success: In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And, whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infus'd on me, That beauty am I bless'd with, which you sec. Ask me what question thou canst possible, And I will answer unpremeditated: My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex. Resolve on this:5 Thou shalt be fortunate, If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms; Only this proof I'll of thy valour make,- In single combat thou shalt buckle with me; And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true; Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. Puc. I am prepar'd: here is my keen-edg'd sword, Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's church-vard, Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. Char. Then come o'God's name, I fear no woman. Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. [They fight. Char. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an amazon, And fightest with the sword of Deborah. Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too weak. Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help me : Impatiently I burn with thy desire; My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so. Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be; "Tis the French dauphin sueth to thee thus. Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love For my profession's sacred from above: When I have chased all thy foes from hence, Then will I think upon a recompense. 3 This was not in former times a term of re 1 i. e. The prey for which they are hungry. 2 A gimmal is a piece of jointed work, where proach. one piece moves within another; here it is taken 4 Countenance. t large for an engine. 5 Be firmly persuaded of it. 470 Ac 1. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy pros- trate thrall. Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her smock; Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do know: These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. Reig. My lord, where are you? what devise you on? Shall we give over Orleans, or no? Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants! Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. Char. What she says, I'll confirm; we'll fight it out. Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: Expect Saint Martin's summer,' halcyon days, Since I have entered into these wars. Glory is like a circle in the water, Which never ceasetn to enlarge itself, Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. With Henry's death, the English circle ends; Dispersed are the glories it included. Now am I like that proud insulting ship, Which Cæsar and his fortune bare at once. Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? Though with an eagle art inspired then. Helen, the mother of great Constantine, Nor vet Saint Philip's daughters, 2 were like thee. Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, How may I reverently worship thee enough? Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our honours; Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. Char. Presently we'll try:-Come, let's away about it: Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, wnose voice I heur! Open the gates; here's Gloster, that would enter. Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke: I may not open: The cardinal of Winchester forbids: From him I have express commandment, That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let ia. Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest hi.a 'fcre me? Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate, Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? Thou art no friend to God, or to the king: Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector; Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly. Enter Winchester, attended by a train of servants. in tawny-coats. Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey? what means this? Glo. Piel'd priest, dost thou command me to be shut out? Win. I do, thou most usurping proditors, And not protector of the king or realm. Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord; Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin: I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, If thou proceed in this thy insolence. Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot; This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back: Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth, I'll use to carry thee out of this place. Win. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face. Glo. What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face? No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exe. Draw, men, for all this privileged place; SCENE III-London. Hill before the Tower. Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your Enter, at the gates, the Duke of Gloster, with his serving-men in blue coats. Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day; Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. Where be these warders, that they wait not here? Open the gates; Gloster it is that calls. [Servants knock. I Ward. [Within.] Who is there that knocks so imperiously? 1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. beard; [Gloster and his men attack the bishop I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly: Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; In spite of pope or dignities of church, Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope Glo. Winchester goose, I cry-a rope! a rope!- Now beat them hence, why do you let them stay?- Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.- Out, tawney-coats!-out, scarlet hypocrite! 2 Ward. [Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may Here a great tumult. In the midst of it, entre not be let in. 1 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villaino? 1 Ward. [Within.] The Lord protect him! so we answer him: We do no otherwise than we are will'd. Gło. Who willed you? or whose will stands but mine? There's none protector of the realm, but I.- Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize: Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? Servants rush at the Tower gates. Enter, to the gates, Woodville, the lieutenant. Wood. Within.] What noise is this? what trai- tors have we here? Expect prosperity after misfortune. 2 Meaning the four daughters of Philip, men- tioned in Acts xxi. 9. the Mayor of London, and officers. May. Fie, lords that you, being supreme ma gistrates, Thus contumeliously should break the peace! Glo. Peace, mayor; thou knowest little of my wrongs: Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king Hath here distrain'd the, Tower to his use. Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens: One that still motions war, and never peace, O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; That seeks to overthrow religion. 3 Theft. 4 Break open. 5 Alluding to his shaven crown. 7 Sift. 8 A strumpet. An allusion to the bishop's habit. 9 6 Traitor SCENE IV. 471 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Because he is protector of the realm; And would have armour here out of the Tower, To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows. [Here they skirmish again. May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife, But to make open proclamation:- Come, Officer; as loud as e'er thou canst. Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and crared death, Rather than I would be so pil'd esteem'd." In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wourds my heart Whom with my bare fists I would execute, If I now had him brought into my power. Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert enter- tain'd. Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious taunts. Then broke I from the officers that led me; Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arms In open market-place produc'd they me, this day, against God's peace and the king's, we To be a public spectacle to all; charge and command you, in his highness' name, Here, said they, is the terror of the French, to repair to your several dwelling-places; and The scare-crow that affrights our children so. not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain of death. Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. Win. Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure: Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's work. And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground, To hurl at the beholders of my shame. My grisly countenance made others fly; None durst come near for fear of sudden death. In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread May. I'll call for clubs,' if you will not away:-That they supposed, I could rend bars of steel, This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. Glo. Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou may'st. Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head; For I intend to have it ere long. [Exeunt. May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will depart.- Good God! that nobles should such stomachs2 bear! I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-France. Before Orleans. Enter on the walls, the Master-Gunner and his Son. M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is besieg'd: And how the English have the suburbs won. Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim. M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by me: Chief master-gunner am I of this town; Something I must do, to procure me grace:3 The prince's espials4 have inform'd me, How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd, Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars In yonder tower, to overpeer the city; And thence discover, how, with most advantage, They may vex us, with shot, or with assault. To intercept this inconvenience, A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd; And fully even these three days have I watch'd, If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, For I can stay no longer. [Exit. If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; And thou shalt find me at the governor's. Son. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. Enter, in an upper chamber of a tower, the Lords Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glansdale, Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others. Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd' How wert thou handled, being prisoner? Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd! Discourse, I pr'vthee, on this turret's top. Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, Called-the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles; For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. But with a baser man of arms by far, Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me: 1 That is, for peace-officers armed with clubs or staves. And spurn in pieces posts of adamant: Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, That walk'd about me every minute-while; And if I did but stir out of my bed, Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd, But we will be reveng'd sufficiently. Now it is supper-time in Orleans: Here, through this grate, I can count every one, And view the Frenchmen how they fortify; Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee.- Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, Let me have your express opinions, Where is best place to make our battery next. Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand lords. Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish' 1, Or with slight skirmishes enfeebled. [Shot from the town. Salisbury and Sir Thomas Gargrave fall. Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woful man! Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath cross'd us? Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak; How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men! One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!- Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand, That hath contrived this woful tragedy! In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; Henry the Fifth he first trained to the wars: Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.- Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail. One eye thou hast to look to heaven for grace: The sun. with one eye vieweth all the world.-- Heaven be thou gracious to none alive, If Salisbury want mercy at thy hands!- Bear hence his body: I will help to bury t Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any .fe? Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfo..? Thou shalt not die, whiles- He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me; As who should say. When I am dead and gone Remember to avenge me on the French.- Plantaganet, I will; and, Nero-like, 2 Pride. 3 Favour. 5 So stripped of honours. 4 Spies. 472 ACT L FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: Wretched shall France be only in my name. [Thunder heard: afterwards an alarum. What stir is this? what tumult's in the heavens? Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd head: The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd,- A holy prophetess new risen up,- Is come with a great power to raise the siege. [Salisbury groans. Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan! It irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.- Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you ;- Pucelle or puzzel,' dorphin or dogfish, Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.- Convey me Salisbury into his tent, And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. SCENE V.-The same. Before one of the gates. Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dauphin, and driveth him in: then enter Joan la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then enter Talbot. Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. Enter La Pucelle. Here, here she comes:I'll have a bout with thee: Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: Blood will I draw on thee,2 thou art a witch, And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace thee. [They fight. M. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage, And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. Puc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: I must go victual Orleans forthwith. O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. Go, go cheer up thy hunger-starved men; Help Salisbury to make his testament: This day is ours, as many more shall be. [Pucelle enters the town, with soldiers. Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; know not where I am, nor what I do: A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench, Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. They called us, for our fierceness, English dogs; Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. [A short alarum. Hark, countrymen! either renew the fight, Or tear the lions out of England's coat; Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf, Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. [Alarum. Another skirmish. It will not be:-retire into your trenches: 1 Dirty wench. 2 The superstition of those times taught, that he who could draw a witch's blood was free front; her power. You all consented unto Salisbury's death, For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.- Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, In spite of us, or aught that we could do. O, would I were to die with Salisbury! The shame hereof will make me hide my head. [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his forces, &c. SCENE VI. The same. Enter, on the walls, Pu- celle, Charles, Reignier, Alençon, and soldiers. Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls; Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves:- Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. Char. Divinest creature, bright Astræa's daughter, How shall I honour thee for this success? Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next.- France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess !- Recover'd is the town of Orleans: More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, And feast and banquet in the open streets, To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy, When they shall hear how we have played the men. Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won: For which, I will divide my crown with her And all the priests and friars in my realm Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear, Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was: In memory of her, when she is dead, Her ashes in an urn more precious Than the rich-jewel'd coffer of Darius, Transported shall be at high festivals, Before the kings and queens of France. No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. Come in; and let us banquet royally, After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Ere. ACT II. SCENE I.-The same. Enter, to the gates, a French Sergeant, and two Sentinels. Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant: If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, Near to the walls, by some apparent sign, Let us have knowledge at the court of guard." 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Serg.] Thus are poor servitors (When others sleep upon their quiet beds,), Constrain'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and forces, with scaling-ladders; their drums beating a dead march. Tal. Lord regent,-and redoubted Burgundy, - By whose approach, the regions of Artois, Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us,- This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, Having all day carous'd and banqueted: Embrace we then this opportunity; As fitting best to quittance their deceit, Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. The same as guard-room. SCENE II. 473 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI Bed. Coward of France!-how much he wrongs [I was employ'd in passin, his fame, Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, To join with witches, and the help of hell. Bur. Traitors have never other company.- But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? Tal. A maid, they say. Bed. A maid? and be so martial? Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere long: If underneath the standard of the French, She carry armour, as she hath begun. Tal. Well, let them practice and converse with spirits: God is our fortress; in whose conquering name, Let us resolve to scale heir flinty bulwarks. Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. Tal. Not altogether: better far, I guess, That we do make our entrance several ways; That, if it chance the me of us do fail, The other yet may rise against their force. Bed. Agreed; I'll to yon corner. Bur. And I to this. Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his grave.. - Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right Of English Henry, shall this night appear How much in duty I am bound to both. [The English scale the walls, crying St. George! a Talbot! and all enter by the town. Sent. [Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make assault! The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enter, several ways, Bastard, Alençon, Reignier, half ready, and half unready. Alen. How now, my lords! what, all unready' so? Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we scap'd so well. Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our beds, Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms, Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise More venturous, or desperate, than this. Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him. Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel, how he sped. Enter Charles and La Pucelle. Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? Didst thou at first, tc datter us withal, Make us partakers of a little gain, That now our loss might be ten times so much? Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his friend? At all times will you have my power alike? Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail, Or will you blame and lay the fault on me?- Improvident soldiers! had your watch been good, This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. Char. Duke of Alençon, this was your default; That, being captain of the watch to-night, Did look no better to that weighty charge. Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, As that whereof I had the government, We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. Bast. Mine was secure. Reig. And so was mine, my lord. Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night, Vithin her quarter, and mine own precinct, 1 Undressed. 2 Plans, schemes.i and fro. About relieving of the sentinels: Then how, or whi, way, should they first break in? Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some place But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. And now there rests no other shift but this,- To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, And lay new platforms2 to endamage them.. Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying, A Talbot! a Talbot! They fly, leaving their clothes behind. Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; For I have loaden me with many spoils, Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. Enter SCENE II.-Orleans. Within the town. Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, ana others. Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. [Retreat sounded. Tal, Bring forth the body of old Salisbury; And here advance it in the market-place, The middle centre of this cursed town.- Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; For every drop of blood was drawn from him, There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. And, that, hereafter, ages may behold What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, Within their chiefest temple I'll erect A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be inter'd: Upon the which, that every one may rea. Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans; The treacherous manner of his mournful death, And what a terror he had been to France. But lords, in all our bloody massacre, I muse, we met not with the dauphin's grace; His new-come champion. virtuous Joan of Arc; Nor any of his false confederates, Bed. "Tis thought lord Talbot when the fight began, Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, They did, amongst the troops of armed men, Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern, For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,) Am sure, I scar'd the dauphin and his trull; When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, That could not live asunder day or night. After that things are set in order here, We'll follo, then, with all the power we have. Enter a Messenger. Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely train Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts So much applauded through the realm of France? Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with him? Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, With modesty admiring thy renown, By me entreats, good lord, thou would'st vouchsafe To visit her poor castle where she lies;4 That she may boast, she hath beheld the man Whose glory fills the world with loud report. Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see, our wars 3 Wonder. 4 ie Where she dwells. 474 ACT II. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, When ladies crave to be encounter'd with.- You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of men Could not prevail with all their oratory, Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd:- And therefore tell her, I return great thanks; And in submission will attend on her.- Will not your honours bear me company? Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will: And I have heard it said,-Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone. Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. Come hither, captain. [Whispers.]-You perceive my mind. Cap. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Auvergne. Court of the castle. Enter the Countess and her Porter. Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, I shall as famous be by this exploit, As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight, And his achievements of no less account; Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, To give their censure' of these rare reports. Enter Messenger and Talbot. Mess. Madam, According as your ladyship desir'd, By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? Mess. Madam, it is. Count. Is this the scourge of France? Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, That with his name the mothers still their babes? I see, report is fabulous and false, I thought, I should have seen some Hercules, A second Hector, for his grim aspéct, And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. Alas! this is a child, a silly dwarf: It cannot be, this weak and writhled2 shrimp, Should strike such terror to his enemies. Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you: 'But since your ladyship is not at leisure, I'll sort some other time to visit you. Count. What means he now?-Go ask him whither he goes? Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot: for my lady craves To know the cause of your abrupt departure. Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief, I go to certify her, Talbot's here. Re-enter Porter, with keys. Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. Tal. Prisoner! to whom? Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord; And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, For in my gallery thy picture hangs: But now the substance shall endure the like; And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, That hast by tyranny, these many years, Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 1 For opinion 3 Foulisn. 2 Wrinkled. 4 For a purpose. And sent our sons and husbands captivate. Tal. Ha, ha, ha! Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan. Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond," To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, Whereon to practise your severity. Count. Why, art not thou the man? Tal. I am indeed. Count. Then have I substance too. Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; For what you see, is but the smallest part And least proportion of humanity: I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce ;4 He will be here, and yet he is not here: How can these contrarieties agree? Tal. That will I show you presently. He winds a horn. Drums heard; then a peal of ordnance. The gates being forced, enter soldiers. How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, That Talbot is but shadow of himself? These are his substance, sinews, arms; and strength, With which he yoketh your rebellious necks; Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, And in a moment makes them desolate. Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse. I find, thou art no less than fame hath bruited;" And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; For I am sorry, that with reverence I did not entertain thee as thou art. Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake The outward composition of his body. What you have done, hath not offended me: No other satisfaction do I crave, But only (with your patience,) that we may Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have; For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. Count. With all my heart: and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. The Temple Garden. Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer. Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence? Dare no man answer in a case of truth? Suff. Within the Temple hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient. Plan. Then say at once if I maintained the truth; Or else was wrangling Somerset in error? Suff. 'Faith I have been a truant in the law; And never yet could frame my will to it; And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- tween us. War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch; 6 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth; Between two blades, which bears the better temper; Between two horses, which doth bear him best; Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye; I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment; 5 Announced loudly. 6 i. e. Regulate his motions most adroitly. SCENE V. 475 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. But in these nice snarp quillets of the law, Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: The truth appears so naked on my side, That any purblind eye may find it out. Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: Let him that is a true-born gentlenian, And stands upon the honour of his birth, If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. War. I love no colours; and, without all colour Of base insinuating flattery, ; I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. Suff. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset And say withal, I think he held the right. Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen: and pluck no more, Till you conclude-that he, upon whose side The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, Shall yield the other in the right opinion. Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected;2 If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Plan. And I. Suff. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole; We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, Third son to the third Edward king of England; Spring crestless yeomen³ from so deep a root? Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,4 Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my words On any plot of ground in Christendom: Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, For treason executed in our late king's days? And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; And, till thou be restor❜d thou art a yeoman. Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. For your partaker Poole, and you yourself I'll note you in my book of memory, To scourge you for this apprehension:" Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd. Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still: And know us, by these colours, for thy foes; For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the side where still I am. Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? Law. Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held, was wrong in you; [To Somerset. In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that, Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side. Som. No, Plantagenet, Tis not for fear; but anger,-that thy cheeks, Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. Plan. Now by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Suff. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee. 1 Tints and deceits; a play on the word. 2 Justly proposed. 3 i. e. Those who have no right to arms. Will I for ever, and my faction, wear; Until it wither with me to my grave, Or flourish to the height of my degree. Suff. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy am bition! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewell, ambi- tious Richard. [Exit. Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en dure it! War. This blot, that they object against your house, Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster: And, if thou be not then created York, I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, Against proud Somerset, and William Poole, Will I upon thy party wear this rose: And here I prophesy,--This brawl to-day, Grown to this faction in the Temple garden, Shall send, between the red rose and the white- A thousand souls to death and deadly night. Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. Law. And so will I. Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exe. SCENE V.-The same. A room in the Tower Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair by two Keepers. Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dving Mortimer here rest himself.-- Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment: 4 The Temple, being a religious house, was a sanctuary. 5 Excluded. 6 Confederate. 7 Opinion. 476 ACT H FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,' Nestor-like aged, in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. [The first-begotten, and the lawful heir Of Edward king, the third of that descent: During whose reign, the Percies of the north, These eyes,-like lamps whose wasting oil is Finding his usurpation most unjust, spent- Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent:2 Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief; And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine, That droops his sapless branches to the ground. Yet are these feet-whose strengthless stay numb, Unable to support this lump of clay,- Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have.- But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? - is 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; And answer was return'd, that he will come. Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, Deprived of honour and inheritance: But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence: I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd, That so he might recover what was lost. Enter Richard Plantagenet. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? come? Is he Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.-- And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, Why didst thou say-of late thou wert despis'd? Plan: First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease." This day, in argument upon a case, Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me: Among which terms he used his lavish tongue, And did upbraid me with my father's death; Which obloquv set bars before my tongue, Else with the like I had requited him :) Therefore, good uncle,-for my father's sake, In honour of a true Plantagenet, And for alliance' sake,-declare the cause My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me, And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease. Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne: The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this, Was-for that (young king Richard thus remov'd Leaving no heir begotten of his body,) I was the next by birth and parentage; For by my mother I derived am From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son To king Edward the Third; whereas he, From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Being but fourth of that heroic line. But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt. They laboured to plant the rightful heir, I lost my liberty, and they their lives. Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,- Succeeding his father Bolingbroke,-did reign, Thy father, earl of Cambridge,-then deriv'd From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,- Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, Again, in pity of my hard distress, Levied an army; weening" to redeem, And have install'd me in the diadem: But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have, And that my fainting words do warrant death: Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care. Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: But yet, methinks, my father's execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. But now thy uncle is removing hence; As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd With long continuance in a settled place. Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age! Mor. Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaugh t'rer doth, Which giveth many wounds, when one wil. kill. Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; Only, give order for my funeral; And so farewell; and fair be all thy hopes! And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dies. Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage. And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.- Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; And what I do imagine, let that rest.- Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself Will see his burial better than his life.- [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer, Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Plan. Discover more at large what cause that Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:- was; For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Depos'd his nephew Richard; Edward's son, 1 The heralds that, fore-running death, pro- claim its approach. 2 End. 3 i e. He who terminates or concludes misery. And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,-- I doubt not, but with honour to redress: And therefore haste I to the parliament; Either to be restored to my blood, Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit 4 Lately-despised. 5 Uneasmess, discontent, 6 High. 7 Thinking. 8 Lucky, prosperous. 9 My ill, is my ill usage. OCENE I. 477 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. The Parliament-House. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster, Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk; the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gloster offers to put up a bill; Winchester snatches it, and tears it. Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, Humphrey of Gloster? If thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly Ꭹ ; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience, Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me. Think not, although in writing I preferr'd The inanner of thy vile outrageous crimes, That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen: No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, As very infants prattle of thy pride. Thou art a most pernicious usurer; Froward by nature, enemy to peace; Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems A man of thy profession, and degree; And for thy treachery, What's more manifest; In that tho laid'st a trap to take my life, As well at London-bridge, as at the Tower? Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt From envious malice of thy swelling heart. Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will have me, How am I so poor? Or how haps it, I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissention, Who preferreth peace More than I do,-except I be provok'd? No, my good lords, it is not that offends; It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke: It is, because no one should sway but he; No one, but he, should be about the king; And that engenders thunder in his breast, And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know, I am as good- Glo. As good? Thou bastard of my grandfather! Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne? Glo., Am I not the protector, saucy priest? Win. And am I not a prelate of the church? Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft. Win. Unreverent Gloster! Glo. Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Win. This Rome shall remedy. War. Roam thither then. Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. War. Av, see the bishop be not overborne. Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious, And know the office that belongs to such. War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 1 i. e. Articles of accusation. 2 Unseemly, indecent War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king? Plan Plantaganet, I see, must hold his tongue; Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should; Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster. and of Winchester, The special watchmen of our English weal; I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, To join your hearts in love and amity. O, what a scandal is it to our crown, That two such noble peers as ye, should jar! Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, Civil dissention is a viperous worm, That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.- [A noise within; Down with the tawny coats! What tumult's this? War. An uproar, I dare warrant Begun through malice of the bishop's men. [A noise again; Stones! stones Enter the Mayor of London, attended. May. O, my good lords,--and virtuous Henry,- Pity the city of London, pity us! The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men, Forbidden late to carry any weapon, Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones; And, banding themselves in contráry parts, Do pelt so fast at one another's pate, That many have their giddy brains knock'd out: Our windows are broke down in every street, And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. Enter, skirmishing, the retainers of Gloster and Winchester, with bloody pates. K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace. Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 1 Serv. Nay, if we be Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again. Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil, And set this unaccustom'd2 fight aside. 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, Inferior to none, but his majesty: And ere that we will suffer such a prince, So kind a father of the commonweal, To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,3 We, and our wives, and children, all will fight, And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. [Skirmish again. Glo.. Stay, stay, I say! And, if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear a while. K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!- Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? Who should be pitiful if you be not: Or who should study to prefer a peace; If holy churchmen take delight in broils? War. My lord protector, yield;-yield, Win- chester;- Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. You see what mischief, and what murder, too, 3 This was a term of reproach towards men of learning. 478 ACT III. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Hath been enacted through your enmity; Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop; Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest Should ever get that privilege of me. War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: Why look you still so stern, and tragical? Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach, That malice was a great and grievous sin: And will not you maintain the thing you teach, But prove a chief offender in the same? War. Sweet king!-The bishop hath a kindly gird.¹ For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent; What, shall a child instruct you what to do? Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee; Love for thy love, and hand for hand, I give. Glo. Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.- See here, my friends, and loving countrymen; This token serveth for a flag of truce, Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers: So help me God, as I dissemble not! Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [Aside. K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, How joyful am I made by this contract!- Away, my masters! trouble us no more; But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 1 Serv. Content; I'll to the surgeon's. 2 Serv. And so will I. 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, &c. War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet We do exhibit to your majesty. Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick: for, sweet prince, An if your grace mark every circumstance, You have great reason to do Richard right: Especially, for those occasions At Eltham-place I told your majesty. Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York. Aside, Glo. Now it will best avail your majesty, To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France: The presence of a king engenders love Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends; As it disanimates his enemies. K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Hen ry goes; For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. [Exeunt all but Exeter Exe. Ay, we may march in England or in France, Not seeing what is likely to ensue: This late dissension grown betwixt the peers, Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love, And will at last break out into a flame: As fester'd members rot but by degrees, Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, So will this base and envious discord breed. And now I fear that fatal prophecy, Which, in the name of Henry, nam'd the Fifth, Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,- That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all; And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all: Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit. SCENE II.-France. Before Rouen. Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed like countrymen, with sacks upon their backs. Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, Through which our policy must make a breach: Take heed, be wary how you place your words; Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men, That come to gather money for their corn. If we have entrance (as I hore we shall,) And that we find the slothfal watch but weak, I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, That Charles the dauphin may encounter them. 1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, And we be lords and rulers over Roüen; Therefore we'll knock. Guard. [Within.] Qui est là? Puc. Paissans, pauvres gens de France: [Knocks. K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn. force: Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is, That Richard be restored to his blood. War. Let Richard be restored to his blood; So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, But all the whole inheritance I give, That doth belong unto the house of York, From whence you spring by lineal descent. Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience, And humble service, till the point of death. K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against my foot; And, in reguerdon of that duty done, I girt thee with the valiant sword of York: Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet; And rise created princely duke of York. Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall! And as my duty springs, so perish they That grudge one thought against your majesty! All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of York! 1 Feels an emotion of kind remorse. 2 Recompense. Guard. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung. [Opens the gates. Puc. Now, Roüen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the ground. [Pucelle, &c. enter the city. Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alençon, and forces Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants;" Now she is there, how will she specify Where is the best and safest passage in? Alen. By thrusting out a torch from vonder tower, Which, once discern'd, shows, that her meaning is, No way to that,4 for weakness, which she enter❜d. Enter La Pucelle on a battlement: holding out a torch burning. Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen: But burning fatal to the Talbotites. Bast. See, noble Charies: the beacon of our friend, The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 3 Confederates in stratagems. 4 i. e. No way equal to that. SCENE II. 479 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, A prophet to the fall of all our foes! Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends; Enter, and cry-The Dauphin;-presently, And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English. Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, If Talbot but survive thy treachery. Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, That hardly we escap'd the pride' of France. [Exeunt to the town. Alarum: Excursions. Enter from the town, Bedford, brought in sick, in a chair, with Tal- bot, Burgundy, and the English forces. Then, enter on the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alençon, and others. And as his father here was conqueror; As sure as in this late betrayed town Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried; So sure I swear to get the town, or die. Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy rows Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince The valiant duke of Bedford :-Come, my lord, We will bestow you in some better place, Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me: Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, And will be partner of your weal, or wo. Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now pers you. Bed. Not to be gone from hence: for once I read That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, Came to the field, and vanquished his foes; Methinks, I should revive the soldier's hearts, Because I ever found them as myself. Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!-- Then be it so ;-Heavens keep old Bedford safe!- Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, bread? I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast Before he'll buy again at such a rate: 'Twas full of darnel; Do you like the taste? Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless court- ezan. I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before that time. Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a lance, And run a tilt at death within a chair? Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours! Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, And twit with cowardice a man half dead? Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. Puc. Are you so hot, sir?-Yet, Pucelle, hold thy peace; If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow.- [Talbot, and the rest, consult together. God speed the parliament! who shall be the speaker? Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field? Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, To try if that our own be ours, or no. Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, But unto thee, Alencon, and the rest: Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? Alen. Signior, no. Tal. Signior, hang!-base muleteers of France! Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls, And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. Fuc. Captains away: let's get us from the walls: For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks- God be wi' you, my lord! we came, sir, but to tell you That we are here. [Exeunt La Pucelle, &c. from the walls. Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame!- Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house, (Prick'd on by publie wrongs, sustain'd in France,) Either to get the town again, or die: And I,-as sure as English Henry lives, 1 Haughty power. 2 Scoffs. 3 Quite dispirited. But gather we our forces out of hand, And set upon our boasting enemy. [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and forces, lear ing Bedford, and others. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe and a Captain. Capt. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such haste? Fast. Whither away? to save myself by flight; We are like to have the overthrow again. Capt. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? Fast. Ay, All the Talbots in the world to save my life. [Exit Capt. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee! [Exit. Retreat: Excursions. Enter from the town, La Pucelle, Alençon, Charles, &c.; and exeunt flying. Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please; For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. What is the trust or strength of foolish man? They, that of late were daring with their scoffs, Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. [Dies, and is carried off in his chair. Alarum: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others. Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again! This is a double honour, Burgundy: Yet, hetvens have glory for this victory! B. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pu- celle now? I think her old familiar is asleep: Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles i. s gleeks ?2 What, all a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief, That such a valiant company are fled. Now will we take some order in the town, Placing therein some expert officers; And then depart to Paris, to the king; For there voung Harry, with his nobles, lies. Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, But see his exequies' fulfill'd in Rouen; 4 Make some necessary dispositions. 5 Funeral rites. 480 ACT III. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. A braver soldier never couched lance, A gentler heart did never sway in court: But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die; For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. SCENE III-The same. The plains near the city. Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alencon, La Pucelle, and forces. Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered: Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, For things that are not to be remedied. Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, And like a peacock sweep along his tail; We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train, If dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd. Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto, And of thy cunning had no diffidence; One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, And we will make thee famous through the world. Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint; Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. Puc. Then thus it must be; this doth Joan devise: By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar'd words, We will entice the duke of Burgundy To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, France were no place for Henry's warriors; Nor should that nation boast it so with us, But be extirped' from our provinces. Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom, Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign gore; And wash away thy country's stained spots! Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her words, Or nature makes me suddenly relent. Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on thee, Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation, That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake; When Talbot hath set footing once in France, And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, Who then, but English Henry, will be lord, And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive? Call we to mind,-and mark but this, for proof,- Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe? And was he not in England prisoner? But, when they heard he was thine enemy, They set him free, without his ransom paid, In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen, And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord, Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms. Bur. I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, And made me almost yield upon my knees.- Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! France, And not have title to an earldom here. Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work To bring this matter to the wished end. [Drums heard. Hark! by the sound of drum, you may perceive Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward, An English march. Enter, and pass over at a distance, Talbot and his forces. There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread; And all the troops of English after him. A French march. Enter the Duke of Burgundy and forces. Now in the rearward, comes the duke and his; Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind. Summon a parley, we will talk with him. [A parley sounded. Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? And lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: My forces and my power of men are yours;- So, farewell, Talbet; I'll no longer trust thee. Puc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again! Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh. Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. Alen. Pucelle hath bravely played her part in this, And doth deserve a coronet of gold. Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers; And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exe. SCENE IV.-Paris. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords, Vernon, Basset, &c. of his officers. To them Talbot, and some Tal. My gracious prince,-and honourable peers,- Hearing of your arrival in this realm, Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun-I have awhile given truce unto my wars, tryman. Bur What say'st thou, Charles? for I am. ing hence. Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with thy words. To do my duty to my sovereign: march-In sign whereof, this arm-that hath reclaim'd To your obedience fifty fortresses, Twelve cities, and seven walled towr.s of strength, Besides five hundred prisoners of esteem,-- Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet; And, with submissive lovalty of heart, Ascribes the glory of his conquest got, First to my God, and next unto your grace. Pue. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. Bur. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, And see the cities and the towns defac'd By wasting ruin of the cruel foe! As looks the mother on her lowly babe, When death doth close his tender dying eyes, See, see the pining malady of France; Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, Which thou thyself hast given her woful breast! O, turn thy edged sword another way; 1 Rooted out. 2 Expelled. K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, That hath so long been resident in France? Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious lord! When I was young, (as yet I am not old,) I do remember how my father said, A stouter champion never handled sword. 3 Elevated, SCENE I. 481 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Long since we were resolved' of your truth, Your faithful service, and your toil in war; Yet never have you tasted our reward, Or been reguerdon'd2 with so much as thanks, Because till now we never saw your face: Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts, We here create you earl of Shrewsbury; And in our coronation take your place. [Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot, and Nobles. Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, Disgracing of these colours that I wear In honour of my noble lord of York,- Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou speakst? Bas. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage The envious barking of your saucy tongue Against my lord the duke of Somerset. Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as York. Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness take ye that. [Strikes him. Bas. Villain thou know'st, the law of arms is such, That, who so draws a sword, 'tis present death; Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. But I'H unto his majesty, and crave I may have liberty to venge this wrong; When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost. Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you; And, after, meet you sooner than you would. ACT IV. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-The same. A room of state. Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suffolk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Talbot, the Governor of Paris, and others. Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. Win. God save king Henry, of that name the Sixth! Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; Or whether that such cowards ought to wear This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no. Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous, And ill beseeming any common man ; Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, Knights of the garter were of noble birth; Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage, Such as were grown to credit by the wars; Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, But always resolute in most extremes. He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort, Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, Profaning this most honourable order; And should (if I were worthy to be judge,) Be quite degraded like a hedge-born swain That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen' thou hear'st thy doom: Be packing therefore, thou that was a knight; Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death.- [Exit Fastolfe. And now, my lord protector, view the letter Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd his style? Viewing the superscription. No more but, plain and bluntly,-To the king? Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign? Or doth this churlish superscription Pretend some alteration in good will? What's here?-I have, upon especial cause,- [Reads. Mov'd with compassion of my country's wreck, Together with the pitiful complaints Of such as your oppression feeds upon,- Forsaken your pernicious faction, And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of France. O monstrous treachery! Can this be so; That in alliance, amity, and oaths, Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath-There should be found such false dissembling guile? [Governor kneels. That you elect no other king but him: Esteem nore friends, but such as are his friends; And none your foes, but such as shall pretend³ Malicious practices against his state: This shall ye do, so help you righteous God! [Exeunt Governor and his train. Enter Sir John Fastolfe. Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, To haste unto your coronation, A letter was deliver'd to my hands, Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee! I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, To tear the garter from thy craven's leg. [Plucking it off. (Which I have done) because unworthily Thou wast installed in that high degree.- Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: This dastard, at the battle of Patay, When but in all I was six thousand strong, And that the French were almost ten to one, Before we met, or that a stroke was given, Like to a trusty 'squire, did run away; In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; Myself, and divers gentlemen beside, 2 Rewarded. I Confirmed in opinion. 3 Design. 4 Mean, dastardly. K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe. K. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain? Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk with him, And give him chastisement for this abuse:- My lord, how say you? are you not content? Tal. Content, my liege? Yes; but that I am prevented, I should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him straight: Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason; And what offence it is, to flout his friends. Tal. I go, my lord; in heart desiring still, You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. Enter Vernon and Basset. Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign! Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too! York. This is my servant; Hear him, noble prince! Som. And this is mine; Sweet Henry, favour him! K. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to speak.- Say, gentlemen, What makes you thus exclaim? And wherefore crave you combat? or with whom? 6 i. e. In greatest extremeties. 5 High. 7 Design. 8 Anticipated. 482 ACT IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done me | My tender years; and let us not forego wrong. Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong. K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both complain? First let me know, and then I'll answer you. Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, Upbraided me about the rose I wear; Saying the sanguine colour of the leaves Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, When stubbornly he did repugn' the truth, About a certain question in the law, Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him; With other vile and ignominious terms: In confutation of which rude reproach, And in defence of my lord's worthiness, I crave the benefit of law of arms. Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, To set a gloss upon his bold intent, Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him; And he first tock exceptions at this badge, Pronouncing-that the paleness of this flower Bewray'de the faintness of my master's heart. York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will out, Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. K. Hen. Good Lord! what madness rules in brain-sick men; When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, Such factious emulations shall arise!- Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. York. Let this dissention first be tried by fight, And then your highness shall command a peace. Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. York. There is my pledge; accept it, Somerset. Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife! And perish ye, with your audacious prate! Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd, With this immodest clamorous outrage To trouble and disturb the king and us? And you, my lords,-methinks, you do not well, To bear with their perverse objections; Much less, to take occasion from their mouths To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; Let me persuade you take a better course. Exe. It grieves his highness ;-Good my lords, be friends. K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com- batants: Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour, Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause,- And you, my lords,-remember where we are; In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: If they perceive dissension in our looks, And that within ourselves we disagree, How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd To wilful disobedience, and rebel? Beside, what infamy will there arise, When foreign princes shall be certified, That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, King Henry's peers, and chief nobility, Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France? O, think upon the conquest of my father, 2 Betraved. S "Tis strange, or wonderful. 1 Resist. That for a trifle, that was bought with blood! Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. I see no reason, if I wear this rose, [Putting on a red rose That any one should therefore be suspicious I more incline to Somerset, than York: Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both: As well they may upbraid me with my crown, Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. But your discretions better can persuade, Than I am able to instruct or teach: And therefore, as we hither came in peace, So let us still continue peace and love.- Cousin of York, we institute your grace To be our regent in these parts of France : And good my lord of Somerset, unite Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot;-- And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors Go cheerfully together, and digest Your angry choler on your enemies. Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, After some respite, will return to Calais; From thence to England; where I hope ere long To be presented, by your victories, With Charles, Alençon, and that traitorous rout. [Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som Win. Suf. and Basset. War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king Prettily, methought, did play the orator. York. And so he did; but yet I like it not, In that he wears the badge of Somerset. War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him not, I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. York. And, if I wist, he did,-But let it rest; Other affairs must now be managed. [Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon. Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice: For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, I fear, we should have seen decipher'd there More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees This jarring discord of nobility, This should'ring of each other in the court, This factious bandying of their favourites, But that it doth presage some ill event. 'Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands: But more, when envy4 breeds unkind' division; There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Ex. SCENE II.-France. Before Bourdeaux. En ter Talbot, with his forces. Summon their general unto the wall. Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter Trumpet sounds a parley. Enter, on the walls the General of the French forces, and others. English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, Servant in arms to Harry king of England; And thus he would,-Open your city gates, Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, And do him homage as obedient subjects, And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power: But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, You tempt the fury of my three attendants, Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire, Who, in a moment, even with the earth Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, If you forsake the offer of their love. Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, 4 Enmity. 6 Unnatural. SCENE III, IV. 483 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge! The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter, but by death: For, I protest, we are well fortified. And strong enough to issue out and fight: If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed, Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, To wall thee from the liberty of flight; And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, And pale destruction meets thee in the face. Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament To rive their dangerous artillery Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit: This is the latest glory of thy praise, That I, thy enemy, due' thee withal; For ere the glass, that now begins to run, Finish the process of his sandy hour, These eyes, that see thee now well coloured, Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. [Drum afar off. Hark! hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell, Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. [Exeunt General, &c. from the walls. Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy;- Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.- O, negligent and heedless discipline! How are we park'd and bounded in a pale; A little herd of England's timorous deer, Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! If we be English deer, be then in blood;2 Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch; But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags, Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: Sell every man his life as dear as mine, And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's right! Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight! [Exe. SCENE III.-Plains in Gascony. Enter York, with forces; to him a Messenger. York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, That dogg'd the mighty army of the dauphin? Mess. They are return'd, my lord; and give it out, That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power, To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along, By your espials were discovered Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led; Which join'd with him, and made their march for Bourdeaux. York. A plague upon that villain Somerset ; That thus delays my promised supply Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege! Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid; And I am lowted' by a traitor villain, And cannot help the noble cnevalier : Go comfort hiin in this necessity! miscarry, farewell wars in France. Enter Sir William Lucy. Never so needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot; Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, And hemm'd about with grim destruction: To Bourdeaux, warlike duke. to Bourdeaux, York Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. York. O God! that Somerset-who in proud heart Doth stop my cornets-were in Talbot's place' So should we save a valiant gentleman, By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. ¡Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep, That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. Lucy. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word. We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get: All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul! And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since, I met in travel toward his warlike father! This seven years did not Talbot see his son; And now they meet where both their lives are done. To bid his young son welcome to his grave? York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have, Away! vexation almost stops my breath, That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death.- Lucy, farewell: no more my fortune can, But curse the cause I cannot aid the man.- Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away. 'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit. Lucy. Thus, while the vulture" of sedition Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, That ever-living man of memory, Henry the Fifth:-Whiles they each other cross, Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit. SCENE IV.-Other plains of Gascony. Enter Somerset, with his forces; an Officer of Tal bot's with him, Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: Too rashly plotted; all our general force This expedition was by York, and Talbot, Might with a sally of the very town Be buckled with the over-daring Talbot Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventures York set him on to fight, and die in shame, That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name Offi. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. Enter Sir William Lucy. Som. How now, sir William? whither were you sent? Lucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold lord Talbot;8 Who, ring'd abouts with bold adversity, Cries out for noble York and Somerset, To beat assailing death from his weak legions, And whiles the honorable captain there Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue, Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour, strength, 1 Endue, honor. 2 In high spirits. 3 A rascal deer is the term of chace for lean, poor deer. 4 Spies. 5 Vanquished, baffled. 6 Expended consumed. Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. Let not your private discord keep away 7 Alluding to the tale of Prometheus. 8 i. e. From one utterly ruined by the treache rous practices of others. 9 Encircled. 484 ACT IV. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. The levied succours that should lend him aid, While he, renowned noble gentleman, Yields up his life unto a world of odds: Orleans the bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, Alençon, Reignier, compass him about, And Talbot perisheth by your default. Som. York set him on, York should have sent him aid. Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace ex- claims; Swearing that you withhold his levied host, Collected for this expedition. Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. John. No part of him, but will be shame in me. Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight abuse it? Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thec from that stain. John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. If death be so apparent, then both fly. Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight, and die? Som. York lies; he might have sent and had the My age was never tainted with such shame. horse: I owe him little duty, and less love: And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of France, Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: Never to England shall he bear his life; But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen straight: Within six hours they will be at his aid. Lucy. Too late comes rescue; he is ta'en or slain: For fly he could not, if he would have fled; And fly would Talbot never, though he might. Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The English camp, near Bourdeaux. Enter Talbot and John his son. Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee, To tutor thee in stratagems of war; That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, Should bring thy father to his drooping chair, But,-0 malignant and ill-boding stars! Now thou art come unto a feast of death,¹ A terrible and unavoided danger: Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. John. And shail my youth be guilty of such blame? No more can I be sever'd from your side, Than can yourself yourself in twain divide: Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; For live I will not, if my father die. Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. Come, side by side together live and die; And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-A field of battle. Alarum: Ex- cursions, wherein Talbot's Son is hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. Tal. Saint George and victory! fight, soldiers, fight: The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, And left us to the rage of France's sword. Where is John Talbot?-pause, and take thy breath, I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. John. O twice my father! twice am I thy son: The life thou gav'st me first, was lost and done; Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, To my determin'd4 time thou gav'st new date. Tal. When from the dauphin's crest thy sword struck fire, It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage Beat down Alençon, Orleans, Burgundy, And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son? The ireful bastard Orleans-that drew blood And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, Dishonour not her honourable name, To make a bastard, and a slave of me: The world will say-He is not Talbot's blood, That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again. Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly: Your loss is great, so your regard should be; My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. Upon my death the French can little beast; In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; But mine it will, that no exploit have done: You fled for vantage, every one will swear; But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. There is no hope that ever I will stay, If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb? John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. Tal Upon my blessing I command thee go. John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe 1 To a field where death will be feasted with slaughter. From thee, my boy; and had the maidenhood Of thy first fight-I soon encountered; And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed Some of his bastard-blood; and, in disgrace, Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base, And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine, Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave boy :- Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy," Came in strong rescue. Speak. thy father's care; Art not thou weary, John? How dost thou fare? Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead; The help of one stands me in little stead. O, too much folly is it, well I wot, To hazard all our lives in one small boat. If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage To-morrow I shall die with mickle age: "Tis but the short'ning of my life one day. By me they nothing gain, as if I stay, In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, My death's revenge, thy youth and England's fame. All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay: All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away. 2 For unavoidable. 1 3 Your care of your own safety. 4 Ended SCENE VII. 485 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart, These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart: On that advantage, bought with such a shame (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die And like' me to the peasant boys of France; To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son: Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot: If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side; And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-Another part of the same. Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded, supported by a Servant. Tal. Where is my other life?-mine own is gone:- 0, where's young Talbot? where is valiant John?- Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity !2 Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee:- When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, And, like a hungry lion, did commence Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience; But when my angry guardant stood alone, Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none, Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart, Suddenly made him from my side to start Into the clust'ring battle of the French: And in that sea of blood my boy did drench His overmounting spirit; and there died My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of John Talbot. Serv. O my dear lord! lo, where your son is borne! Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to scorn, Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, n thy despite, shall 'scape mortality.- O thou, whose wounds become hard-favour'd death, Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath: Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no; Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe.- Poor boy! he smiles, methinks; as who should say- Had death been French, then death had died to-day. Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms; My spirit can no longer bear these harms. Soldiers, adieu! I have what I would have, Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. [Dies. Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the two bodies. Enter Charles, Alençon, Bur- gundy, Bastard, La Pucelle, and forces. Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, We should have found a bloody day of this. Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging- wood, Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood! Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said, 1 Liken me, reduce me to a level with. 2 Death stained and dishonoured with captivity. 3 Watching me with tenderness in mv fall." Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a mail: But-with a proud, majestical high scorn,- He answered thus; Young Talbot was not born To be the pillage of a giglots wench: So, rushing in the bowels of the French, He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. Bur. Doubtless he would have made a nob knight: See, where he lies inhersed in the arms Of the most bloody nurser of his harms. Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder; Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. Char. O, no; forbear: for that which we have flec. During the life, let us not wrong it dead. Enter Sir William Lucy, attended; a French herald preceding. Lucy. Herald, Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. Conduct me to the dauphin's tent; to know Char. On what submissive message art thou sent? Lucy. Submission, dauphin? 'tis a mere French word; We English warriors wot not what it means. I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, And to survey the bodies of the dead, Char. For prisoners ask'st thou ? hell our prison is. But tell me whom thou seek'st. Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field, Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury; Created, for his rare success in arms, Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence; Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Sheffield, The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge; Knight of the noble order of Saint George, Great mareshal to Henry the Sixth, Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden fleece; Of all his wars within the realm of France? Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed! The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, Writes not so tedious a style as this.- Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles, Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. Lucy. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only Scourge, Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces! O, that I could but call these dead to life! It were enough to fright the realm of France: Were but his picture left among you here, It would amaze' the proudest of you all. Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence, And give them burial as beseems their worth. Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, He speaks with such a proud, commanding spirit. For God's sake, let him have 'em; to keep them here They would but stink, and putrefy the air. Char. Go, take their bodies Lence. Lucy. I'll bear them hence: But from their ashes shall be rear'd A phoenix that shall make all France afear. Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what thou wilt. And now to Paris, in this conquering vein; All will be ours, now bloody Talbot s slair. I AM 4 Flexible, yielding. Paving mad. Confound. 6 Want 486 ACT V. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. ACT V. VE L-Londen. A room in the palace. mler King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. Z. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope, hemperor, and the earl of Armagnac ? G.o. have, my lord; and their intent is this,- They humbly sue unto your excellence, fre a godly peace concluded of, Petween the realms of England and of France. K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their mo- tion? Glo. Well, my good lord; and as the only means To stop effusion of our Christian blood, And 'stablish quietness on every side. K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle, for I always thought, It was both impious and unnatural, That such immanity' and bloody strife Should reign among professors of one faith. Glos. Beside, my lord,-the sooner to effect, And surer bind, this knot of amity,- The earl of Armagnac-near knit to Charles, A man of great authority in France,- Proffers his only daughter to your grace In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are young; And fitter is my study and my books, Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. Yet, call the ambassadors: and, as you please, So let them have their answers every one; I shall be well content with any choice, Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. Enter a Legate, and two ambassadors, with Win- chester, in a cardinal's habit. Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester install'd, And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? Then, I perceive, that will be verified, Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy,- If once he come to be a cardinal, He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown. Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive, That, neither in birth, or for authority, The bishop will be overborne by thee: I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exeunt SCENE II.-France. Plains in Anjou. Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alençon, La Pucelle, and forces, marching. Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping spirits: 'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt, And turn again unto the warlike French. Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of France, And keep not back your powers in dalliance. Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us; Else, ruin combat with their palaces! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Success unto our valiant general, And happiness to his accomplices! Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, speak. Mess. The English army, that divided was Into two parts, is now 'conjoin'd in one; And means to give you battle presently. Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; But we will presently provide for them. Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there; Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd:- Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine: Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. Char. Then on, my lords; and France be for- tunate! [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Before Angiers. Alarums: Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen flv.- Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts;? And ye choice spirits that admonish me, K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suits And give me signs of future accidents! Have been consider'd and debated on. Your purpose is both good and reasonable: And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd To draw conditions of a friendly peace; Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean Shall be transported presently to France. You speedy helpers, that are substitutes Under the lordly monarch of the north,3 Appear, and aid me in this enterprise ! Enter Fiends. [Thunder. Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master,-This speedy quick appearance argues proof I have informed his highness so at large, As-liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, Her beauty, and the value of her dower,- He doth intend she shall be England's queen. K. Hen. In argument and proof of which con- tract, Year her this jewel, [To the Amb.] pledge of my affection. And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, A fely brought to Dover; where, inshipp'd, Commit them to the fortune of the sea. [Exeunt King Henry and train; Gloster, Exeter, and Ambassadors. W. Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive The sum of money, which I promised Should be denver'd to his holiness rciothing me in these grave ornaments. g. I wiit attend upon your lordship's leisure. 37 Flow, Winchester will not submit, I trow, Oia ifanc to the proudest peer. Burbenty, savageness. 2 Charms sewed up. Of your accustom'd diligence to me. Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd Out of the powerful regions under earth, Help me this once, that France may get the field. [They walk about, and speak not. O, hold me not with silence over-long! Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, I'll lop a member off, and give it you, In earnest of a further benefit; So you do condescend to help me now. [They hang their heads. No hope to have redress?-My body shall Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. [They shake their heads. Cannot my body, or blood-sacrifice, Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all, Before that England give the French the foil. [They depart See! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 3 The north was supposed to be the particular nabitation of bad spirits. SCENE III. 487 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. That France must vail' her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap. My ancient incantations are too weak, And hell too strong for me to buckle with: Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Ex. Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting. La Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. La Pucelle is taken. The French fly. York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast: Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, And try if they can gain your liberty.- A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace! See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be. York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; No shape but his can please your dainty eye. Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee! And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd By bloody hands in sleeping on your beds! York. Fell, banning2 hag! enchantress, hold thy tongue. Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the stake. [Exeunt. Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady Mar- garet. Suff. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. [Gazes on her. O fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly; For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, And lay them gently on thy tender side. I kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.] for eternal peace: Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. Mar. Margaret my name: and daughter to a king, The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. Suff. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. Be not offended, nature's miracle, Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me: So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. Yet, if this servile usage once offend, Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend. [She turns away as going. O, stay!-I nave no power to let her pass; My hand would free her, but my heart says-no. As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, Twinkling another counterfeited beam, So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak: I'll call for pen and ink, and write my inind: Fie, De la Poole! disable not thyself;" Hast not a tongue? is she not here thy prisoner? Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such, Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk,-if thy name be so,- What ransom must I pay before I pass? For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. Suff. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit, Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside. Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I pay? Suff. She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd: She is a woman; therefore to be won. [Aside. Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no? Suff. Fond man! remember, that thou hast a wife; 1 Lower. 2 To ban is to curse. 3 'Do not represent thyself sc weak.' Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? [.Aride. Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hea Suff. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling card. Mar. He talks at random: sure the man is mad. Suff. And yet a dispensation may be had. Mar. And yet I would that you would answer m.. Suff. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom? Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing." Mar. He talks of wood: It is some carpenter. Suff. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, And peace established between these realms. But there remains a scruple in that too: For though her father be the king of Naples, Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet he is poor, And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. Mar. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure? Suff. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much: Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield.- Madam, I have a secret to reveal. Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a knight, And will not any way dishonour me. Aside. Suff. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. Mur. Perhaps I shall be rescu'd by the French; And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. Suff. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause- Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere [Aside. now. Suff. Lady, wherefore talk you so? Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. Suff. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile, Than is a slave in base servility; For princes should be free. Suff. And so shall you, If happy England's royal king be free. Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? Suff. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen, To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, And set a precious crown upon thy head, If thou wilt condescend to be my- Mar. Suff. His love. What? Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. Suff. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, And have no portion in the choice myself. How say you, madam: are you so content? Mar. An if my father please, I am content. Suff. Then call our captains, and our colours forth; And, madam, at your father's castle walls We'll crave a parley to confer with him. [Troops come forward. A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the walls. Suff See, Reignier, thy daughter prisoner. Reig. To whom? Suff Reig. To me. Suffolk, what remedy? I am a soldier; and unapt to weep, Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. Suff. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord, Consent (and, for thy honor, give consent,) Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; Whom I with pain have wou'd and won thereto; And this her easy-held imprisonment Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 4 An awkward business, an undertaking not likely to succeed. 5 Love. 486 ACT V. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? Suff Fair Margaret knows, Tnat Suffolk doth not flatter, face,' or fegn. Reg. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend, fo give thee answer of thy just demand. [Ext, from the walls. Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below. Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territo- ries; Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. Suff. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child, Fit to be made companion with a king: What answer makes your grace unto my suit? Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth, To be the princely bride of such a lord; Upon condition I may quietly Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, Free from oppression, or the stroke of war, My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. Suff. That is her ransom, I deliver her; And those two counties, I will undertake, Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. Reig. And I again,-in Henry's royal name, As deputy unto that gracious king, Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. Suff. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, [Aside. Because this is in traffic of a king: And yet, methinks, I could be well content To be mine own attorney in this case. I'll over then to England with this news, And make this marriage to be solemniz'd; So, farewell, Reignier! Set this diamond safe In golden palaces, as it becomes. Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise, and prayers, Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. Suff. Farewell, sweet madam! But, hark you, Margaret; No princely commendations to my king? Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, A virgin, and his servant, say to him. Suff. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly di- rected. But, madam, I must trouble you again,- No loving token to his majesty? Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, Never yet taint with love, I send the king. Suff. And this withal. [Kisses her. Mar. That for thyself;-I will not so presume, To send such peevish2 tokens to a king." [Exeunt Reignier and Margaret. Suff. O, wert thou for myself!-But, Suffolk, stay; Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth; There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise: Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount; Mad, natural graces that extinguish art; Repeat their semblance often on the seas, That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. 1 Play the hypocrite. 3 Wild. 2 Childisn. 4 Untimely. [Exit. SCENE IV.-Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. Enter York, Warwick, and others. York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart outright! Have I sought every country far and near, And, now it is my chance to find thee out, Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee! Puc. Decrepit miser!5 base ignoble wretch! I am descended of a gentler blood; Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. Shep. Out, out!-My lords, an please you, 'tis not so; I did beget her, all the parish knows: Her mother liveth yet, can testify, She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thy parentage? York. This argues what her kind of life hath been, Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. Shep. Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle 16 God knows thou art a collop of my flesh; And for thy sake have I shed many a tear: Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan.. Puc. Peasant, avaunt!-You have suborn'd this man, On purpose to obscure my noble birth. Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest, The morn that I was wedded to her mother.- Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time Of thy nativity! I would, the milk Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast, Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake! Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? O, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good. [Exit. York. Take her away; for she hath liv'd too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities. Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- demn'd: Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, But issu'd from the progeny of kings; Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above, By inspiration of celestial grace, To work exceeding miracles on earth. I never had to do with wicked spirits: But you,-that are polluted with your lusts, Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices,-- Because you want the grace that others have, You judge it straight a thing impossible To compass wonders, but by help of devils. No, misconceived!" Joan of Arc hath been A virgin from her tender infancy, Chaste and immaculate in very thought; Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd, Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. York. Ay, ay;-away with her to execution. War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, Spare for no faggots, let there be enough: Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, That so her torture may be shortened. Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts?- Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity; 6 A corruption of obstinate. 7 No, ve misconceivers, ye who mistake me 5 Miser here simply means a miserable creature. and my qualities.' SCENE V. 489 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. That warranteth by law to be thy privilege.- I am with child, ye bloody homicides: Murder not then the fruit within my womb, Although ye hale me to a violent death. York. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with child? War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: Is all your strict preciseness come to this? York. She and the dauphin have been juggling: I did imagine what would be her refuge. War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live; Especially since Charles must father it. Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his; It was Alençon, that enjoy'd my love. York. Alençon! that notorious Machiavel! It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you; "Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd, But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. War. A married man! that's most intolerable. York. Why, here's a girl! I think, she knows not well, There were so many, whom she may accuse. By sight of these our baleful2 enemies. Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted hus: That-in regard king Henry gives consent, Of mere compassion, and of lenity, To ease your country of distressful war, And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,- You shall become true liegemen to his crown: And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him, And still enjoy thy regal dignity. Aien. Must he be then as shadow of himself! Adorn his temples with a coronet ;3 And yet, in substance and authority, Retain but privilege of a private man? This proffer is absurd and reasonless. Char. 'Tis known already, that I am possess¹d With more than half the Gallian territories, And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king: Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, Detract so much from that prerogative, As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole? No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep That which I have, than, coveting for more, cast from possibility of all. War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and free. York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure!-Be Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. Puc. Then lead me hence ;-with whom I leave my curse: May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you; till mischief, and despair, Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves! [Exit, guarded. York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, Thou foul accursed minister of hell! Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence With letters of commission from the king. For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, Mor'd with remorse' of these outrageous broils, Have earnestly implor'd a general peace Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; And here at hand the dauphin, and his train, Approacheth, to confer about some matter. York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? After the slaughter of so many peers, So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, That in this quarrel have been overthrown, And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? Have we not lost most part of all the towns, By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, Our great progenitors had conquered?- 0, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief, The utter loss of all the realm of France. Wer. Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace, It shall be with such strict and severe covenants, As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. Enter Charles, attended; Alençon, Bastard, Reig- nier, and others. Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed, That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, We come to be informed by yourselves What the conditions of that league must be. York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes The hollow passage of my poison'd voice, 1 Compassion. 2 Baneful. 3 Coronet is here used for crown. York. Insulting Charles! hast thou by secret means Used intercession to obtain a league; And, now the matter grows to compromise, Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison? Either accept the title thou usurp'st, Of benefit proceeding from our king, And not of any challenge of desert, Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy, To cavil in the course of this contract: If once it be neglected, ten to one, We shall not find like opportunity. Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy, To save your subjects from such massacre, And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen By our proceeding in hostility: And therefore take this compact of a truce, Although you break it when your pleasure serves. [Aside to Charles. War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our con- dition stand? Char. It shall: Only reserv'd, you claim no interest In any of our towns of garrison. York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, As thou art knight, never to disobey, Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. [Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealty. So, now dismiss your army when you please; Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeunt. SCENE V-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk; Gloster, and Exeter following. K. Hen. Your wond'rous rare description, no- ble earl, of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me: Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide; So am I driven, by breath of her renown, Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 4 Be content to live as the beneficiary of our king.' 490 ACT V. FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. Where I may have fruition of her love. As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. Suff. Tush! my good lord! this superficial tale Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me Is but a preface of her worthy praise: The chief perfections of that lovely dame (Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) Would make a volume of enticing lines, Able to ravish any dull conceit. And, which is more, she is not so divine, So full replete with choice of all delights, But, with as humble lowliness of mind, She is content to be at your command; Command. I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, To love and honour Henry as her lord. K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- sume. Therefore, my lord protector, give consent, That Margaret may be England's royal queen. Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd Unto another lady of esteem; How shall we then dispense with that contract, And not deface your honour with reproach? Suff. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; Or one, that, at a triumph' having vow'd To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists By reason of his adversary's odds: A pocr earl's daughter is unequal odds, And therefore may be broke without offence. Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that? Her father is no better than an earl, Although in glorious titles he excel. Suff. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, The king of Naples, and Jerusalem; And of such great authority in France, As his alliance will confirm our peace, And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do, Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal dower; While reigniet sooner will receive, than give. Su.. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so your king, That he should be so abject, base, and poor, To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. Henry is able to enrich his queen, And not to seek a queen to make him rich: So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. Marriage is a matter of more worth, Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; 2 Not whom he will, but whom his grace affects, Must be companion of his nuptial bed: And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, It most of all these reasons bindeth us, In our opinion she should be preferr'd. For what is wedlock forced, but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace. That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. K. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report, My noble lord of Suffolk; or for that My tender youth was never yet attaint With any passion of inflaming love, I cannot tell; but this I am assur'd, I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, As I am sick with working of my thoughts. Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France Agree to any covenants: and procure That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd King Henry's faithful and anointed queen: For your expenses and sufficient charge, Among the people gather up a tenth. Be gone, I say; for, till you do return, I rest perplexed with a thousand cares.- And you, good uncle, banish all offence: If you do censure³ me by what you were, Not what you are, I know it will excuse This sudden execution of my will. And so conduct me, where from company, I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exil. Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. [Exeunt Gloster and Exeter. Suff. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd: and thus he goes, As did the youthful Paris once to Greece; With hope to find the like event in love, But prosper better than the Trojan did. Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Ea Of this play there is no copy earlier than that of the folio in 1623, though the two succeeding parts are extant in two editions in quarto. That the second and third parts were published without the first, may be admitted as no weak proof that the copies were surreptitiously obtained, and that the printers at that time gave the public those plays, not such as the author designed, but such as they could get them. That this play was written before the two others is indubitably collected from the se- ries of events; that it was written and played be- fore Henry the Fifth is apparent; because, in the epilogue there is mention made of this play, and not of the other parts: 'Henry the Sixth in swaddling bands crown'd king, 'Whose state so many had the managing, That they lost France, and made his England bleed: 'Which oft our stage hath shown.' France is lost in this play. The two following contain, as the old title imports, the contention of Whom should we match, with Henry, being a king, the houses of York and Lancaster. But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, Approves her fit for none, but for a king: Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit (More than in woman commonly is seen,) Will answer our hope in issue of a king; For Henry, son unto a conqueror, Is likely to beget more conquerors, f with a lady of so high resolve, 1 A triumph then signified a public exhibition; such as a mask, or revel. The second and third parts of Henry VI. were printed in 1600. When Henry V. was written, we know not, but it was printed likewise in 1600, and therefore before the publication of the first and second parts. The first part of Henry VI. had been often shown on the stage, and would certainly have appeared in its place, had the author been the pub lisher. JOHNSON. 2 By the discretional agency of another. 3 Judge. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. The Contention of the two famous houses of York and Lancaster,' in two parts, was pub ished in quarto, in 1600; and the first part was entered on the Stationers' books, (as Mr. Steevens has observed,) March 12, 1593-4. On these two plays, which I believe to have been written by some preceding author, before the year 1590, Shakspeare formed, as I conceive, this and the following drama, altering, retrenching, or amplifying, as he thought proper. At present it is only necessary to apprize the reader of the method observed in the printing of these plays. All the lines printed in the usual manner are found in the original quarto plays (or at least with such minute variations as are not worth noticing:) and those, I conceive, Shakspeare adopted as he found them. The lines to which inverted commas are prefixed, were, if my hypothesis be well founded, retouched, and greatly improved by him and those with asterisks were his own original production; the embroidery with which he ornamented the coarse stuff that had been awkwardly made up for the stage by some of his contemporaries. The speeches which he new-modelled, he improved, sometimes by amplification, and sometimes by re- trenchment. MALONE. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Hume and Southwell, two priests. Humphrey, duke of Gloster, his uncle. King Henry the Sixth: Bolingbroke, a conjurer. A Spirit raised by him. Cardinal Beaufort, bishop of Winchester, great Thomas Horner, an armourer. Peter, his man. uncle to the king. Richard Plantagenet, duke of York: Edward and Richard, his sons. Duke of Somerset, Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Buckingham, of the king's party. Lord Clifford, Young Clifford, his son. Earl of Salisbury, } Earl of Warwick, of the York faction. Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower. Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his brother. Stanley. A Sea-captain, Master, and Master's Walter Whitmore. Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk. A Herald. Vaux. Lord Say. Sir John Mate, and Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's. Simpcox, an impostor. Two Murder ers. Jack Cade, a rebel: George, John, Dick, Smith, the Weaver, Michael, &c. his followers. Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. Margaret, queen to king Henry. Eleanor, duchess of Gloster. Margery Jourdain, a witch. Wife to Simpcox. Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Al- dermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers; Citi- zens, Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. Scene, dispersedly in various parts of England. ACT I. SCENE I-London.-A room of state in the palace. Flourish of trumpets: then Hautboys. Enter, on one side, King Henry, Duke of Glos- ter, Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on the other, Queen Margaret, led in by Suffolk; York, Somerset, Buckingham, and others, fol- lowing. Suffolk. As by your high imperial majesty I had in charge at my depart for France, As procurator to your excellence, To marry princess Margaret for your grace; So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,- In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and Alençon, Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bishops, I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd: And humbly now upon my bended knee, In sight of England and her lordly peers, Deliver up my title in the queen To your most gracious hands, that are the substance Of that great shadow I did represent; The happiest gift that ever marquis gave, The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. K. Hen. Suffolk, arise.-Welcome, queen Mar- garet: I can express no kinder sign of love, Than this kind kiss.-O Lord, that lends me life, Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, A world of earthly blessings to my soul, *If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gra cious lord; 492 Aur SECOND PART OF KING HENRY V.. had'-Studied so long, sat in the council-nouse, Early and late, debating to and fro The mutual conference that my mind hath By day, by night; waking, and in my dreams; In courtly company, or at my beads,- With you mine alder-liefest sovereign, Makes me the bolder to salute my king 'With ruder terms; such as my wit affords, 'And over-joy of heart doth minister. How France and Frenchmen might be kept in. awe! And hath his highness in his infancy Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? And shall these labours, and these honours, die? Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 'K. Hen. Her sight did ravish: but her grace in Your deeds of war, and all our council, die? speech, "O peers of England, shameful is this league' 'Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame: Blotting your names from books of memory: Razing the characters of your renown; Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.Defacing monuments of conquered France; All. Long live queen Margaret, England's hap-Undoing all, as all had never been! "Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, 'Makes me, from wondering fall to weeping joys; 'Such is the fulness of my heart's content.- piness! Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 6 'Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis course? Suff. My lord protector, so it please your grace,This peroration with such circumstance?" Here are the articles of contracted peace, For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still. Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, *Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; "For eighteen months concluded by consent. But now it is impossible we should: Glo. [Reads.] Imprimis, It is agreed between the Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine Suffolk, ambassador for Henry king* Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style of England,-that the said Henry shall espouse Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. the lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier king *Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem; and crown* These counties were the keys of Normandy :- her queen of England, ere the thirtieth of May But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? next ensuing.Item,-That the duchy of Anjou 'War. For grief, that they are past recovery: and the county of Maine, shall be released and For, were there hope to conquer them again, delivered t: the king her father- 'My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 'Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? K. Hen. Uncle, how now? Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord; Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. Win. Item,-It is further agreed between themMort Dieu! -that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released and delivered over to the king her father; and she sent over of the king of England's own* proper cost and charges, without having dowry. K. Hen. They please us well.-Lord marquess kneel down; We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, And girt thee with the sword.- Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace From being regent in the parts of France, Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd.- Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, Buckingham, Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick; We thank you all for this great favour done, In entertainment to my princely queen. Come, let us in; and with all speed provide To see her coronation be perform'd. and [Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffolk. Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, "To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief, Your grief, the common grief of all the land. What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? Did he so often lodge in open field, 6 'In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance? And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, "To keep by policy what Henry got? Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? 'Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself, "With all the learned council of the realm, 1 I am the bolder to address you, having already familiarized you to my imagination. 2 Beloved above all things. *York. For Suffolk's duke-may he be suffocate That dims the honour of this warlike isle! France should have torn and rent my very heart, *Before I would have yielded to this league. I never read but England's kings have had 'Large sums of gold, and dowries with their wives: And our king Henry gives away his own, To match with her that brings no vantages. *Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, *That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, For costs and charges in transporting her! * She should have staid in France, and starv'd in France, *Before- *Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot *It was the pleasure of my lord the king. *Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind ""Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you. 'Rancour will out: Proud prelate, in thy face 'I see thy fury: If I longer stay, * We shall begin our ancient bickerings.4 Lordlings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, I prophesied-France will be lost ere long. [Exit Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy: *Nay, more, an enemy unto you all; *And no great friend, I fear me, to the king *Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, *And heir apparent to the English crown; *Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, *And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, *There's reason he should be displeased at it. 3 This speech crowded with so many circum stances of aggravation. 4 Skirmishings. SCENE II. 493 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VL ter; *The peers agreed; end Henry is well pleas & To change two dukedoms for a duke's fail daughter. * Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words *Bewitch your hearts; be wise, and circumspect. "What though the common people favour him, Calling him-Humphrey, the good duke of Glos-* I cannot blame them all; What is't to them? *'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 'Clapping their hands, and crying with a loud voice* Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their Jesu maintain your royal excellence! 'With-God preserve the good duke Humphrey ! 'I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 'He will be found a dangerous protector. *Buck. Why should he then protect our reign, pillage, *And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, *Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone: *While as the silly owner of the goods sove-* Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, *And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloc f, *While all is shar'd, and all is borne away; *Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. *So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland, *He being of age to govern of himself?-- Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, And all together-with the duke of Suffolk,- We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. *Car. This weighty business will not brook de-* lay; I'll to the duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum- phrey's pride, And greatness of his place be grief to us, 'Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; 'His insolence is more intolerable "Than all the princes in the land beside ;) 'If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector. Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, * Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. [Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 'While these do labour for their own preferment, 'Behoves it us to labour for the realm. I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 'Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 'Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal- 'More like a soldier, than a man o'the church, 'As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all,- 'Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 'Unlike the ruler of a common-weal.- "Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age! Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping, Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, Excepting none but good duke Humphrey.- And brother York, thy acts in Ireland, In bringing them to civil discipline; "Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 'Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of the people: Join we together, for the public good; 'In what we can to bridle and suppress The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds, "While they do tend the profit of the land. *War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, *And common profit of his country! * York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd, * Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.2 Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French! Cold news for me; for I had hope of France, Even as I have of fertile England's soil. A day will come, when York shall claim his own; And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts, And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, For that's the golden mark I seek to hit : Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, Nor hold his sceptre in his childish fist, Nor wear the diadem upon his head, Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. Then, York, be still a while, till time do serve: Watch thou, and wake when others be asleep, To pry into the secrets of the state; Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd; And in my standard bear the arms of York, To grapple with the house of Lancaster; And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. A room in the duke of Gloster's house. Enter Gloster and the Duchess. Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? *Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, * Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto* the main. : *As frowning at the favours of the world? *Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight? What see'st thou there? king Henry's diadem, Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? * If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, Until thy head be circled with the same. Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold:- What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine And, having both together heav'd it up, We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, And never more abase our sight so low, As to vouchafe one glance unto the ground. War. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;* That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win, *And would have kept, so long as breath did last Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine; Which I will win from France, or else be slain. * [Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;* *Paris is lost; the state of Normandy *stands on a tickle' point, now they are gone: Batfolk concluded on the articles; 1 For ticklish. 32 2 Meleager; whose life was to continue only so long as a certain firebrand should last. His mother Althea having thrown it into the fire, he expired in torment. 494 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy Your grace's title shall be multiplied. lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts: And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world! My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. Duch. What dream, my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it "With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 'G', Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain, by whom I have forgot, 'But, as I think, it was by the cardinal; And on the pieces of the broken wand 'Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke Somerset, Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch; And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? And will they undertake to do me good? 'Hume. This they have promised,-to show your highness A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, 'That shall make answer to such questions, As by your grace shall be propounded him. 'Duch. It is enough; I'll think upon the ques- tions: 'When from Saint Albans we do make return, 'We'll see these things effected to the full. " of Here Hume, take this reward: make merry, mat." With thy confederates in this weighty cause. [Exit Duchess. And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk. This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows. 'Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument, That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove, 'Shall lose his head for his presumption. 'But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: Methought, I sat in seat of majesty, In the cathedral church of Westminster, And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd; Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me, "And on my head did set the diadem. Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: * Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd' Eleanor! Art thou not second woman in the realm; And the protector's wife, belov'd of him? *Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, * Above the reach or compass of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband and thyself, * From top of honour to disgrace's feet? Away from me, and let me hear no more. Duch. What, what, my lord! are you choleric With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be check'd. 'Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 6 Enter a Messenger. * Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold; 'Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume? Seal up your lips, and give no words but-mum! 'The business asketh silent secrecy. 6 *Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch: *Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 6 Yet have I gold, flies from another coast: I dare not say, from the rich cardinal, And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk, "Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain, They knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour, 'Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 6 And buzz these conjurations in her brain. *They say, A crafty knave does need no broker; *Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. * Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near * To call them both-a pair of crafty knaves. *Well, so it stands. And thus, I fear, at last, *Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck; * And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: so* Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. A room in the palace, Enter Peter, and others, with petitions. Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure, You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans, Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. Glo. I go.-Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. [Exeunt Gloster and Messenger. Follow I must, I cannot go before, *While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. * Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, And smooth my way upon their headless necks: And, being a woman, I will not be slack To play my part in fortune's pageant. Where are you there? Sir John!3 nay, tear not, man, We are alone; here's none but thee, and I. Enter Hume. Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty! Duch. What say'st thou, majesty! I am but grace. Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice, 1 Ill-educated. 2 For where. SA title frequently bestowed on the clergy. 6 5 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close; my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 2 Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man! Jesu bless him! Enter Suffolk, and Queen Margaret * 1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks. and the queen with him: I'll be the first, sure. 2 Pet. Come back, fool; this is the duke Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 'Suff. How now, fellow? would'st any thing with me? 1 Pet. I pray, my lord, pardon me! I took for my lord protector. 6 Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To m lord protector! are your supplications to his 10r- 'ship? Let me see them: What is thine? 1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keep- 'ing my house and lands, and wife and all, from me. Suff. Thy wife too? that is some wrong indeed.- What's yours?-What's here! [Reads.] Against the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the common? of Melford.-How now, sir knave? 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner our whole township. Peter. [Presenting has petitim 4 Let the issue be what it will. Against my 5 With great exactness and observance of form SCENE III. 495 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VL master, Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke* And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds, of York was rightful heir to the crown. 'Q. Mar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of I ork say, he was rightful heir to the crown? Peter. That my master was? No, forsooth: my master said, That he was; and that the king was an usurper. *That she will light to listen to the lays, And never mount to trouble you again. * So, let her rest: And, madam, list to me; For I am bold to counsel you in this. Although we fancy not the cardinal, *Yet must we join with him, and with the lords, Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. As for the duke of York,-this late complaint Will make but little for his benefit: Suff. Who is there? [Enter Servants.]-Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently:-we'll hear more of your matter before* the king. [Exeunt Servants, with Peter. 'Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be pro- tected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [Tears the petition. Away, base cullions !'-Suffolk, let them go. *All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. *Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, * Is this the fashion in the court of England? *Is this the government of Britain's isle, *And this the royalty of Albion's king? *What, shall king Henry be a pupil still, *Under the surly Gloster's governance? * Am I a queen in title and in style, *And must be made a subject to a duke? 'I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours "Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love, And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France; 'I thought king Henry had resembled thee, In courage, courtship, and proportion: 'But all his mind is bent to holiness, *To number Ave-Maries on his beads: * His champions are-the prophets and apostles; *His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; *His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves * Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. *I would, the college of cardinals * Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, *And set the triple crown upon his head; *That were a state fit for his holiness. 6. Suff. Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I 'In England work your grace's full content. *Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we Beaufort, *The imperious churchman; Somerset, Bucking- ham, *And grumbling York; and not the least of these, But can do more in England than the king. * k So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, * And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. Enter King Henry, York, and Somerset, convers- ing with him; Duke and Duchess of Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwick. K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which; Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. York. If York have ill demean'd himself in France, Then let him be denay'd' the regentship. Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, Let York be regent, I will yield to him. War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no, Dispute not that: York is the worthier. Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, War- wick. War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. *Sal. Peace, son;-and show some reason, Buckingham, *Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. *Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 'To give his censure: these are no women's mat- ters. Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what need your grace To be protector of his excellence? 'Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm, 'And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. Suff. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 'Since thou wert king, (as who is king, but thou?) "The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck: * The dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; * And all the peers and nobles of the realm *Suff. And he of these, that can do most of all,* Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so* much, As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of* ladies, More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife; Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, *And in her heart she scorns her poverty: *Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? *Contemptuous base-born callat³ as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The very train of her worst wearing-gown Was better worth than all my father's lands, **Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. Suff. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her, 1 Scoundrels. 2 Savings. 3 Drab, trull. 4 i. e. The complaint of Peter the armourer's man against his master. * *Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags Are lank and lean with thy extortions. Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire, Have cost a mass of public treasury. *Buck. Thy cruelty in execution, Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, *And left thee to the mercy of the law. Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices and towns in France,- *If they were known, as the suspect is great,- *Would make thee quickly hop without th; head. [Exit Gloster. The queen drops her fan. 'Give me my fan: What, minion! can you not? [Gives the Duchess a box on the ear. I cry you mercy, madam; Was it you? 5 Denay is frequently used instead of deny among the old writers. 6 Censure here means simply judgment or opinion. 496 ACT 1. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY V.. 'Duch. Was't I? yea, I it was, proud French- woman; 'Could I come near your beauty with my nails, I'd set my ten commandments in your face.¹ K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will. "Duch. Against her will! Good king, look to't in time; She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby: *Though in this place most master wear no breeches, She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. [Exit Duchess. *Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, * And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: * She's tickled now; her fume can need no spurs, * She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. [Exit Buckingham. Re-enter Gloster. *Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown, With walking once about the quadrangle, * I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. *As for your spiteful false objections, *Prove them, and I lie open to the law: *But God in mercy so deal with my soul, *As I in duty love my king and country! *But, to the matter that we have in hand *I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man To be your regent in the realm of France. *Suff. Before we make election, give me leave To show some reason, of no little force, That York is most unmeet of any man. York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride; *Next, if I be appointed for the place, My lord of Somerset will keep me here, *Without discharge, money, or furniture, *Till France be won into the dauphin's hands. *Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will, *Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. *War. That I can witness; and a fouler fact * Did never traitor in the land commit. Suff. Peace, headstrong Warwick! 'I do beseech your majesty, 'Let him have all the rigour of the law. Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me if I ever spake the words. My accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me: 1 have good witness of this: therefore, I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for villain's accusation. a K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? 'Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge. 'Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, Because in York this breeds suspicion: And let these have a day appointed them 'For single combat in convenient place; For he hath witness of his servant's malice: "This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset, We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; * for God's *sake, pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth against me. O, Lord have mercy upon me! I *shall never be able to fight a blow: O Lord, my *heart! Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. K. Hen. Away with them to prison: and the day 'Of combat shall be the last of the next month. *Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exe. SCENE IV.-The same. The duke of Gloster's Garden. Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, Southwell, and Bolingbroke. *Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. *Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- *vided: Will her ladyship behold and hear our *exorcisms ?? *Hume. Ay; What else? fear you not her courage. *Boling. I have heard her reported to be a *woman of an invincible spirit: But it shall be * convenient, master Hume, that you be by her aloft, War. Image of pride, why should I hold my while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go peace? Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner, and Peter. Suff. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself! 6 *York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? *K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ? tell me :* What are these? Suff. Please it your majesty, this is the man "That doth accuse his master of high treason: His words were these ;-that Richard, duke of York, "Was rightful heir unto the English crown; And that your majesty was an usurper. 6 *in God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] the earth: John Southwell, read you; and let 'Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on * us to our work. Enter Duchess, above. all. To this geer; the sooner the better. *Duch. Well said, my masters; and welcome *Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, The time of night when Troy was set on fire; The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, 'And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, "That time best fits the work we have in hand. Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise, K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words? Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter: God is my wit-We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. ness, I am falsely accused by the villain. 6 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up his hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one night as we were scouring my lord of York's armour. *York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech:- 1 The marks of her fingers and thumbs. 2 By exorcise Shakspeare invariably means to raise spirits, and not to lay them. [Here they perform the ceremonics appertaining, and make the circle; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lighteni terribly; then the Spirit riseth. *Spir. Adsum. *M. Jourd. Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power *Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; 3 Matter or business. 4 Village-dog", SCENE I. 497 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. *For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. * Spir. Ask what thou wilt:-That I had said and done! Boling. First, of the king. What shall of him become? [Reading out of a paper. Spir. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. [As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer. Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset Spir. Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Than where castles mounted stand. ? Have lone, for more I hardly can endure. Bing. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake: 'False fiend, avoid! [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their guards, and others. "York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch.- What, madam, are you there? the king and com- monweal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains; My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well gueraon'd' for these good deserts. *Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king, Enter a Servant. 'Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, "To sup with me to-morrow night.-Away! [Ere ACT II. SCENE I-Saint Albans. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, Cardinal, and Suffolk with Falconers hollaing. 'Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, 2 'I saw not better sport these seven years' day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. "K. Hen. But, what a point, my lord, your fal con made, 'And what a pitch she flew above the rest!- To see how God in all his creatures works! *Yea, man and birds, are fain³ of climbing high. Suff. No marvel, an it like your majesty, My ford protector's hawks do tower so well; They know their master loves to be aloft, *And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. Glos. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind "That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 'Car. I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds. Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; How think you by that? Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven? *K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy! 'Car. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, *Injurious duke; that threat'st where is no cause. *Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you this? [Showing her the papers. Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close, And kept asunder:-You, madam, shall with us :-That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! 'Stafford, take her to thee. [Ex. Duch. from above. 'We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming; All-Away! [Exeunt guards, with South. Boling. *York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, watch'd her well: &c. you' *A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? [Reads. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. *Why, this is just. *Aio te, acida, Romanos vincere posse. Well, to the rest: Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end.- What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Than where castles mounted stand. * Come, come, my lords; *These oracles are hardily attain'd, *And hardly understood. The king is now in progress toward Saint Albans, With him, the husband of this lovely lady; "Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them; A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. York. At your pleasure, my good lord.-Who's within there, ho! 1 Rewarded. 2 The falconer's term for hawking at water-fowl. 'Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory? *Tantane animis cælestibus iræ ? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice, With such holiness can you do it? 'Suff. No malice, sir; no more than well be- comes So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer Glo. As who, my lord? Suff Why, as you, my lord; An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine inso- lence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace. Good queen; ard whet not on these furious peers, For blessed are the peace-makers on earth. Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! Glo. 'Faith, noly uncle, 'would 'twere come to that! (fiside to the Cardinal. 'Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Asias. 'Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, "In thine own person answer thy abuse. Aside. 'Car. Av, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st, "This evening, on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 'K. Hen. How now, my lords? 'Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 'Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport.-Come with thy two- [Aside to Gloster. hand sword. 3 Fond. 4 i. e. Thy mind is working on a crown. 198 Аст II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Glo. True, uncle. Car. Are you advis'd?--the east side of the grove? Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. Aside. K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster? Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.- Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, * Or all my fence' shall fail. *Car. Medice, teipsum; [Aside. 'Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. [Aside. K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. * How irksome is this music to my heart! *When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? * I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Albans, crying, A miracle! Glo. What means this noise? Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? Inhab. A miracle! a miracle! Suff. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight; A man, that ne'er saw in his life before. 'K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd! that to believing souls "Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans, and his breth- ren; and Simpcox, borne between two persons in a chair; his Wife, and a great multitude, following. *Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, * To present your highness with the man. *K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, *Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. * Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, *His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. *K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circum- stance, *That we for thee may glorify the Lord. What, has thou been born blind, and now restor'd? Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. Suff. What woman is this? Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have better told. K. Hen. Where wert thou born? Simp. At "erwick in the north, an't like your grace. 'K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great to thee: Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance, *Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep By good Saint Alban; who said,-Simpcox, come; Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee. Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft 1 Fence is the art of defence. *Myself have heard a voice to call him so. Car. What, art thou lame? Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me Suff. How cam'st thou so? Simp. Wife. A plum-tree, master. Glo. Simp. O, born so, master. A fall off of a tree. How long hast thou been blind? Glo. What, and would'st climb a tree? Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. *Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. * Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would'st venture so. " Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons 'And made me climb, with danger of my life. * Glo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.- 'Let me see thine eyes:-wink now, now open them :- In my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 'Simp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and Saint Alban. Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? Simp. Red, master; red as blood. Glo. Why, that's well said: What colour is my gown of? Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet is of? Suff. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. Glo. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. *Wife. Never before this day, in all his life. Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? Simp. Alas, master I know not. Glo. What's his name? Simp. I know not. Glo. Nor his? Simp. No, indeed, master. Glo. What's thine own name? Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lyingest knave In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, Thou might'st as well have known our names, as thus To name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly To nominate them all, 's impossible.- My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; And would ye not think that cunning to be great, That could restore this cripple to his legs? Simp. O, master, that you could! Glo. My masters of Saint Albans have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips? May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. Glo. Then send for one presently. May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Exit an attendant. Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away. Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone. You go about to torture me in vain. Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. Glc. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirran beadle, whip him ti he leap over that same stool. SCENE II. 499 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Bead. I will, my lord.-Come on, sirrrah; off with your doublet quickly. Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand. [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps over the stool, and runs away; and the people follow, and cry, A miracle! K. Hen. O God, seest thou this, and bear'st so long? *Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. *Glo. Follow the knave; and take this drab away. *Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. Glo. Let them be whipped through every mar- ket town, till they come to Berwick, whence they [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, &c. 'Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. Suff. True; made the lame to leap, and fly came. away. Glo. But you have done more miracles than I; You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter Buckingham. 'K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin ingham? SCENE II-London. The Duke of York's gar- den. Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. "York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and Warwick. Our simple supper ended, give me leave, 'In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 'In craving your opinion of my title, Which is infallible to England's crown. *Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, The Nevils are thy subjects to command. York. Then thus:- Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales; The second, William of Hatfield; and the third, 'Lionel, duke of Clarence; next to whom, Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster. The fifth, was Edmund Langley, duke of York 'The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster; Buck-William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father; And left behind him Richard, his only son, 'Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king; 'Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. A sort' of naughty persons, lewdly bent,- 'Under the countenance and confederacy Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, "The ringleader and head of all this rout,- 'Have practis'd dangerously against your state, 'Dealing with witches, and with conjurors: "Whom we have apprehended in the fact; Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 'Demanding of king Henry's life and death, And other of your highness' privy council, 6 Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 'Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 'Seiz'd on the realm; depos'd the rightful king; 'Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she 6 As more at large your grace shall understand. Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means* 'Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge; 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. [Aside to Gloster. Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart! *Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers: *And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, *Or to the meanest groom. *K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones; *Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! *Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest; *And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal: And, for my wife, I know not how it stands; 'Sorry I am to hear what I have heard: Noble she is; but if she have forgot 'Honour and virtue, and convers'd with such 'As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 'I banish her, my bed, and company; And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame, "That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. 'K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us here: To-morrow, toward London, back again, "To look into this business thoroughly, 'And call these foul offenders to their answers; And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 'Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 1 A company 2 Wickedly. came, And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, 'Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. *War. Father, the duke hath told the truth; Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. *York. Which now they hold by force, and not by right; *For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, *The issue of the next son should have reign'd. *Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. *York. The third son, duke of Clarence (from whose line * I claim the crown,) had issue-Philippe, a daughter, *Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March: Edmund had issue-Roger, earl of March: *Roger had issue-Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 'Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; "And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, Who kept him in captivity, till he died. But, to the rest. 'York. 6 His eldest sister, Aine, 'My mother being heir unto the crown, Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was so 'To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth soi. 6 By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir To Roger, earl of March; who was the son 'Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe 'Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: So, if the issue of the elder son 6 Succeed before the vounger, I am kin. War. What plain proceedings are more plain than this? 'Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, The fourth son; York claims it from the third. 'Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign. 'It fails not yet; but flourishes in thee, 6 And in thy sons, fair slips of sach a stock. 3 i. e. Your lady is in custody. + Weigh 500 ACT II. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together; And, in this private plot,¹ be we the first, That shall salute our rightful sovereign With honor of his birthright to the crown. Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your king, 'Till I be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd' With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster * And that's not suddenly to be perform'd; *But with advice, and silent secrecy. * Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, *Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence, *At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, *At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, *Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the Rock, *That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey : 'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that, *Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. * Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full. 'War. My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick 'Shall one day make the duke of York a king. York. And, Nevil, this do I assure myself,- 'Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 'The greatest man in England but the king. [Exe. SCENE III.-The same. A hall of justice. Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard. K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloster's wife: 'In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great; 'Receive the sentence of the law, for sins Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death.- *You four, from hence to prison back again; [To Jourd. &c. *From thence, unto the place of execution: *The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, *And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.- 'You, madam, for you are more nobly born, Despoiled of your honour in your life, 'Shall, after three days' open penance done, 'Live in your country here, in banishment, 'With sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my death. * Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee; I cannot justify whom the law condemns.- [Exeunt the Duchess, and the other prisoners, guarded. 'Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age *Should be to be protected like a chil- "God and king Henry govern Englan helm: 'Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. Glo. My staff?-here, noble Henry, is my staff; As willingly do I the same resign, 'As ere thy father Henry made it mine; And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it As others would ambitiously receive it. Farewell, good king: When I am dead and gone May honourable peace attend thy throne! Exit. Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Mar- garet queen; *And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself, *That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once,- *His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; *This staff of honour raught: 3-There let it stanu. 'Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. *Suff. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays; *Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. "York. Lords, let him go.-Please it your ma jesty, "This is the day appointed for the combat; And ready are the apellant, and defendant, 'The armourer and his man, to enter the lists, 'So please your highness to behold the fight. *Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore Day *Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 'K. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all things fit: Here let them end it, and God defend the right! * York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, *The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fas- tened to it; a drum before him; at the other side, Peter, with a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by Prentices drinking to him. 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack; And fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough. 2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.5 3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all; And a fig for Peter! 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid. 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master; fight for credit of the prentices. Peter. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, *I pray you; for, I think, I have taken my last *draught in this world.*Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!-my hammer :-and here, Tom, take all the money 'I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; that I have.-O Lord, bless me, I pray God! for I 'Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.2 am never able to deal with. my master, he hath 'K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster; ere learnt so much fence already. thou go, Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself Protector be: and God shall be my hope, My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet; And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd, Than when thou wert protector to thy king. *Q. Mar. I see no reason, why a king of years 1 Sequestered spot. 2 i. e ease. Sorrow requires solace, and age requires Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. -Sirrah, what's thy name? Peter. Peter, forsooth. Sal. Peter! what more? Peter. Thump. Sal. Thump! then see thou thump ty master well. Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigations, to prove him a knave 3 Reached. 4 In a worse plight. 5 A sort of sweet wine. SCENE IV. 501 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. *Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants. [Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes down his master. and myself an honest man: * and touching the* And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice- * duke of York, will take my death, I never To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet" groans. meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet; *And, therefore, Peter, have at thee with a down- And, when I start, the envious people laugh, right blow, as Bevis of Southampton fell upon And bid me be advised how I tread. Ascapart. 'Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? *York. Despatch:-this knave's tongue begins Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world; to double. *Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun? *No; dark shall be my light, and night my day; To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife; And he a prince, and ruler of the land: Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was, As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock, To every idle rascal follower. But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame ; Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. For Suffolk,--he that can do all in all treason. Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess [Dies. *York. Take away his weapon:-Fellow, *thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way. Peter. O God! have I overcome mine enemies 'in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in 'right! K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt:¹ And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong- fully.- Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. A street. Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks. With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,- And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: *But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. *Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry; I must offend, before I be attainted: *And had I twenty times so many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, *All these could not procure me any scathe, So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 'Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach? Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away, But I in danger for the breach of law. 'Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; 'These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald. * Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day* a cloud; *And, after summer, evermore succeeds *Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold; *So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.2 Sirs, what's o'clock? Serv. Ten, my lord. Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me, To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: 'Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, "To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook The abject people, gazing on thy face, With envious looks, still laughing at thy shame; That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels, When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. * But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare * My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand; Si John Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers. Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff. Glo. No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze! See, how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks; And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, And bans thine enemies, both mine and thine. Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief. Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself: For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, And thou a prince, protector of this land, Methinks, I should not thus be led along, Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back; Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's par- liament, holden at Bury the first of this next month. Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before! This is close dealing.-Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald. My Nell, I take my leave:-and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 'Sher. An't please your grace, here my com- mission stays: And sir John Stanley is appointed now To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 'Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here? Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your grace. Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray You use her well: the world may laugh again;9 And I may live to do you kindness, if You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell. 'Duch. What gone, my lord; and bid me not farewell? 'Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exeunt Gloster and Servants. 'Duch. Art thou gone too? *All comfort go with thee! *For none abides with me: my joy is-death; *Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, *Because I wish'd this world's eternity- 'Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence; 6 Wrapped up in disgrace; alluding to the sheet 8 Harm, mischief. 9 i e. The world may look again favourably on 7 Deep-fetched. 1 The death of the vanquished person was of penance. always regarded as certain evidence of his guilt. 3 Not easily. 4 Malicious. 2 Change. 5 Curse. me. 502 ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI 'If it be fond,4 call it a woman's fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say-I wrong'd the duke. My lord of Suffolk,-Buckingham,-and York,- re-Reprove my allegation, if you can; 'I care not whither, for I beg no favour 'Only convey me where thou art commanded. * Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man; *There to be used according to your state. *Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but proach: * And shall I then be us'd reproachfully? * Stan. Like to a duchess and duke Humphrey's lady, *According to that state you shall be used. 'Or else conclude my words effectual. 'Suff. Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think, I should have told your grace's tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practices Or if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent *(As next the king, he was successive heir,) *And such high vaunts of his nobility, Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare: 'Although thou hast been conduct of thy shame! Sher. It is my office; and, madam, pardon me. 'Duch. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is dis-* charg'd.- 'Come, Stanley, shall we go? Stan. Madam, your penance, done throw off Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess, this sheet, And go we to attire you for our journey. By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep; 'Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my And in his simple show he harbours treason. sheet: No, it will hang upon my richest robes, * And show itself, attire me how I can. *Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-The Abbey at Bury. Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, and others. 'K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, "Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 'Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself; "How insolent of late he is become, "How proud, perémptory, and unlike himself? We know the time, since he was mild and affable; And, if we did but glance a far-off look, "Immediately he was upon his knee, "That all the court admir'd him for submission: 'But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, "When every one will give the time of day, 'He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 'Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded, when they grin: But great men tremble, when the lion roars; 'And Humphrey is no little man in England. 'First, note, that he is near you in descent; 'And should you fall, he is the next will mount. 'Me seemeth then, it is no policy,- 'Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, 'And his advantage following your decease,- "That he should come about your royal person, Or be admitted to your highness' council. 'By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts; And when he please to make commotion, "'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 'Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; 'Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden, 'And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care, I bear unto my lord, 'Made me collects these dangers in the duke. 1 For conductor. 2 Wonder. 3 i. e. Assemble by observation. 4 Foolish. The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done? Yurk And did he not, in his protectorship, *Levy great sums of money through the realm, *For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it; * By means whereof, the towns each day revolted? * Buck. Tut! these are petty faults to faults unknown, *Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Humphrey. *K. Hen. My lords, at once: The care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, *Is worthy praise: But shall I speak my conscience? *Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person, *As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove: *The duke is virtuous, mild; and too well given, *To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. *Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance? Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, For he's disposed as the hateful raven. *Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, * For he's inclin❜d as are the ravenous wolves. Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ? *Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all * Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter Somerset. * Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign! K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news from France? Som. That all your interest in those territories 'Is utterly bereft you; all is lost. K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset: But God's will be done! York. Cold news for me; for I had hopes of France, [Aside. As firmly as I hope for fertile England. *Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, *And caterpillars eat my leaves away: *But I will remedy this gear ere long, * Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter Gloster. *Glo All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. 5 i, e. Valuing himself on his high descent. 6 Gear was a general word for things or matters. SCENE I. 503 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Suff. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art too soon, Unless thou wert rore loyal than thou art I do arrest thee of high treason here. : Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see blush, Nor change my countenance for this arrest; *A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. come]' By false accuse2 doth level at my life: 6 And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 'Causeless have laid disgraces on my head; *And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up me My liefest liege to be mine enemy:- The purest spring is not so free from mud, *As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay; By means whereof, his highness hath lost France. Glo. Is it but thought so? What are they think it? *Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, *Myself had notice of your conventicles. 'I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 'Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt The ancient proverb will be well effected,-. A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. *Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : * If those that care to keep your royal person *From treason's secret knife, and traitor's rage, * Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, that* And the offender granted scope of speech, *Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 'I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 'Nor never had one penny bribe from France. 'So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,- Ay, night by night,-in studying good for England! "That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 6 'Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial day! No! many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, "Have I dispursed to the garrisons, 'And never ask'd for restitution. *Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. *Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God! York. In your protectorship, you did devise Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, That England was defam'd by tyranny. Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; *For I should melt at an offender's tears, *And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 'Unless it were a bloody murderer, 'Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, 'I never gave them condign punishment: 'Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd "Above the felon, or what trespass else. 'Suff. My lord, these faults are easy,' quickly answer'd: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness' name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial. K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope, That you will clear yourself from all suspects; My conscience tells me, you are innocent. Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous! *Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition, And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant, And equity exíl'd your highness' land. I know, their complot is to have my life; *And, if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that vet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's ice, ( 6 Suff. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here, With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 'As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o'erthrow his state? Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant: "I lose in- deed;- 'Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false ! *And well such losers may have leave to speak, Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day :- Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 'Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body: Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! 'For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exeunt Attendants, with Gloster. K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seem eth best, Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par- liament ? K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, *Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; *My body round engirt with misery; *For what's more miserable than discontent ?- *Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see *The map of honour, truth, and loyalty; And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, *That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. *What low'ring star now envies thy estate, That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, *Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? *Thou never didst them wrong, norno man wrong; *And as the butcher takes away the calf, * And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, * Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house; *Even so, remorseless, have they borne hint hence. *And as the dam runs lowing up and down, *Looking the way her harmless young one went, *And can do nought but wail her darling's loss * Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case, *With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes mal-Look after him, and cannot do him good; *So mighty are his vowed enemies. And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate: Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 3 Dearest 1 For easily. 2 For accusation. His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan, Say-Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [Erit. *Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams. Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, *Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster's show Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 504 ACT III. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. * With sorrow snares relenting passengers; * Or as the snake, rolled in a flowering bank,' *With shining checker'd slough,2 doth sting a child, *That for the beauty, thinks it excellent, * Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I *(And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, To rid us from the fear we liave of him. *Car. That he should die, is worthy policy; * But yet we want a colour for his death: * * 'Tis meet he be condemned by course of law. Suff. But, in my mind, that were no policy: *The king will labour still to save his life, *The commons haply³ rise to save his life; *And yet we have but trivial argument, • More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. *York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. *Suff. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I. * York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.- *But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suf- folk,- * Say, as you think, and speak it from your souls,- * Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. Suff. Madam, 'tis true: And were't not ness then, *Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop! 'What counsel give you in this weighty cause! "York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither "Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd; 'Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 'Som. If York, with all his far-fet' policy, 'Had been the regent there instead of me, He never would have staid in France so long. York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: I rather would have lost my life betimes. *Than bring a burden of dishonour home, By staying there so long, till all were lost. *Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin: * Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, * If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with: *No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still;- Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent theic, * Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame take all! Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame! 'Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen. 'To Ireland will you lead a band of men, mad-Collected choicely, from each county some, 'And try your hap against the Irishmen? To make the fox surveyor of the fold? "Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, His guilt should be but idly posted over, Because his purpose is not executed. No; let him die, in that he is a fox, 'By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood; 'As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. And do not stand on quillets, how to slay him: Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 'Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, So he be dead; for that is good deceit, Which mates him first, that first intends deceit. * Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely, spoke. *Suff. Not resolute, except so much were done: *For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,- *Seeing the deed is meritorious, * *And to preserve my sovereign from his foe.- *Say but the word, and I will be his priest. *Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk, * Ere you can take due orders for a priest: Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, And I'll provide his executioner, * I tender so the safety of my liege. *Suff. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. * Q. Mar. And so say I. *York. And I: and now we three have spoke it, It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. Enter a Messenger. *York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. *Suff, Why, our authority is his consent; And what we do establish, he confirms: *Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. "York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords. Whiles I take order for mine own affairs 'Suff. A charge, lord York, that I will see per- form'd. 'But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him, "That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. And so break off; the day is almost spent: 'Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days, 'At Bristol I expect my soldiers; 'For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. Suff. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. [Exeunt all but York. "York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, 'And change misdoubt to resolution : Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art *Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying *Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, *And find no harbour in a royal heart. * Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on thought; And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. *My brain more busy than the labouring spider, * Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. *Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, *To send me packing with a host of men: *I fear me, you but warm the starved snake, Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your amain, To signify-that rebels there are up, And put the Englishmen unto the sword: Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, *Before the wound do grow incurable; *For, being green, there is great hope of help. 1 i e. In the flowers growing on a bank. Skin. 3 Perhaps. 4 Confounds. 2 hearts. 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me. 'I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd "You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, *I will stir up in England some black storm, 5 It is of no importance. 7 Far-fetched. 6 Expeditious SCENE II. 505 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. * Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell: * And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage *Until the golden circuit on my head, * Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.' 'And, for a minister of my intent, 'I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, 'John Cade of Ashford, 'To make commotion, as full well he can, 'Under the title of John Mortimer. *In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade *Oppose himself against a troop of kernes;2 *And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts * Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine: *And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him * Caper upright like a wild Morisco,3 *Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. * Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne * Hath he conversed with the enemy; *And undiscover'd come to me again, *And given me notice of their villanies. *This devil here shall be my substitute; *For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, *In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 'How they affect the house and claim of York. 'Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortur'd: 'I know no pain, they can inflict upon him, 'Will make him say-I mov'd him to those arms. 'Say, that he thrive (as 'tis great like he will,) Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 'And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd: 'For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. SCENE II.-Bury. A room in the palace. En- ler certain Murderers, hastily. 6 1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know, We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. *2 Mur. O, that it were to do!-What have we done! Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Enter Suffolk. '1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 'Suff. 'Despatch'd this thing? '1 Mur. Now, sirs, have you Ay, my good lord, he's dead. Suff. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this venturous deed. The king and all the peers are here at hand :- 'Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, According as I gave directions? 1 Mur. Tis, my good lord. Suff. Away, be gone! [Exeunt Murderers. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and others. K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight: Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, If he be guilty, as 'tis published. Suff. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. K. Hen. Lords, take your places;-And, I pray you all, 'Proceed no straiter gains: our uncle Gloster, Than from true evidence, of good esteem, He be approv'd in practice culpable. 1 A violent gust of wind. 2 Irish foot-soldiers, light-armed. 3 A Moor in a morris dance. *Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, *That faultless may condemn a nobleman! *Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion! *K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words content me much.- Re-enter Suffolk. 'How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou? 'Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk? Suff. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. *Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend! * Car. God's secret judgment:-I did dream to-night, The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word [The King swoons. Q. Mar. How fares my lord?-Help, lords! the king is dead. *Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. *Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!-0, Henry, ope * thine eyes! Suff. He doth revive again;-Madam, be patient. *K. Hen. O heavenly God! *Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord? Suff. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort! K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, 'Can chase away the first-conceived sound? * Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; *Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 'Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:- 'Yet do not go away;-Come, basilisk, 6 And kill the inr ocent gazer with thy sight: *For in the shade of death I shall find joy; *In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus? *Although the duke was enemy to him, * Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death: And for myself,-foe as he was to me, *Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, *Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life, *I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, *Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs, *And all to have the noble duke alive. 'What know I how the world may deem of me? For it is known we were but hollow friends; So shall my name with slander's tongue be 'It may be judg'd, I made the duke away: wounded, And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach *This get I by his death: Ah me, unhappy! *To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy! K. Hen. Ah, wo is me for Gloster, wretched man! Q. Mar. Be wo for me, more wretched than he is. What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? I am no loathsome leper, look on me. *What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? * Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn qucen. *Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? *Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy 4 Just now. 5 i. e. Let not wo be to thee for Gloster, but for me. 506 Аст SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. * Erect his statue then, and worship it, bank * Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life: * If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; *For judgment only doth belong to thee! And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea; And twice by awkward wind from England's 'Drove back again unto my native clime? What boded this, but well-forewarning wind Did seem to say,-Seek not a scorpion's nest, *Nor set no footing on this unkind shore? *What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, *And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; *And bid them blow towards England's blessed* shore, * Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? Yet olus would not be a murderer, * But left that hateful office unto thee: * The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me; * Knowing, that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore, Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips *With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain * Upon his face an ocean of salt tears; *To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, *And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: * But all in vain are these mean obsequies; And, to survey his dead and earthly image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater? The folding-doors of an inner chamber are throwr open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his bea: Warwick and others standing by it. * With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: *The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands,* *And would not dash me with their ragged sides; *Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, *Might in thy palace perish Margaret. *As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, *When from the shore the tempest beat us back, * I stood upon the hatches in the storm: And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, * I took a costly jewel from my neck,- *A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,- *War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body. *K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made: For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace; For seeing him, I see my life in death.' War. As surely as my soul intends to live With that dread King that took our state upon him 'To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, 'I do believe that violent hands were laid Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. Suff. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solem: tongue! "What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow? War. See, how the blood is settled in his face' *And threw it towards thy land;-the sea re- Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,2 ceiv'd it; *And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart: *And even with this, I lost fair England's view, * And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart; *And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, *For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. *How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue *(The agent of thy foul inconstancy,) *To sit and watch me, as Ascanius did, *When he to madding Dido would unfold *His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy? * Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him? * Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret! *For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long. Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. The Commons press to the door. War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good duke Humphrey traitorously is der'd By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. "The commons, like an angry hive of bees, That want their leader, scatter up and down, And care not who they sting in his revenge. Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death. "Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 'Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; 'Which with the heart there cools and ne'er re- turneth To blush and beautify the cheek again. 'But, see, his face is black, and full of blood; His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, 'Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man: His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling; His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 'Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; 'His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, 'Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 'It cannot be, but he was murder'd nere ; mur-The least of all these signs were probable. 'Suff. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death? 'Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. War. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum- phrey's foes; And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis "Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend; too true; But how he died, God knows, not Henry; Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death. War. That I shall do, my liege:-Stay, isbury; Sal- With the rude multitude, till I return. [Warwick goes into an inner room, and Salisbury retires. K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts: My thoughts, that labor to persuade my soul, 1ie. I see my life destroyed or endangered by his death. 'And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy. 'Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noble men As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh, And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? But may imagine how the bird was dead, 2 A body becomes inanimate in the common course of nature, to which violence has not brought a timeless end. SCENE II. 507 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 'Q. Mar. Are you a butcher, Suffolk? where's your knife? Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons? Suff. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men; But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart, That slanders me with murder's crimson badge:- Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 6 They say, in him tney fear your highness' death; And mere instinct of love, and loyalty,- Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 'As being thought to contradict your liking,- Makes them thus forward in his banishment. *They say, in care of your most royal person, That, if your highness should intend to sleep, And charge-that no man should disturb your rest, *In pain of your dislike, or pain of death; *Yet notwithstanding such a strait edíct, Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, That slily glided towards your majesty, *It were but necessary, you were wak'd; Exeunt Cardinal, Som. and others. War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk* dare him? Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, *The mortal worm' might make the sleep eternal: *And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, *That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no, War. Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;* From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is; For every word, you speak in his behalf, Is slander to your royal dignity. *With whose envenom'd and fatal sting, *Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, They say, is shamefully bereft of life. Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury. Suff. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour!* If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, Thy mother took into her blameful bed Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art, And never of the Nevils' noble race. War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, And say-it was thy mother that thou meant'st, That thou thyself wast born in bastardy: And, after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men! Suff. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed blood, thy If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, *And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. *K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? *Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, *Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A noise within. Q. Mar. What noise is this? Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn. K. Hen. Why, how now, lords? your ful weapons drawn Suff. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, Could send such message to their sovereign: But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, To show how quaint² an orator you are: But all the honour Salisbury hath won, Is-that he was the lord ambassador, Sent from a sort³ of tinkers, to the king. Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, or we'll all break in. 'K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me 'I thank them for their tender loving care: And had I not been 'cited so by them, 'Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 'Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. And therefore,-by His majesty I swear, Whose far unworthy deputy I am,- 6 'He shall not breathe infection in this air But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Salisbury. 'Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! 'K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk. No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him, Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. Had I but said, I would have kept my word; If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found But, when I swear, it is irrevocable: *On any ground that I am ruler of, wrath-* The world shall not be ransom for thy life.- 'Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; 'I have great matters to impart to thee. Here in our presence? dare you be so bold?- Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. Noise of a crowd within. Re-enter Salisbury. *Sal. Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your mind. [Speaking to those within. Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, Or banish'd fair England's territories, They will by violence tear him from your palace, * And torture him with grievous ling ring death. They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died: 1 Deadly serpent. 2 Dexterous. 3 A company. 6 6 [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &c, 'Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you! 'Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, There's two of you; the devil make a third! 'Be playfellows to keep you company! And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! *Suff. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, * And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 'Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch! Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies? Suff. A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them? 4 ie. He shall not contaminate this air with his infected breath. 508 Acr ill. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, I would invent as bitter-searching terms, *As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 'With full as many signs of deadly hate, As lean-faced envy in her loathsome cave: My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: And even now my burden'd heart would break, Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees! Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks! Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings! Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss; And boding screech-owls make the concert full! All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell- Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself; *And these dead curses-like the sun 'gainst glass, * Or like an overcharged gun,-recoil, *And turn the force of them upon thyself. Suff. You bade me ban,' and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a winter's night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport. * Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease! Give me thy hand, *That I may dew it with my mournful tears; *Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, *To wash away my woful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand; [Kisses his hand. *That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, "Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; "Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 'I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, Adventure to be banished myself: *And banished I am, if but from thee. *Go, speak not to me; even now begone.- O, go not yet!-Even thus two friends condemn'd *Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, *Loather a hundred times to part than die. *Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee! Suff. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. * "Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence; *A wilderness is populous enough, * So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: *For where thou art, there is the world itself, With every several pleasure in the world: *And where thou art not, desolation. * 1 can no more:-Live thou to joy thy life; Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv's. Enter Vaux. Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? news, I pr'ythee? 'Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, *The secrets of his overcharged soul: 6 And I am sent to tell his majesty, "That even now he cries aloud for him. 'Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king, [Exit Vaux. Ah me! what is this world? what news are these? 'But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 'Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 'And with the southern clouds contend in tears; Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sur rows? 'Now, get thee hence: The king, thou know'st, is coming: 'If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 6 Suff. If I depart from thee, I cannot live: And ir. thy sight to die, what were it else, But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, Dying with mother's dug between its lips: Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth; 'So should'st thou either turn my flying soul, 'Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. To die by thee, were but to die in jest ; From thee to die, were torture more than death; O, let me stay, befall what may befall. 'Q. Mar. Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive, 'It is applied to a deathful wound. 'To France, sweet Suffolk: Let me hear from thee; For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, I'll have an Iris³ that shall find thee out. Suff. I go. Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. Suff. A jewel lock'd into the woful'st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we; This way fall I to death. Q. Mar. This way for me. [Exeunt, severally SCENE III.-London. Cardinal Beaufort' bed-chamber. Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and others. The Cardinal in bed, attendants with him. *K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. "Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, 'So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. *K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, When death's approach is seen so terrible! *War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. *Car. Bring me unto my trial when you wili 'Died he not in his bed? where should he die? Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?- what* O! torture me no more, I will confess.- Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, "That makes him gasp, and starc, and catch the air, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime, he talks as if duke Humprey's ghost 2 For whereas, 1 Curse. 'Alive again? then show me where he is; 'I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.- *He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.- 'Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands up right, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!- 'Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary 3 The messenger of Juno. SCENE I. 50 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. *K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, *Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! *0, beat away the busy meddling fiend, That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair! 'War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. *Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. *K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! 'Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 'Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.- "He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him! "War. So bad a death, argues a monstrous life. 'K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I-Kent. The sea-shore near Dover. Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter Whitmore, and others; with them Suffolk, and other gentlemen, prisoners. *Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful' day *Is crept into the bosom of the sea; *And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades *That drag the tragic melancholy night; *Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings, *Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws *Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. *Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize; *For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, *Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, *Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.- Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;- And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;- "The other, [Pointing to Suff.] Walter Whitmore, is thy share. '1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know. 'Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. 'Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. *Cap. What, think you much to pay two sand crowns, Suff. Thy name affrights me, in whosc sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth, "And told me that by Water I should die: 'Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded: 'Why name is-Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 'Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not; 'Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, But with our sword we wip'd away the blot; "Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 'Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! [Lays hold on Suffolk 'Suff. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, ( ; The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. 'Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags: Suff. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Suff. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's The honourable blood of Lancaster, blood, 6 6 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.2 Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head? How often hast thou waited at my cup, 'Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, When I have feasted with queen Margaret? *Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride: 3 How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, *And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. *Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? *Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suff. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. 6 Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side 'Strike off his head. Suff Cap. Yes, Poole. Suff Cap. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Poole ? Poole? sir Poole? lord? thou-Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks, 'Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, For swallowing the treasure of the realm: *And bear the name and port of gentlemen?- Cut both the villains' throats;-for die you shall; The lives of those which we have lost in fight, Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. * Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. *2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 'Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, 6 Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death, Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, *Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, *For daring to affy4 a mighty lord * And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die : [To Suffolk. "And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.* Suff. Look on my George, I am a gentleman; "Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Whit. And so am I; my name is-Walter Whitmore. How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright? 1 Pitiful. 2 A low fellow. 3 Pride that has had birth too soon. 33 * Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. *By devilish policy art thou grown great, And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd *With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. *By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France The false revolting Normans, through thee, *Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts, * And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, 4 To betroth in marriage. 510 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. • Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, [' of a lath; they have been up these two days. *As hating thee, are rising up in arms: And now the house of York-thrust from the crown, By shameful murder of a guiltless king, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,- * Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours * Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, * Under the which is writ-Invitis nubibus. * The commons here in Kent are up in arms: *And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, Is crept into the palace of our king, * And all by thee:-Away! convey him hence. *Suff. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! * Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace,' threatens more Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 'Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 'It is impossible, that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: I go of message from the queen to France; 'I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Cap. Walter,- 6 Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. *Suff. Gelidus timor occupat artus:-'tis thee I fear. 'Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? '1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. 'Suff. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 'Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. 'Far be it, we should honour such as these 'With humble suit: no, rather let my head 'Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, 'Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; 'And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 'Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. *True nobility is exempt from fear :- 'More can I bear, than you dare execute. "Capt. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Suff. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty you can, 'That this my death may never be forgot! 'Great men oft die by vile bezonians:2 'A Roman sworder and banditto slave, 'Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand 'Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders, 'Pompey the great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exeunt Suff. with Whit. and others. Capt. And as for these whose ransoms we have set, It is our pleasure, one of them depart:- Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's body. 'Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 'Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! His hody will I bear unto the king: If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the queen, that living held him dear. [Exit with the body. SCENE II.-Blackheath. Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 'Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made 1 A pinnace then signified a ship of small burden. 'John. They have the more need to sleep now 'then. "Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means 'to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set 'a new nap upon it. John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up. 6 * Geo. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded * in handycrafts-men. 'John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. *Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good * workmen. John. True; And yet it is said,-Labour in *thy vocation: which is as much to say, as,-let *the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore *should we be magistrates. *Geo. Thou hast hit it: for there's no better sign * of a brave mind, than a hard hand. * John. I see them! I see them! There's Best's *son, the tanner of Wingham;- *Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, *to make dog's leather of. John. And Dick the butcher,- *Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. *John. And Smith the weaver. *Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. *John. Come, come, let's fall in with them. Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the weaver, and others in great number. 'Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our sup- 'posed father,- Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.3 - [Aside. 'Cade. for our enemies shall fall before us, in- 'spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 'princes,-Command silence. Dick. Silence! Cade. My father was a Mortimer,- Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick- layer. 6 Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,- [Aside [Aside. Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies,- Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces. [Aside. 'Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with 'her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. [Aside. 'Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; had never a house, but the cage. [Aside. *Cade. Valiant I am. * Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. [Aside. Cade. I am able to endure much. Dick. No question or that; for I have seen him whipped three market days together. [Aside. Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. Aside. Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside. and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, Cace. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, 2 Low men. 3 A barrel of herrings. SCENE II. 511 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer: all the realm* shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will be)- All. God save your majesty! 'Cade. I thank you, good people:-there shall 'be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; 'and I will apparel them all in one livery, that 'they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 'Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the 'lawyers. Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say, the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax, for I did put seal once to a thing, and was never. mine own man since. How now? who's there? Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read, and cast accompt. Cade. O monstrous! Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. Cade. Here's a villain! Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red let- ters in't. Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write court-hand. *W. Staff. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, If you go forward: therefore yield, or die. Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not; It is to you, good people, that I speak, * O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; *For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 6 " Staff. Villain, thy father was a plasterer, And thou thyself, a shearman, Art thou not? Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 'W. Staff. And what of that? Cade. Marry, this:-Edmund Mortimer, carl of March, Married the duke of Clarence' daughter; Did he not? Staff. Ay, sir. 6 Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. W. Staff. That's false. 'Cade. Ay, there's the question; but, I say, 'tis true: The elder of them, being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away; And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, "Became a bricklayer, when he came to age His son am I; deny it, if you can. Dick. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king. Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore, deny it not. *Staff. And will you credit this base drudge's words, *That speaks he knows not what? *All. Av, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. W. Staff. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught you this. 'Cade. I am sorry for't: the man is a proper man, ' on mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die,-Come hither, sirrah, I must examine-Go 'thee: What is thy name? Clerk. Emmanuel. Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters; -Twill go hard with you. Cade. Let me alone:-Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a male thyself, like an 'honest plain-dealing man? Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so brought up, that I can write my name. All. He hath confessed: away with him; 'villain and a traitor. to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that-for his *Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside.] father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns,-I am content he shall reign; but I'll be protector over him. Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord 'Say's head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. Cade. And good reason; for thereby is England wellmaimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 'puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that my lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, he's a Cade. Away with him, I say; hang him with 'his pen and inkhorn about his neck. [Exeunt some with the Clerk. Enter Michael. Mich. Where's our general? Cade. Hr I am, thou particular fellow. Mich. Fi, ily, fly! sir Humphrey Stafford and 'his brother are hard by with the king's forces. Cade. Stand, villian, stand, or I'll fell thee down: He shall be encountered with a man as good as 'himself: He is but a knight, is ?a? 'Mich. No. Cule. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently; Kise up sir John Mortimer. Now have at him. Enter Sir Humprey Stafford, and William his brother, with drum and forces. *Staff Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 6 'and made it an eunuch: and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. Staff. O gross and miserable ignorance! 'Cade. Nay, answer, if you can: The French- 'men are enemies: go to then, I ask but this; Can 'he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or no? 6 *All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. *W. Staff. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, *Assail them with the army of the king. 'Staff. Herald, away; and, throughout every town, 'Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; "That those, which fly before the battle ends, May, even in their wives' and children's sight, Be hang'd up for example at their doors :-- 'And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. me.- [Exeunt the two Staffords, and forces. *Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty. *We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon;2 *For they are thrifty honest men, and such *As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. *Dick. They are all in order and march to ward us. Mark'd for the gallows,-lay your weapons down,* Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;- The king is merciful, if you revolt. 1. I pay them no regard. 2 Shoes. 512 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. *Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another part of Blackheath. Alarums. The two parties enter and fight, and both the Staffords are slain. Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? 'Dick. Here, sir. Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 'thine own slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee,-The Lent shall be as long again as 'it is; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a "hundred lacking one. 'Dick. I desire no more. Of hinds and peasants, rude and nerciless; 'Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death Hath given them heart and courage to proceed: All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, They call-false caterpillars, and intend thei death. *K. Hen. O graceless men! they know not what they do. 'Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, 'Until a power be rais'd to put them down. *Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, "Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. Say. So might your grace's person be in danger; noThe sight of me is odious in their eyes: And therefore in this city will I stay, And live alone as secret as I may. * Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservedst *less. This monument of the victory will I bear; * and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, * till I do come to London, where we will have the *mayor's sword borne before us. * Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break * open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. *Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, * let's march towards London. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, reading a supplication; the duke of Buckingham, and lord Say with him: at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over Suffolk's head. * Q. Mar. Oft have I heard-that grief softens the mind, * And makes it fearful and degenerate; * Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. *But who can cease to weep, and look on this? *Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: * But where's the body that I should embrace? Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebel's supplication? K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat: "For God forbid, so many simple souls 'Should perish by the sword; And I myself, 'Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general.- 'But stay, I'll read it over once again. *Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face *Rul'd, like a wandering planet,' over me; * And could it not enforce them to relent, *That were unworthy to behold the same? K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his. K. Hen. How now, madam? Still Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death? I fear, my love, if that I had been dead, Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourr., but die for thee. Enter a Messenger. *K. Hen. How now! what news? why com'st thou in such haste? Mess. The rebels are in Southwark; Fly, my lord! Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, Descended from the duke of Clarence' house: And calls your grace usurper, openly, And vows to crown himself in Westminster. His army is a ragged multitude 1 Predominated irresistibly over my passions; the planets over those born under their influence. Enter another Messenger. * 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge; the citizens Fly and forsake their houses: The rascal people, thirsting after prey, To spoil the city and your royal court. Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear, * Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse. *K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope will succour us. * Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is de- ceas'd. *K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [To Lord Say.] trust not the Kentish rebels. [Exeunt. * Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. "Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, And therefore am I bold and resolute. SCENE V.-The same. The Tower. Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the Walls. Then enter certain Citizens, below. Scales. How now? is Jack Cade slain? 1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have won the bridge, killing all those that with- honour from the Tower, to defend the city from stand them: The lord mayor craves aid of your the rebels. Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall com- mand; But I am troubled here with them myself, The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, And thither I will send you Matthew Gough: Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The same. Cannon Street. En- ter Jack Cade, and his followers. He strikes his staff on London-stone. Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this eity. And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that calls me other than-lord Mortimer. Enter a Soldier, running. Sold. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. *Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you Jack Cade more; I think, he hath a very fal. * warning. SCENE VII. 513 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered to-1 gether in Smithfield. Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them: But, first, go and set London-bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. [Exeunt. Alarum. SCENE VII.-The same. Smithfield. Enter, on one side, Cade and his company; on the other, citizens, and the king's forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They fight; the citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough is slain. Cade. So, sirs:-Now go some and pull down the Savoy; others to the inns of court; down with them all. Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word. 'Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come 'out of your mouth. John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not 'whole vet [Aside. Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for 'his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go a their hose and doublets. *Dick. And work in their shirt, too; as myself, for example, that am a butcher. Say. You men of Kent,- Dick. What say you, of Kent? 'Say. Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, mala gens. 'Cade. Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin. *Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. Kent, in the commentaries Cæsar writ, Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle: The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; Sweet is the country, because full of riches; Which makes me hope you are not void of pity, I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy: Justice with favour have I always done; *Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. *Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. When have I aught exacted at your hands, Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you? Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, Because my book preferr'd me to the king: And, seeing ignorance is the curse of God, Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to * [Aside. Cute. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn all the records of the realm; my* 'mouth shall be the parliament of England. *John. Then we are like to have biting statutes,* unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. *Cade. And henceforward all things shall be * in common. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the lord Say, which sold the towns in France; he that *made us pay one and twenty fifteens,' and one *shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. heaven, Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirit, You cannot but forbear to murder me. This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings *For your behoof,- *Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou cne blow in * the field? * Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft have I struck Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. * Geo. O monstrous coward! what, to come be- hind folks? *Say. These cheeks are pale for watichng for your good. *Cade. Give him a box on the ear, and that will make 'em red again. *Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times.-Ah, thou say,2 thou serge, nay, thou buck- 'ram lord! now art thou within point-blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst thou answer to my 'majesty, for giving up of Normandy unto mon- 'sieur Basimecu, the dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee by these presence, even the pre- 'sence of lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must sweep the court clean of such filth as thou* art. Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, in erecting a grammar-school: and whereas, before, our fore-fathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used; and, contrary to the king, his crown, and dignity, thou hast built a paper-and behead him. 'mill. It will be proved to thy face, that thou has *Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most? men about thee, that usually talk of a noun, and * Have I affected wealth or honour; speak? Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. *Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the pap of a hatchet. 'Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? 'Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. Cade. Nay, he nods at us; as who should say, I'll be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand steadier on a pole, or no: Take him away, a verb; and such abominable words, as no Chris-* Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold? tian ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? justices of peace, to call poor men before them* Whom have I injur'd, that you seek my death? about matters that they were not able to answer. These hands are free from guiltless blood-shed- Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and be- ding, cause they could not read, thou hast hanged them ;3 *This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. when, indeed, only for that cause they have been *0, let me live! most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot- 'cloth, dost thou not? Say. What of that? *Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words: *but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse pleading so well for his life. Away with him! he 1 A fifteen was the fifteenth part of all the moveables, or personal property, of each subject. 2 Say was a kind of serge. 4 A foot-cloth was a kind of housing, which covered the body of the horse. 5 In consequence of. 6 i. e. These hands are free from shedding 3 i. e. They were hanged because they could guiltless or innocent blood. not claim the benefit of clergy. 514 ACT IV. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI * has a familiar under his tongue; he speaks not * 'God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head presently; and then break into 'his son-in-law's house, sir James Cromer, and 'strike off his head, and bring them both upon two! 'poles hither. All. It shall be done. 6 your backs with burdens, take your houses over your heads, ravish your wives and daughters be- 'fore your faces: For me,-I will make shift for one; and so-God's curse light upon you all! All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 'Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, That thus you do exclaim-you'll go with him? *Say Ah, countrymen! if, when you make your Will he conduct you through the heart of France, prayers, ye. * God should be so obdurate as yourselves, *How would it fare with your departed souls? * And therefore yet relent, and save my life. *Cade. Away with him, and do as I command [Exeunt some, with Lord Say. The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 'head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute; 'there shall not a maid be married, but she shall 'pay to me her maidenhead ere they have it: Men 'shall hold of me in capite; and we charge and 'command, that their wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. 6 C 'And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil, Unless, by robbing of your friends, and us. Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar, The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you? Methinks, already, in this civil broil, I see them lording it in London streets, Crying-Villageois! unto all they meet. Better, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry, Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy To France, to France, and get what you have lost, 'Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside,Spare England, for it is your native coast: 'and take up commodities upon our bills? 6 Cade. Marry, presently. All. O brave! Re-enter Rebels, with the heads of Lord Say and his son-in-law. 'Cade. But is not this braver?-Let them kiss one another, for they loved well, when they were alive. Now part them again, lest they consult 'about the giving up of some more towns in France. 'Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night: 'for with these borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride through the streets; and, at every 'corner, have them kiss.-Away! 6 6 Henry hath money, you are strong and manly; 'God on our side, doubt not of victory. "All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king, and Clifford. Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 'fro, as this multitude? the name of Henry the Fifth hales them to a hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads together, to surprise me: my sword make way for me, for here is no staying.-In despite of the devils and hell, have through the very midst of you! and heavens and honour be witness, that no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' [Exeunt.base and ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels. [Exit, 'Buck. What, is he fled? go some, and follow him; SCENE VIII.-Southwark. Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his rabblement. *Cade. Up Fish-street! down Saint Magnus' * corner! kill and knock down! throw them into Thames !-[A parley sounded, then a retreat.] *What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold *to sound retreat or parley, when I command them * kill? Enter Buckingham, and Old Clifford, with forces. 'Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will dis- turb thee: Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 'Unto the commons whom thou hast misled; 'And here pronounce free pardon to them all, "That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent, And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis offer'd you; 'Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths? Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, Fling up his cap, and say-God save his majesty! Who hateth him, and honours not his father, Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 6 All. God save the king! God save the king! " 6 6 And he, that brings his head unto the king, Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.- [Exeunt some of them. Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. SCENE IX.-Kenelworth Castle. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and Somerset, on the terrace of the castle. *K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly throne, *And could command no more content than I? *No sooner was I crept out of my cradle, *But I was made a king, at nine months old: *Was never subject long'd to be a king, *As I do long and wish to be a subject. Enter Buckingham and Clifford. *Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your ma- jesty! *K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, surpris'd? below, a great number of Cade's followers, with halters about their necks. Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye* Or is he but retir'd to make him strong? 'so brave?-And you, base peasants, do you be- lieve him? will you needs be hanged with your Enter, 'pardons about your necks? Hath my sword there- fore broke through London Gates, that you should leave me at the White Hart in Southwark? I thought, ye would never have given out these arms, till you had recovered your ancient freedom: but you are all recreants, and dastards; and delight to live in slavery to the nobility. Let them break 1 A dæmon who was supposed to attend at call. yield; And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting gates, To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!- Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives SCENE X. 515 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. And show'd how well you love your prince and And sends the poor well-pleased from my gate. country: "Continue still in this so good a mind, And Henry, though he be infortunate, 'Assure yourselves, will never be unkind: And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, I do dismiss you to your several countries. All. God save the king! God save the king! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Please it your grace to be advértised, * The duke of York is newly come from Ireland: *And with a puissant and a mighty power, *Of Gallowglasses, and stout kernes,' *Is marching hitherward in proud array; *And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, *His arms are only to remove from thee "The Juke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. *K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York distress'd; *Like to a ship, that, having scap'd a tempest, Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate: * But now is Čade driven back, his men dispers'd, *And now is York in arms to second him.- *I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him; *And ask him what's the reason of these arms. 'Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without 'leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get 'a thousand crowns of the king, for carrying my 'head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an 'ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin 'ere thou and I part. Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be 'I know thee not; Why then should I betray thee? 'Is't not enough, to break into my garden, 'And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 'But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? Cade. Brave thee? ay, by the best blood tha ever was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five days; yet, cor e thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a door nail, I pray God, I may never eat grass more. Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands, That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 'Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; * Tell him I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower;-Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; *And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, * Until his army be dismiss'd from him. Som. My lord, *I'll yield myself to prison willingly, *Or unto death, to do my country good. *K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms; For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. *Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal, *As all things shall redound unto your good. *K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern better; *For yet may England curse my wretched * "Thy leg a stick, compar'd with this truncheon; 'My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; 'And if mine arm be heaved in the air, Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. As for more words, whose greatness answers words. Let this my sword report what speech forbears. Cade. By my valour, the most complete cham- *pion that ever I heard.-'Steel, if thou turn tho edge, or cut not out the burly-boned clown n 'chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I be- reign.seech God on my knees, thou may'st be turned to [Exeunt. hob-nails. [They fight. Cade falls.] O, I am 'slain! famine, and no other, hath slain me: let SCENE X.-Kent. Iden's garden. Enter Cade. 'ten thousand devils come against me, and give *Cade. Fie on ambition! fie on myself; that have them all. Wither, garden; and be henceforth a 'me but the ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These five burying-place to all that do dwell in this house, *days have I hid me in these woods; and durst not because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay no *longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I climbed * into this garden; to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool *a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I think, *this word sallet was born to do me good: for, * many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had *been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a time, *when I have been dry, and bravely marching, it *hath served me instead of a quart pot to drink *in; and now the word sallet must serve me to * feed on. Enter Iden, with Servants. 6 Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor? Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead: Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, To emblaze the honour that thy master got. "Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy vic- tory; Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be cowards; for I that never feared any, am vanquish d by fam- ine, not by valour. [Dies. *Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my judge. *Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee! Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the* And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, court, And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? This small inheritance, my father left me, Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. I stek not to wax great by others' waning; Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy; Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state, 1 Two orders of foot soldiers among the Irish. 2 Only just now. 3 A kind of helmet. *So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels, Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, And there cut off thy most ungracious head Which I will bear in triumph to the king, Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. [Exit, dragging out the body 4 i. e. In supposing that I am proud of my vio tory. 516 ACT V. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. Fields between Dartford and Blackheath. The King's camp on me side. On the other, enter York attended, with drum and colours: his forces at some distance. "York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right, And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head: Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, 'To entertain great England's lawful king. Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear? 'Let them obey, that know not how to rule; This hand was made to handle nought but gold: I cannot give due action to my words, Except a sword or sceptre balance it, i A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul; 'On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. Enter Buckingham. Whom have we here? Buckingham to disturb me? "The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. 'Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 6 well. York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy greeting. 'Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?" Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, To know the reason of these arms in peace; 'Or why, thou-being a subject as I am,- 'Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 6 Should'st raise so great a power without his leave, 'Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 6 York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. 0, I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint, I am so angry at these abject terms; 'And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 'On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury! "I am far better born than is the king; 'More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: 'But I must make fair weather yet a while, 'Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.- Enter King Henry, attended. 'K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, 'That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm *York. In all submission and humility, *York doth present himself unto your highness. *K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou 6 dost bring? 'York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence; And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited. Enter Iden, with Cade's head. Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 'May pass into the presence of a king, 'Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 'K. Hen. The head of Cade ?-Great God, how just art thou!- O, let me view his visage, being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 'Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 6 'K. Hen. How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree! 'Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. *Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss *He were created knight for his good service. 'K. Hen. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels.] Rise up a knight. "We give thee for reward a thousand marks; And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, And never live but true unto his licge! 'K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen; Aside. Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset. 'Q. Mar. For. thousand Yorks he shall not hide O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while; 'My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 'The cause why I have brought this army hither, Is-to remove proud Somerset from the king, Seditious to his grace, and to the state. Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part: 'But if thy arms be to no other end, "The king hath yielded to thy demand; 'The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 'York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss powers.- Soldiers, I thank you all: disperse yourselves; Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 'You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. *And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, * Command my eldest son,-nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love, I'll send them all as willing as I live. Lends, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have *Is his to use, so Somerset may die. my Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness' tent. 1 i. e. Balance my hand. his head, 'But boldly stand, and front him to his face. 'York. How now! Is Somerset at liberty? Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts, And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 'Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ?- "False king! why hast thou broken faith with me, Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 'King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; 'Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. "That head of thine doth not become a crown; "Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, Is able with the change to kill and cure. Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, 'And with the same to act controlling laws. 'Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 'O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler. Som. O monstrous traitor-I arrest thee, York, Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown: *Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. *York. Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask of these, 6 *If they can brook I bow a knee to man.- * Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail; [Exit an attendant. 'I know, ere they will have me go to ward," 2 Custody, confinement. SCENE II. 517 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 1 ment. 'Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? amain, They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchise-Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son!-- *What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian *0, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? * If it be banish'd from the frosty head, *Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?- *Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, *And shame thine honourable age with blood? *Why art thou old, and want'st experience *Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it? *For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me, *That bows unto the grave with mickle age. *Sal. My lord, I have considered with myself The title of this most renowned duke; To say, if that the bastard boys of York Shall be the surety for their traitor father. *York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! 'The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 'Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those That for my surety will refuse the boys. Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenet, with forces, at one side; at the other, with forces also, Old Clifford and his son. *See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it good. 6 * Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king! [Kneels. York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news with thee? Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; 'For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. * And in my conscience do repute his grace The rightful heir to England's royal seat. *K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? Sal. I have. *K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an oath? *Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin; *But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. *Who can be bound by any solemn vow *To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, *To force a spotless virgin's chastity, Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; 'But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do :- To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious* humour Makes him oppose himself against his king. Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his. Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey; His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. • York. Will you not, sons? Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 'Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons shall. *Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here! *York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor.- Call hither to the stake my two brave bears,' That, with the very shaking of their chains, They may astonish these fell lurking curs; Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, forces. Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy to death, 6 with bears And manacle the bear-ward2 in their chains, If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld; *Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw, *Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd: And such a piece of service will you do, If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. *Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, As crooked in thy manners as thy shape! *York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. *Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn yourselves. *K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to bow?- Old Salisbury,-shame to thy silver hair, and 1 The Nevils, earls of Warwick, had a bear ragged staff for their "rest. 2 Bear-keeper. To reave the orphan of his patrimony, *To wring the widow from her custom'd right; * And have no other reason for this wrong, But that he was bound by a solemn oath? Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 'K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. 'York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou hast, I am resolv'd for death, or dignity. " Clif. The first, I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. "War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field. Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy household badge. War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, (As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet,3 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) Even to affright thee with a view therof. Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. Rich. Fie! charity, for shame! speak not in spite For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. "Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic that's more than thou canst tell. 'Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II-Saint Albans. Alarums: Excur- sions. Enter Warwick. War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls! And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,- 3 Helmet. 4 One on whom nature has set a mark of de formity, a stigma. 518 ACT V. SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. Enter York. How now, my noble lord? what, all a-foot? York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; But match to match I have encountered him, 'And made a prey for carrion kites and crows Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. Enter Clifford. War. Of one or both of us the time is come. York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other chace, For I myself must hunt this deer to death. *Meet I an infant of the house of York, *Into as many gobbets will I cut it, *As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: *In cruelty will I seek out my fame. *Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; [Taking up the body As did Æneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; *But then Æneas bare a living load, *Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset, fight ing, and Somerset is killed. Rich. So, lie thou there ;- For, underneath an ale-house' paltry sign, The Castle in Saint Albans, Somerset Hath made the wizard famous in his death.--- War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou Sword, hold thy temper; heart, be wrathful still. fight'st.- 'As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. [Exit Warwick. Clif. What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause? York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy. Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason. York. So let it help me now against thy sword, 'As I in justice and true right express it! * Priest pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and others, retreating. 'Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame, away! *K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Margaret, stay. *Q. Mar. What are you made of! you'll not fight, nor fly: *Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, To give the enemy way: and to secure us *By what we can, which can no more but fly. [Alarum afar off. If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom Of all our fortunes: but if we haply 'scape (As well we may, if not through your neglect,) We shall to London get; where you are lov'd; And where this breach, now in our fortunes made May readily be stopp'd, Clif. My soul and body on the action both!- York. A dreadful lay!-address thee instantly. [They fight, and Clifford falls. Clif. La fin couronne les œuvres. [Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for* thou art still. Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will! [Exit. Enter Young Clifford. *Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout; Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds *Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, *Whom angry heavens do make their minister, *Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part * Hot coals of vengeance !-Let no soldier fly: *He that is truly dedicate to war, Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself, *Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, *The name of valour.-O, let the vile world end, [Seeing his dead father. *And the premised2 flames of the last day * Knit earth and heaven together! Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, *Particularities and petty sounds To cease!3-Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve The silver livery of advised age; And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus To die in ruffian battle ?-Even at this sight, My heart is turn'd to stone: and, while 'tis mine, * It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; *No more will I their babes: tears virginal * Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; *And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. *Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity: 1 A dreadful wager; a tremendous stake. 2 Sent before their time. 3 Stop. 4 Obtain. 5 Considerate. Enter Young Clifford. *Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mis- chief set, *I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; *But fly you must; uncurable discomfit Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. *Away, for your relief! and we will live *To see their day, and them our fortune give: Away, my lord, away! Exeunt. SCENE III.-Fields near Saint Albans. Alar- um: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York, Rich- ard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers. with drum and colours. "York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him; *That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets *Aged contusions and all brush of time;" *And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, *Repairs him with occasion? this happy day *Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, If Salisbury be lost. 'Rich. My noble father, Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, Three times bestrid him, thrice 1 led him off, Persuaded him from any further act, 'But still where danger was, still there I met him, *And like rich hangings in a homely house, *So was his will in his old feeble body. * But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 6 For parties. 7 i. e. The gradual detrition of time. 8 i. e. The height of youth: the brow of a hill is its summit. SCENE III. 519 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI Enter Salisbury. Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought. to-day; By the mass, so did we all-I thank you, Richard; 'God knows, how long it is I have to live; And it hath pleased him, that three times to-day, You have defended me from imminent death. *Well, lords. we have not got that which we have: * "Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, * Being opposites of such repairing nature. York. I know, our safety is to follow them. 1 i. e. We have not secured that which we have acquired. For, as I hear, the king is filed to London, Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth: To call a present court of parliament. What says lord Warwick? shall we after them? War. After them, nay, before them, if we can. Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day: Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York, Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.- Sound, drums and trumpets;-and to London all: And more such days as these to us befall! [Exeunt. 2 i. e. Being enemies that are likely so soon rally and recover themselves from this defeat. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. King Henry the Sixth: Edward, prince of Wales, his son. Lewis XI. king of France. Duke of Somerset, Duke of Exeter, Earl of Oxford, Earl of Northumberland, Earl of Westmoreland, Lord Clifford, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sir John Mortimer, uncles to the duke of York. Henry, earl of Richmond, a youth. Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. Sir William Stanley. Sir John Montgomery. Sir John Som- lords on King Henry's erville. Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York. Richard Plantagenet, duke of York. Edward, earl of March, afterwards King Edward IV. Edmund, earl of Rutland, side. George, afterwards duke of Clarence, Richard, afterwards duke of Glocester, Duke of Norfolk, Marquis of Montague, Earl of Warwick, Earl of Pembroke, Lord Hastings, Lord Stafford, Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. Two Keepers. A Huntsman. A Son that has killed his father. A Father that has killed his son. Queen Margaret. Lady Grey, afterwards queen to Edward IV. his sons. Bona, sister to the French queen. Soldiers, and other attendants on King Henry and King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, &c. of the duke of York's Scene, during part of the third act, in France, during all the rest of the play, in England. party. ACT I. War. And sc do I.-Victorious prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne SCENE 1.-London. The Parliament House. Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, Drums. Some soldiers of York's party break I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. in. Then, enter the Duke of York, Edward, This is the palace of the fearful king, Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, andAnd this is the regal seat: possess it, York: others, with white roses in their hats. For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'. York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and will; Warwick. I WONDER, how the king escap'd our hands. York. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away, and left his men : Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 'Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, 'Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast, "Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, "Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham, Is either slain, or wounded dangerous: I cleft his beaver with a downright blow; That this is true, father, behold his blood. [Showing his bloody sword. Mont. And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's blood, [To York, showing his. Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. [Throwing down the duke of Somerset's head. *York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.- What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset ? Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head. 'For hither we have broken in by force. Norf. We'll all assist you; he, that flies, shall die. York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk.-Stay by me my lords;- 'And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. War. And, when the king comes, offer him no violence, 'Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. [They retire. *York. The queen this day, here holds he parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: *By words, or blows, here let us win our right. Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king; And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. I York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; mean to take possession of my right. War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells,' 1 Hawks had sometimes little bells hung on them, perhaps to dare the birds; that is, to fright them from rising. SCENE I. 521 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. Ill plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares :- Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. [Warwick leads York to the throne, who seats himself. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Northum- berland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and others, with red roses in their hats. K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state! belike, he means (Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king.- Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father ;- And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 'North. If I be not, heavens, be reveng'd on me! Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: 'My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it. K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he; He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, Shall be the war that Henry means to use.- [They advance to the Duke. Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. Exe. For shame, come down; he made thee duke of York. York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, In following this usurping Henry. Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural king? War. True, Clifford; and that's Richard, duke of York. 'K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? "York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster: And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget, That we are those, which chas'd you from the field, And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul. thou and thy house shall rue it. West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, Thy kinsmen, and thy friends, 'I'll have more lives, Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. Clif. Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger, As shall revenge his death, before I stir. "War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn his less threats! 1 Since. York. Will you, we show our title to the crown? 'If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop, And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. War. Talk not of France, sith' thou hast lost it all. K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, methinks you lose:- Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. Mont. Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st and honour'st arms, Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. York. Sons, peace! K. Hen. Peace thou! and give king Henry leave to speak. War. Plantagenet shall speak first:-hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he, that interrupts him, shall not live. 'K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; 'Ay, and their colours-often borne in France; And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding sheet.-Why faint you, lords 7 'My title's good, and better far than his. War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's weak Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? York. What then? 'K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king: For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth; Whose heir my father was, and I am his. York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown ?2 Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown, But that the next heir should succeed and reign. K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. *York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 'War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. North. Thou art deceiv'd; 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,- Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,- Can set the duke up in despite of me. Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, worth-Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! 2 i. e. Detrimental to the general rights of hereditary royalty. 522 ACT I. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown:- What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? War. Do right unto this princely duke of York; Or I will fill the house with armed men, And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. [He stamps, and the soldiers show themselves. K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word ;- 'Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet whilst thou liv'st. K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son? War. What good is this to England, and himself? West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! 6 Clif. How hast thou injured both thyself and us! West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. North. Nor I. Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. *West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour 'bides. North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome! Or live in peace, abandon'd, and despis'd! [Exeunt North. Cliff. and West. * War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them. not. Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. K. Hen. Ah, Exeter! War. Why should you sign, my lord? K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But, be it as it may :-I here entail The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign; *And neither by treason, nor hostility, *To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. York. This oath I willingly take, and will per- [Coming from the throne. War. Long live king Henry!-Plantagenet, em- brace him. form. 'K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for- ward sons! York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them foes! [Senet. The lords come forward. "York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers. Norf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers. Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. [Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and Attendants. *K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. 'Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 'Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes? *Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid, * And never seen thee, never born thee son, *Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father! Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I; *Or felt that pain which I did for him once; * Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood; I Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, *Rather than made that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. *Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? *K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ;-pardon me sweet son;-. *The earl of Warwick, and the duke, enforc'd me. * Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be forc'd?, shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; And given unto the house of York such head, As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. *To entail him and his heirs unto the crown. What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, *And creep into it far before thy time? * Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? *such safety fir.da *The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. 'Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. " *But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd, Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, Will follow mine, if once they see them spread: And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace, And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee: Come, son, let's away; Our army's ready; come, we'll after them. K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already; gut thee gone. K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. Prince. When I return with victory from the field, I'll see your grace; till then, I'll follow her. Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. [Ere, Queen Mar. and the Prince. 'K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to 6 Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wales. Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray!* her anger; I'll steal away. K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. 1 Betray, discover. [Going. 2 Peck. her son, Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Reveng'd may she be or that hateful duke; *Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, *Will cost y crown, and, like an empty eagle, Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son! *The loss of those three lords torments my heart * I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them al [Exeunt SCENE II, III. 523 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. SCENE II.A room in Sandal Castle, near Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ;- Wakefield, in Yorkshire. Enter Edward, Rich-My brother Montague shall post to London : ard, and Montague. *Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me With powerful policy strengthen themselves, * Whom we have left protectors of the king, leave. Edw. No, I can better play the orator. Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. Enter York. 6 York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? 'Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. York. About what? 6 Rich. About that which concerns your grace, and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead. *Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. *Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: *By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, *It will outrun you, father, in the end. 'York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign. Edan. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken: 'I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. Rich. No; God forbid, your grace should be forsworn. York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. York. Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. 'Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 'Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, *How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; * Within whose circuit is Elysium, *And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. *Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, Until the white rose, that I wear, be died *Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die.- Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise.- Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent.- You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, With whom the Kentish-men will willingly rise: In them I trust, for they are soldiers, Witty' and courteous, liberal, full of spirit.- While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more. But that I seek occasion how to rise; And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? Enter a Messenger. But, stay; What news? Why com'st thou in such post? Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and lords, Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. *York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, that we fear them? 1 Of sound judgment. And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. *Mont. Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not *And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Ex Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles! 'You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in A the field. "York. What, with five thousand men? Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a necd. woman's general; what should we fear? [A march afar off. 'Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in order; And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. "York. Five men to twenty !-though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, 'When as the enemy hath been ten to one; Why should I not now have the like success? [Alarum. Exeunt. SCENE III.-Plains near Sandal Castle. Alar- ums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his Tutor. Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes! Enter Clifford, and Soldiers. Clif. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company. Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 6 Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit forced off by Soldiers Clif How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear, That makes him close his eyes?-I'll open them. Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws: And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.- Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;- I am too mean a subject for thy wrath, Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine, Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; 524 ACT 1. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. And till I root out their accursed line, And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore- [Lifting his hand. Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death:- To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me! Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 'Rut. I never did thee harm; Why wilt thou slay me? Clif. Thy father hath. Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me; Lest, in revenge thereof,-sith' God is just,- He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. Clif. No cause? Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. [Clifford stabs him. Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuæ !2 [Dies. Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Exit. SCENE IV.-The same. Alarum. Enter York. York. The army of the queen hath got the field: 'My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe "Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, 'Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves. 'My sons-God knows, what hath bechanced them: But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown, by life, or death. "Three times did Richard make a lane to me; And thrice cried,-Courage, father! fight it out! And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt "In blood of those that had encounter'd him: "And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 'Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of ground! 'And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre! With this we charg'd again: but, out, alas! 'We bodg'd' again; as I have seen a swan "With bootless labour swim against the tide, And spend her strength with over-matching waves. [A short alarum within. "Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; 'And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury: 'The sands are number'd, that make up my life; 'Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, and Soldiers. Come, bloody Clifford,-rough Northumberland, "I dare your quenchless fury to more rage; "I am your butt, and I abide your shot. North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick.4 York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 1 Since. 2 Heaven grant this may be your greatest boast. Ovid. Epist. 'Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear. Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further;- 'So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. York. O, Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: *And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice, "Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word; But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. [Draws. Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes, I would prolong a while the traitor's life:- Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber- land. North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him su much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; 6 And ten to one is no impeach of valour. [They lay hands on York, who struggles. Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. [York is taken prisoner. York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. North. What would your grace have done unto him now? Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford, and Northum- berland, Come, make him stand upon this mole-hill here; "That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, What! was it you, that would be England's king? Yet. parted but the shadow with his hand.- Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now; The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice, Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York; I stain'd this napkin' with the blood, That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy: And, if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York: Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? *Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad, And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.- A crown for York; and, lords, bow low to him.- Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.-. [Putting a paper crown on his head 3 i. e. We boggied, made bad or bungling work of our attempt to rally. 4 Noontide point on the dial. 5 Honest men 6 Reached. 7 Handkerchief. SCENE I. 525 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; And this is he was his adopted heir.- But how is it that great Plantaganet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink' me, you should not be king, Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale¹ your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? 0, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable !- Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. Q. Mar. Nay, stay; let's hear the orisons he makes. York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, 'Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, To triumph like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates? But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush: To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem; Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government, that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good, As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion." O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; "Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: 'Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: 'For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; And every drop cries vengeance for his death,- "Gainst thee, fell Clifford,-and thee, false French- woman. And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: [He gives back the handkerchief. And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say,-Alas, it was a piteous deed!- There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And, in thy need, such comfort came to thee, As now I reap at thy too cruel hand!- Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin 'I should not for my life but weep with him, To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum- berland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. [Stabbing him. Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. [Stabbing him. York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God! 'My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. [Dies. Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I-A plain near Mortimer's Cross, in Herefordshire. Drums. Enter Edward, and Richard, with their forces, marching. *Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd; * Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no, *From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; * Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard *The happy tidings of his good escape.- 'How fares my brother? why is he so sad? Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd Where our right valiant father is become. 'I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. 'Methought, he bore him' in the thickest troop, As doth a lion in a herd of neat:8 *Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; *Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry. *The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So far'd our father with his enemies; 'So fled his enemies my warlike father; Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See, how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun !9 North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. York. That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd* with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable,- O, ten times more,-than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 1 Impale, encircle with a crown. 2 Kill him. 3 The distinguishing mark. 4 Government, in the language of the time, sig- nified evenness of temper, and decency of manners. 6 Sufferings. 34 5 The north. How well resembles it the prime of youth, *Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love! Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, 10 7 Demeaned himself. 8 Neat cattle; cows, oxen, &c. 9 Aurora takes for a time her farewell of the sun when she dismisses him to his diurnal course. 10 i. e. The clouds in rapid tumultuary moti 526 Аст 11. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. *Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field; That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 'Each one already blazing by our meeds,¹ Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, 'And over-shine the earth, as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair shining suns. Rich. Nay, bear three daughters;-by your leave I speak it, * You love the breeder better than the male. Enter a Messenger. 'But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel "Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on, When as the noble duke of York was slain, *Your princely father, and my loving lord. Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much. Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Mess. Environed he was with many foes; And stood against them as the hope of Troy2 Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. *But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, *Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdu'd; "But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm "Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen: 'Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite; 'Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 'A napkin steeped in the harmless blood His dukedoin and his chair with me is left. Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with forces. War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what news abroad? 'Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, Stab poinards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.3 War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things since then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. I then in London, keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd towards Saint Albans, to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along: For by my scouts I was advértised, That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament, Touching king Henry's oath, and your succes- sion. Short tale to make,-we at Saint Albans met, Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought. But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, "They took his head, and on the gates of York "They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon; 'Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay!-Who thunders to his captives-blood and death, *O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain *The flower of Europe for his chivalry; * And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, * For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee!- Now my soul's palace is become a prison: I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers'-like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail,- Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, Ah, would she break from hence! that this my body With promise of high pay, and great rewards: Might in the ground be closed up in rest: "For never henceforth shall I joy again, 'Never, O never, shall I see more joy. Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: *Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden; For self-same wind, that I should speak withal, Is kindling-coals, that fire all my breast, And burn me up with flames, that tears would quench. To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge, for me!- Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we, in them, no hope to win the day, So that we fled; the king, unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; For in the marches here, we heard, you were, Making another head to fight again. 6 Edw Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentie 'Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to Eng- land? War. Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers: And for your brother,--he was lately sent From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. Rich. "Twas odds, belike, when valiant War wick fled: thee; Merit. 2 Hector 3 Killed. Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now, his scandal of retire. SCENE II. 527 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear: For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist; Were he as famous and as bold in war, As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me not; 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say-Ay, and to it, lords. War. Why, therefore Warwick came to you out; SCENE II.-Before York. Enter King Henry Queen Margaret, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, with forces. Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave tr of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: 'K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck ;- To see this sight, it irks my very soul.- Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow. Cliff. My gracious liege, this too much lenity, And harmful pity, must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? seek Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford, and the haught' Northumberland, And of their feather, many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath, and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. 'Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen can procure, 'Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, via! to London will we march amain; And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry-Charge upon our foes! But never once again turn back, and fly. Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries-Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fall'st (as God forbid the hour!) Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend! War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; The next degree is, England's royal throne: For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy, Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward,-valiant Richard,-Montague,- Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 'But sound the trumpets, and about our task. * Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel *(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) * I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. *Edw. Then strike up, drums;-God, and Saint George, for us! Enter a Messenger. War. How now? what news? Not his, that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on; And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York did level at thy crown, Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young: And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them (even with those wings "Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offering their own lives in their young's defence? Were it not pity that this goodly boy For shame, my liege, make tnem your precedent' Should lose his birthright by his father's fault; And long hereafter say unto his child,- My careless father fondly gave away? What my great-grandfather and grandsire got, Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy! And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear,- That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son, Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And 'would, my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate, 6 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, "Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! "Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are nigh. 'And this soft courage makes your followers faint 'You promis'd knighthood to our forward son; Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently.- Mess. The duk of Norfolk sends you word by Edward, kneel down. me, The queen is coming with a puissant host? And craves your company for speedy counsel. War. Why then it sorts,2 brave warriors: Let's away. 1 Lofty. [Exeunt. 2 Why then things are as they should be. K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson,-Draw thy sword in right. I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave And in that quarrel use it to the death. Cliff. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince 3 Foolishly. 528 ACT II. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI Enter a Messenger. Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: For, with a band of thirty thousand men, Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; And, in the towns as they do march along, Proclaims him kir g, and many fly to him: 'Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; The queen hath best success when you are absent. Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. K. Hen, Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. North. Be it with resolution then to fight. Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George! March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War- wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; *Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting hoy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, 'Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close the lips. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue; I am a king, and privileg'd to speak. Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meet- Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. ing here, Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword: That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. By him that made us all, I am resolved, "Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. For York in justice puts his armour on. War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; 'Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king (As if a channel' should be call'd the sea,) Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex- traught, let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I bear, You-that are king, though he do wear the crown,-To Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. 'Clif. And reason too; Who should succeed the father, but the son? 'Rich. Are you there, butcher?-O, I cannot* speak! Clif. Av, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. Rich. 'Twas you that killed young Rutland, was it not? crowns, To make this shameless callet" know herself.- *Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus;8 *And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. 'His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And, had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day: But, when he took a beggar to his bed, And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day; 'Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. War-For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued wick? dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Albans last, Your legs did better service than your hands. War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. 'North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make you stay. Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently;- Break off the parle; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender, brother Rutland; But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. 1 i. e. Arrange your host, put your host in order. 2 It is my firm persuasion. 3 One branded by nature. 4 Gilt is a superficial covering of gold. "Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root: And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, 'Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike. We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.- Sound trumpets!-let our bloody colours wave!- And either victory, or else a prave. Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay: 5 Kennel was then pronounced channel. 6 To show thy meanness of birth by thy inde cent railing. 7 Drab. 8 i. e. A cuckold. SCENE III, IV, V. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 529 These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. *This may plant courage in their quailing breasts. For yet is hope of life, and victo: v.- [Exeunt. SCENE II-A field of battle between Towton* Fore-slow³ no longer, make we hence amain. and Saxton in Yorkshire. Alarums: Excur- sions. Enter Warwick. 'War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe: For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 'And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while. Enter Edward, running. Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! 'For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. War. How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? Enter George. Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 'Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: 'What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; 'And weak we are, and car.nct shun pursuit. Enter Richard. 'Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the field. Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 'Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, 'Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, 'Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York, And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death, And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and To execute the like upon thyself; brother, And so, have at thee. [They fight. Warwick enters; Clifford flies. Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; [Exe. 'For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. SCENE V.-Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter King Henry. K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light; *What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. lance;Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 'Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 'Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's And, in the very pangs of death, he cried,- 'Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,- Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! 'So underneath the beily of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, "The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. *Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, *Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; *And look upon, as if the tragedy *Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, 'I'll never pause again, never stand stiil, "Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 'Or fortune given me measure of revenge. Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine.- * And ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes. my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings! Beseeching thee,-if with thy will it stands, That to my foes this body must be prey,- Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul!- Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. Rich. Brother, give me thy hand:-and, gentle Warwick, * 'Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :-- 'I, that did never weep, now melt with wo, "That winter should cut off our spring-time so. War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, farewell. Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars, that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: 1 And are mere spectators. Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 'Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind: 'Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; 'Now, one the better; then, another best; 'Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered: 'So is the equal poise of this fell war. *Here on this molehill will I sit me down. *To whom God will, there be the victory! 'For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 'Have chid me from the battle; swearing both, They prosper best of all when I am thence. "Would I were dead! if God's good will were so: 'For what is in this world, but grief and wo? *O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, *To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, *Thereby to see the minutes how they run: * How many make the hour full complete, *How many hours bring about the day, *How many days will finish up the year, *How many years a mortal man may live. *When this is known, then to divide the times: *So many hours must I tend my flock; *So many hours must I take my rest; *So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself: *So many days my ewes have been with young; *So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: *So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, *Would bring white hairs unto & quiet grave. *Ah, what a life were this! how sweet; how lovely; *Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade *To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, *Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 2 Sinking into dejection. 3 To fore-slow is to be dilatory, to loiter. 530 Аст 11. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. To 'ings, that fear their subjects' treachery? * O, yes it doth; a thousand fold it doth. *And to conclude,--the shepherd's homely curds, *His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, *Is far beyond a prince's delicates, * His viands sparkling in a golden cup, *His body couched in a curious bed, * When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him. Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his father, dragging in the dead body. Son, Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.- 'This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns: And I, that haply take them from him now, *May yet ere night yield both my life and them *To some man else, as this dead man doth me.- Who's this?-O God! it is my father's face, 'Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. 'O heavy times, begetting such events! ---- From London by the king was I press'd forth; 'My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, 'Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 'And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 'Have by my hands of life bereaved him.- 'Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee!- My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; *And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens, 'Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity.- *Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; *And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. Enter a Father who has killed his son, with the body in his arms. 'Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 'Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; For I have bought it with a hundred blows.- 'But let me see:-is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !- Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, * Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, *Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart!- O, pity, God, this miserable age!- What stratagems,' how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget!- O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! K. Hen. Wo above wo! grief more than com- mon grief! 'K. Hen. How will the country for these wo ful chances, 'Misthink the king, and not be satisfied? 'Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? 'Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'da son? 'K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects wo? 'Much is your sorrow; inine, ten times so much. Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. [Exit, with the body. *Fath. These arms of mine shail be thy wind- ing-sheet; *My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre : *For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. *My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; *And so obsequious will thy father be, *Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, *As Priam was for all his valiant sons, I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 6 [Exit, with the body. K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince of Wales, and Exeter. 'Prince. Fly, father, ly! for all your friends are fled, 'And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: 'Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 6 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Ber- wick post amain: 'Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, Having the fearful flying hare in sight, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them: 6 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after, I'll away before. 'K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter; Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 'Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The same. A loud alarum. En- ter Clifford, wounded. Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. O, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, More than my body's parting with my soul. My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, The common people swarm like summer flies: And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies! O Phoebus! hadst thou never given consent That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth: The ene, his purple blood right well resembles; And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present: Or as thy father, and his father, did, Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! Giving no ground unto the house of York, If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. *They never then had sprung like summer flies; Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! *O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity!- The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied? Had left no mourning widows for our death, Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. son, Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied? 1 This word here means dreadful events. 2 Think unfavourably of. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 3 Careful of obsequies, or funeral rites. SCENE 1. 531 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; 'No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. 'The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:- Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 'I stabb'd your father's bosoin, split my breast. [He faints. Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George, Richard, Montague, Warwick, and soldiers. 'Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks.- * Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen;- 'That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 'As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 'Command an argosy to stem the waves. 'But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them! War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: For, though before his face I speak the words, Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead." [Clifford groans and dies. Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- parting.i Edo. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. 'Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, Clifford ; for 'tis Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 'In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 'I mean our princely father, duke of York. War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: 'Instead whereof, let this supply the room; Measure for measure must be answered. Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. [Attendants bring the body forward. War. I think his understanding is bereft:- Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. Rich. O, 'would he did! an I so, perhaps, he doth; "Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, Which in the time of death he gave our father. Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words.2 Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 'Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now? 1. For separation. 2 Sour words: words of asperity. 3 Favour. War. They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. 'Rich. What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard, 'When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath :- I know by that he's dead; And, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hours' life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off; and with the is suing blood Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands.- And now to London with triumphant marcn, There to be crowned England's royal king. 'From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz, to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation ; And then to Britany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: *For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; And never will I undertake the thing, *Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.- Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster:- And George, of Clarence;-Warwick, as ourself, 'Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 6 Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of Gloster; For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. War. Tut, that's a foolish observation; Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London, To see these honours in possession. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I-A chase in the north of England. Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their hands. 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; 'For through this laund' anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, 'Cuiling the principal of all the deer. *2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. *1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross- bow * Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. * Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, *I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he bo past. Enter Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book. K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine 4 Thicket. 5 A plain extended between woods, 532 ACT III. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, * Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, *No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself?" 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. *K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities; *For wise men say, it is the wisest course. *2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. * 1 Keep. Forbear a while; we'll hear a little more, *K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king of England? *2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now remain. *K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old; *My father and my grandfather were kings; * And you were sworn true subjects unto me: * And, tell we then, have you not broke your oaths? *1 Keep. No; For we were subjects, but while you were king. *K. Hen Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? * * K. Hen. My queen, and son, are gone to France* for aid, And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: If this news be true, Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account, then, Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: *Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; *Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; *The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn; * And Nero will be tainted with remorse, *To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. *Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give : She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry; He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says-her Henry is depos'd; He smiles, and says-his Edward is install'd; * That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more: * Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, *Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; *And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, *With promise of his sister, and what else, *To strengthen and support king Edward's place. *O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, * Art then forsaken, as thou went's forlorn. 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings and queens? 'K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be ; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Nor to be seen. my crown is call'd, content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content, and you, must be contented To go along with us: for, as we think, You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd; And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, Will apprehend you as his enemy. *K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an oath ? 2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now. Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. Look, as I blow this feather from my face And as the air blows it to me again, *Obeying with my wind what I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, *Commanded always by the greater gust; *Such is the lightness of your common men. *But do not break your oaths: for, of that sin *My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings; command, and I'll obey. ** 1 Keep We are true subjects to the king, king Edward. *K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as king Edward is. 1 Keep. We charge you in God's name, and in the king's, To go with us unto the officers. *K. Hen. In God's name lead: your king's name be obey'd: *And what God will, then let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and Lady Grey. 'K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain, His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror: Her suit is now, to repossess those lands; 'Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; *It were dishonor, to deny it her. I K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. 'Glo. Yea! is it so ? see the lady hath a thing to grant, Before the king will grant her humble suit. Clar. He knows the game; How true he keeps the wind! Glo. Silence! [Aside. Aside. K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; 'And come some other time to know our mind. L. Grey Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. Glo [Aside ] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you All your lands, 'An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. Fight closer, or, good faith you'll catch a blow. *Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. Aside. *Glo. God forbid that! for he'll take vantages [Aside SCENE II. 533 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI 'K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. [Aside. [Aside. Glo. Nay, whip me then; he'll rather give her two. L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him. [Aside. K. Edw. "Twere pity, they should lose their father's land. L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this widow's wit. K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind. *L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. *L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lia in prison. K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be mv dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. 'K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. Glo. Ay, good leave¹ have you, for you will have leave, Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination [Glo. and Clar. retire to the other side.Accords not with the sadness of my suit; *K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love Please you dismiss me, either with ay, or no. your children? L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. *L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. *K. Edw. And would you not do much, to do them good? *L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some harm. *K. Edw. Then get your husbands lands, to do them good. *L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. *L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' service. *K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me to do. *K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. *L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. *K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. *L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace commands. *Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. [Aside. * Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must [Aside. melt. L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task? K. Edw. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee, L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy. K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean *L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. *K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; "That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. 1 This phrase implies readiness of assent. K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request: No; if thou dost say no, to my demand. L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. [Aside. Clar. He is the bluntest woer in Christendom. [Aside. 'K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her re- plete with modesty; Her words do show her wit incomparable; *All her perfections challenge sovereingty: One way, or other, she is for a king; And she shall be my love, or else my queen.- Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen? L. Grey. "Tis better said than done, my gracious lord; I 6 am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sover ign. K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thec, I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. I know, I am too mean to be your queen; And yet too good to be your concubine. K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my queen. L.Grey. "Twill grieve your grace,my sons should call you-father. K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I. being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. iAside. Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. [Aside. K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. *Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry her. Clar. To whom, my lord? K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself, Glo. That would be ten days' wonder,at the least. Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts 'Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes, 2 The seriousness. 534 ACT III. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile; both, Her suit is granted for her husband's lands, Enter a Nobleman. Noh. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 'And rought your prisoner to your palace gate. K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower:- And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension.- Widow, go you along;-Lords, use her honourable. [Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey, Clarence. and Lord. Gl. Av. Edward will use women honourably. 'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 'That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire, and me, *(The lustful Edward's title buried,) Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! *Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; *Like one that stands upon a promontory, * And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, *Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; *And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, *Saying-he'll lade it dry to have his way: * So do I wish the crown, being so far off; * And so I chide the means that keep me from it; *And so I say-I'll cut the causes off, *Flattering me with impossibilities.- * My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, * Unless my hand and strength could equal them. *Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; *What other pleasure can the world afford? 'I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely, Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 'She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 'To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 'To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; *To disproportion me in every part, *Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, *That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd? 'O monstrous fault to harbour such a thought! *Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to check, to o'erbear such * As are of better person than myself, 6 And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart; *And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, *And frame my face to all occasions. *I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay race gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, *And, like a Sinon, take another Troy: I can add colours to the camelion; 6 Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? 'Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit. SCENE III.-France. A room in the palace. Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and Lady Bona, attended; the king takes his state. Then Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward her son, and the Earl of Oxford. 6 'K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar- garet, [Rising, 'Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state, And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth sit. *Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France; now Margaret Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve, Where kings command. I was, I must confess, * Great Albion's queen in former golden days: *But now mischance hath trod my title down, *And with dishonour laid me on the ground; *Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, *And to my humble seat conform myself. *K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair? *Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears, *And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. *K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself *And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck [Seats her by him *To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind *Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; *It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. *Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts, *And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak *Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis,- *That Henry, sole possessor of my love, *Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, *And fore'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; *While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, *Usurps the regal title, and the seat *Of England's true-anointed lawful king. This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,- With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir,- Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid, And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done: *Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help, * Our people and our peers are both misled, Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, *And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. *K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm * I'll make my heaven-to dream upon the crown;* * And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, *Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this head, *Be round impaled' with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,-like one lost in a thorny wood, *That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns; *Seeking a way, and straying from the way; *Not knowing how to find the open air, *But toiling desperately to find it out,- *Torment myself to catch the English crown: * And from that torment I will free myself, • Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 1 Encircled. 6 the storm, *While we bethink a means to break it off. *Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. * K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee. * Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true Borrow: SCENE III. 535 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. Enter Warwick, attended. And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 'My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death? and more than so, my father, Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 'When nature brought him to the door of death? No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. War. And I the house of York. K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our presence? Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's great- est friend. K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick! brings thee to France? What [Descending from his state, Queen Mar. rises. *Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 'War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come,-in kindness, and unfeigned love,- First to do greetings to thy royal person; And, then, to crave a league of amity; And, lastly, to confirm that amity With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage. 'Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. War. And, gracious madam, [To Bona.] in our king's behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart: Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. Q. Mar. King Lewis,-and lady Bona,-hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand *Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, *But from deceit, bred by necessity; *For how can tyrants safely govern home, * Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? *To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice,- *That Henry liveth still: but were he dead. *Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. * Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage *Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour: *For though usurpers sway the rule a while, *Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. War. Injurious Margaret! Prince. And why not queen? War. Because thy father Henry did usurp; And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, "Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally descends. War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth course, K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Oxford, Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, "While I use further conference with Warwick. *Q. Mar. Heaven grant, that Warwick's words bewitch him not! [Retiring with the Prince and Oxford. K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upor thy conscience, 'Is Edward your true king? for I were loath, 'To link with him that were not lawful chosen. War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye? War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. K. Lew. Then further,-all dissembling set aside, 'Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona. War. Such it seems, As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say, and swear,- That this his love was an eternal plant; Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, Exempt from envy,' but not from disdain, Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve Bona. Your grant, or your denial shall be mine Yet I confess, [To War.] that often ere this day, When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. *K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus,-Our sister shall be Edward's : * And now forthwith shall articles be drawn *Touching the jointure that your king must make, *Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd:- Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness, That Bona shall be wife to the English king. Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. *Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device *By this alliance to make void my suit; Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. *K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Mar garet: - *But if your title to the crown be weak,- *As may appear by Edward's good success, - *Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd *From giving aid, which late I promised. *Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, dis-* That your estate requires, and mine can yield. You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest,-You tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years; a silly time To make proscription for a kingdom's worth. Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, 6 Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush? War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 1 Malice, or hatred. War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease; Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen.- You have a father able to maintain you; And better 'twere, you troubled him than France. *Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War-] wick, peace; Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings! *I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love, For both of you are birds of self-same feather. A horn sounded within. K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. 2 Juggling. 536 ACT IV. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI Enter a Messenger. K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv❜d, you; Sent from your brother marquis Montague. These from our king unto your majesty.- And, madam, these for you; from whom, I know not. [To Margaret. They all read their letters. Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were nettled: I hope, all's for the best. 'K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen? 'Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with un- hop'd joys. War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discon- tent. K. Lew. What! has your king married the lady Grey? You shall have aid. *Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in post; And tell false Edward, thy supposed king,- That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, To revel it with him and his new bride: * Thou seest what's past, go fear2 thy king withal. Bona. Tell him, In hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. Q. Mar. Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. War. Tell him from me, That he hath done me wrong; And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. There's thy reward: be gone. And now, to sooth your forgery and his, 'Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's hon-* estv. War. King Lewis, I here protest,-in sight of heaven, And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss,- That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's; No more my king, for he dishonours me; But most himself, if he could see his shame.- Did I forget, that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death? Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? Did I impale him with the regal crown? Did I put Henry from his native right; And am I guerdon'd' at the last with shame? * Shame on himself! for my desert is honour. *And, to repair my honour lost for him, *I here renounce him, and return to Henry: My noble queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor; I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state. 6 Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; 'And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 'And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friena. War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast, And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him: *And as for Clarence,-as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him; For matching more for wanton lust than honour, Or than for strength and safety of our country. *Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re- veng'd, But by thy help to this distressed queen? *Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, * Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, are one. War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 1 Rewarded. 2 Fright. [Exit Mess. K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou. And Oxford, with five thousand men, Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle: And, as occasion serves, this noble queen And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 'Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt;- What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? War. This shall assure my constant loyalty:- That if our queen and this young prince agree, I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 'Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion:- 'Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, "Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. *Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well de serves it; *And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. [He gives his hand to Warwick. 'K. Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 'Shall waft them over with our royal fleet.- I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance, 'For mocking marriage with a dame of France. [Exeunt all but Warwick War. I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe: Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale,' but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that raised him to the crown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again: Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. ACT IV. [Exit. SCENE I-London. A room in the palace. Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague, and others. 'Glo. Now tell me brother Clarence, what think you "Of this new marriage with the lady Grey 3 A stalking-horse, a pretence. SCENE I. 537 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. *Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? * Clar. Alas. you know, 'tis far from hence to France; * How could he stay till Warwick made return? *Som. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king. Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey, as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and others. *Glo. And his well-chosen bride. *Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 'K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of Warwick; Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, That they'll take no offence at our abuse. K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick; I am Edward, 'Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. Glo. And you shall have your will, because our king: Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you too? Glo. Not I: 6 6 6 Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace lath not done well, To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride: She better would have fitted me. or Clarence; But in your bride you bury brotherhood. Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir¹ Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife, That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee 'Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment; Which being shallow, you shall give me leave To play the joker in mine own behalf: And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 'K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brother's will. 'Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent, *And meaner than myself have had like fortune. *But as this title honours me and mine, offended* No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd Whom God hath join'd together: ay, and 'twere pity, To sunder them that yoke so well together. 6 K. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike, aside, Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey 'Should not become my wife, and England's queen :- And you too, Somerset, and Montague, Speak freely what you think. Clar. Then this is my opinion,-that king Lewis 'Becomes your enemy, for mocking him About the marriage of the lady Bona. So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing *Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon the frowns: What danger, or what sorrow, can befall thee, "So long as Edward is thy constant friend, And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too; Unless they seek for hatred at my hands: Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the [Aside. more. Enter a Messenger. 'K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, of what news, 'Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in From France? charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 'K. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick be appeas'd, By such invention as I can devise? Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such al- liance, Would more have strengthen'd this our common- wealth, 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- riage. Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself 'England is safe, if true within itself? *Mont. Yes; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with France. *Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting France: Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, *Which he hath given for fence impregnable, *And with their helps only defend ourselves; * In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well deserves To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. K. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will, and grant; *And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 1 The heiress of great estates were in the ward- ship of the king, who match'd them to his favourites. 'Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words, But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate. 'K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 'What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters? Mess. At my depart, these were his very words: Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king,- That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, To revel it with him and his new bride. K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave? belike, he think me Henry. But what said lady Bona to my marriage? Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild disdain; Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? For I have heard, that she was there in place.2 Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weeds are done, And I am ready to put armour on. K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries? 2 Present. 3 Thrown of 538 ACT III. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words; Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. IIis soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a suple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: K. Edw. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so* That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, proud words? Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd: They shall have wars, and pay for their presump- tion. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? Mess Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship, That young prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the younger. Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, * For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter: That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage *I may not prove inferior to yourself.- You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. *With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents And brought from thence the Thracian fata steeds; *So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle *At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, And seize himself, I say not-slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him.- You, that will follow me to this attempt, 'Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. [They all cry, Henry! Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort: For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Edward's camp, near Warwick. Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's tent. [Exil Clarence, and Somerset follows. Glo. Not 1: My thoughts aim at a further matter; I *Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside. K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick' * Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; *And haste is needful in this desperate case.- Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 'Go levy men, and make prepare for war; They are already, or quickly will be landed: 'Myself in person will straight follow you. [Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford. 'But, ere I go, Hastings,-and Montague,- 'Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 'Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance: Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me? 'If it be so, then both depart to him; I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends; 'But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 'Give me assurance with some friendly vow, "That I may never have you in suspect. Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true! Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause! K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? *1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take his stand; The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. *2 Watch. What, will he not to-bed? *1 Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemn VOW * Never to lie and take his natural rest, *Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd. *2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, *If Warwick be so near as men report. *3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, *That with the king here resteth in his tent? *1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend. *3 Watch. O, is it so? But why commands the king, *That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, *While he himself keepeth in the cold field? *2 Watch. "Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. *3 Watch. Ay; but give me worship and quiet- ness, I like it better than a dangerous honour. *If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.*"Tis to be doubted, he would waken him. 'K. Edw. Why so; then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. his *1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up passage. *2 Watch. Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal tent, *But to defend his person from night-foes? [Exeunt. SCENE II-A plain in Warwickshire. Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French and other Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, and forces. War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us. Enter Clarence and Somerset. - But see, where Somerset and Clarence come; Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? Clar. Fear not that, my lord. War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset:-I hold it cowardice, To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: But welcome, Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests, but, in night's coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, forces. War. This is his tent; and see, where stand his guard. Courage, my masters: honour now, or never! "But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 1 Watch. Who goes there? 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. [Warwick, and the rest, cry all-Warwick Warwick! and set upon the guard; who fly, crying-Arm! Arm! Warwick, and the rest, following them. The drum beating, and trumpets sounding. Re- enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a gown, sitting in a chair; Gloster and Hastings fly. Som. What are they that fly there? 'War. Richard, and Hastings: let them go, here's the duke. SCENE IV-VI. 539 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. K. Edw. The duke! why, Warwick, when we* And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, parted last, Thou call'dst me king! War. Ay, but the case is alter'd: "When you disgrac'd me in my embassade, 'Then I degraded you from being king, And come now to create you duke of York. Alas! how should you govern any kingdom, That know not how to use ambassadors; Nor how to be contented with one wife; Nor how to use your brothers brotherly; *Nor how to study for the people's welfare; Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? *K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here too? *Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 'King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then be- come? 'Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards London, *To set the crown once more on Henry's head: * Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must down. 'But to prevent the tyrant's violence (For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, To save at least the heir of Edward's right; "There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud. 'If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exe. SCENE V.-A Park near Middleham Castle, in Yorkshire. Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and others. 6 Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stanley, *Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down.-Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly; Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, "Of thee thyself, and all thy 'complices, 'Edward will always bear himself as king: *Though fortune's malice verthrow my state, *My mind exceeds the con.pass of her wheel. War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king: [Takes off his crown. But Henry now shall wear the English crown, *And be true king indeed; thou but the shadow.-'Into 'My lord of Somerset, at my request, 'See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd 'Unto my brother, archbishop of York. "When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 'I'll follow you, and tell what answer 'Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him :- Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. *K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs abide; *It boots not to resist both wind and tide. [Exit King Edw. led out; Som. with him. *Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, *But march to London with our soldiers? War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; To free king Henry from imprisonment, And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. 1 room in the palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 'Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? 'Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn, What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward? Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? 'Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 'Rir. Then is my sovereign slain? 'Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken pris- oner; Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard, Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares: And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief: Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may; Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. *Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's decay. And I the rather wean me from despair, *For love of Edward's offspring in my womb: *This is it that makes me bridle passion, And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; *Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, 1 i. e. In his mind; as far as his own mind goes. 'Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, this chiefest thicket of the park. 'Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my brother, Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands He hath goed usage and great liberty; And often, but attended with weak guard, Comes hunting this way to disport, himself. I have advértis'd him by secret means, That about this hour, he make this way, 'Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, To set him free from his captivity. Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman. Hunt. This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. 'K. Edw. Nay, this way, man; see, where the huntsmen stand.- Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; 'Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 'K. Edw. But whither shall we then? ➤ 'Hast. To Lynn, my lord; and ship from thence to Flanders. "Glo. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. 'K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. *Glo. But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk. 'K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along? Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hang'd. Glo. Come then, away: let's have no more ado. K. Edw. Bishop. farewell; shield thee from Warwick's frown; And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exe. Enter SCENE VI-A room in the Tower. King Henry, Clarence. Warwick, Somerset, Young Richmond, Oxford. Montague, Lieuten- ant of the Tower, and Attendants. *K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat; *And turn'd my captive state to liberty, *My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys; *At our enlargement what are thy due fees? *Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of then sovereigns; 540 ACT IV. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. * But, if an humole prayer may prevail, * I then crave pardon of your majesty. *K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using me? Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kind- ness, *For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure: *Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds *Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, *At last, by notes of household harmony, *They quite forget their loss of liberty.- *But, Warwick, after God, thou sett'st me free, *And chiefly therefore i thank God, and thee; *He was the author, thou the instrument. *Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, *By living low, where fortune cannot hurt the; *And that the people of this blessed land *May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars; "Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 'I here resign my government to thee, 'For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. *War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous; *And now may seem as wise as virtuous, By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice, *For few men rightly temper with the stars :' * Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, *For choosing me, when Clarence is in place.2 *Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, * To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, *Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown, *As likely to be blest in peace, and war; *And therefore I yield thee my free consent. * War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. *K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your hands; * Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your hearts, *That no dissension hinder government: I make you both protectors of this land: 'While I myself will lead a private life, And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will? * Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; *For on thy fortune I repose myself. *War. Why then, though loth, yet must I be content: *We'll yoke together, like a double shadow *To Henry's body, and supply his place; * I mean, in bearing weight of government, *While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. *And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful, *Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, *And all his lands and goods be confiscate. Clar. What else? and that succession be deter- min'd. *War. Ay, therein Clarence shalt not want his part. *K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs, Let me entreat (for I command no more,). That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, * Be sent for, to return from France with speed: *For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. Clar. It shall be done. my sovereign, with all speed. 1 Few men conform their temper to their destiny. 2 Present. 3 Afterwards Henry VII. 6 'K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is that, Of whom you seem to have so tender care? Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond. 'K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope: If secret powers [Lays his hand on his head, Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 'His looks are full of peaceful majesty; 'His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown, 'His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself 'Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords; for this is he, Must help you more than you are hurt by me. Enter a Messenger. *War. What news, my friend? *Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, *And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. *War. Unsavoury news: But how made he escape? *Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster, *And the lord Hastings, who attended him *In secret ambush on the forest's side, * And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; For hunting was his daily exercise. * War. My brother was too careless of his charge.- *But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide *A salve for any sore that may betide. [Exeunt King Henry, War. Clar. Lieut. and attendants. *Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's: For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help; *And we shall have more wars, before't be leng. *As Henry's late presaging prophecy *Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Richmond; *So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts *What may befall him, to his harm, and ours: Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, *Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. *Oxf. Ay; for, if Edward repossess the crown, *'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. *Som. It shall be so; he shall to Britany. * Come therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exeunt. SCENE VII-Before York. Enter King Ed- ward, Gloster, Hastings, and forces. 6 'K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and the rest; "Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends. 'And says--that once more I shall interchange My waned state for Henry's regal crown. Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, And brought desir'd help from Burgundy 'What then remains, we being thus arriv'd From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 'But that we enter, as into our dukedom? Glo. The gates made fast!-brother, I like not this; *For many men. that stumble at the threshhold * Are well foretold-that danger lurks within. *K. Edw. Tush, man! abodements must not now affright us: *By fair or foul means we must enter in, *For hither will our friends repair to us. 4 i. e. Waited for him. SCENE VIII. 541 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. *Hust. My liege, I'll knock once more, to summon them. Enter on the walls, the Mayor of York, and his brethren. 'May. My lords, we were forewarn'd of your coming, And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; 'For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 'K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. 'May. True, my good lord; I know you for no less; 'K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom; As being well content with that alone. Glo. But, when the fox hath once got in his nose, 'He'll soon find means to make the body follow. [Aside. 'Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt? Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 6 May. Ay, say you so ? the gates shall then be open'd. [Exeunt from above. Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon! *Hast. The good old man would fain that all were well, Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand; *The bruit2 thereof will bring you many friends. *K. Edw. Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, *And Henry but usurps the diadem. Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him. self. And now will I be Edward's champion. Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd:- *Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. [Gives him a paper. Flourish. Sold. [Reads.] Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lora of Ireland, &c. Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's right, By this I challenge him to single fight. [Throws down his gauntlet. All. Long live king Edward the Fourth! 'K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ;-and thanks unto you all. If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York: And, when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon, We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates; *So 'twere not 'long of him: but, being enter'd,For, well, I wot, that Henry is no soldier.- *I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade * Both him, and all his brothers, unto reason. Re-enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 'K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut, 'But in the night, or in the time of war. 'What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys. [Takes the keys. 'For Edward will defend the town, and thee, 'And all those friends that deign to follow me. Drum. Enter Montgomery, and forces, marching. Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 'K. Edw. Welcome, sir John! But why come you in arms? Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, As every loyal subject ought to do. 6 K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery: But we now forget Our title to the crown; and only claim "Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again; I came to serve a king, and not a duke,- 'Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. [A march begun. 'K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while; and we'll debate, 'By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, 'If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 'I'll leave you to your fortune; and be gone, To keep them back that come to succour you: Why should we fight, if you pretend no title? Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? *K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim: Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. *Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule. *Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. 1 The mayor is willing we should enter, so he! may not be blamed. 35 *Ah, froward Clarence !-how evil it beseems thee, *To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother! *Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and War wick.- Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day, *And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Mon- tague, Exeter, and Oxford. War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march ainain to London; And many giddy people flock to him. *Oxf. Let's levy men, and beat him back again Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; Those will I muster up--and thou, son Clarence, 'Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee:- Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find, 'Men well'inclin'd to hear what thou command'st:- And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends.- My sovereign, with the loving citizens,- *Like to his island, girt in with the ocean, *Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs,-- Shall rest in London, till we come to him.- Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply.-- Farewell, my sovereign. K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy' true hope. *Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness" hand. *K. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou for- tunate! *Mont. Comfort, my lord;-and so I take my leave. 2 Noise, report. 3 Know. 542 ACT V. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI *Oxf. And thus [Kissing Henry's hand.] I seal my truth, and bid adieu." *K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Mon-* tague, * And all at once, once more a happy farewell. War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Cov- entry. [Exe. War. Clar. Oxf. and Mont. *K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. * Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? *Methinks, the power, that Edward hath in field, *Should not be able to encounter mine. *Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest. *K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed' hath got me fame. I have not stopp'd mine ears, to their demands, *Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; *My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, *My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears: * I have not been desirous of their wealth, *Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd; Then why should they love Edward more than me? *No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: *And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, *The lamb will never cease to follow him. [Shout within. A Lancaster! A Lancaster! Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers. *K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him hence, And once again proclaim us king of England. *You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow. *Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, *And swell so much the higher by th: ir ebb.- "Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. [Exeunt some with King Henry. "And, lords, towards Conventry bend we our course, Where peremptory Warwick now remains : The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.2 *Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, *And take the great-grown traitor unawares: * Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE 1.-Coventry. Enter, upon the walls, Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two Mes- sengers, and others. War. Where is the post, that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither- ward. War. How far off is our brother Montague ?- Where is the post that came from Montague? 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. Enter sir John Somerville. 'War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now? Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here some two hours hence. [Drum heard. 1 Merit. 6 2 The allusion is to the proverb, Make hay while the sun shines.' 'War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum *Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies; The drum your honour hears, marcheth from Warwick. *War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd- for friends. *Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. Drums. 6 Enter King Edward, Gloster, and forces, marching. *K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. Glo, See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. War. O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd, That we could hear no news of his repair? *K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, 'Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee?-- Call Edward-king, and at his hands beg mercy, And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 'War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down?- Call Warwick-patron, and be penitent, And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said- the king; Or did he make the jest against his will? *War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? *Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give; I'll do thee service for so good a gift.3 'War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy brother. K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by War- wick's gift. War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. *K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner : And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this,- What is the body, when the head is off? Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily finger'd from the deck!4 You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. * Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, kneel down: *Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. *War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, *Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. *K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend; This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, *Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off, *Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood,- 6 Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. * War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes! Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! [Oxford and his forces enter the city. 'Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 3 i. e. Enrol myself among thy dependants. 4 A pack of cards was anciently termed a deck of cards. SCENE L 543 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. K. Edo. So other foes may set upon our backs. *Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt, *Will issue out again, and bid us battle: If not, the city being but of small defence, We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. K. Edo. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way: Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory! [March. Exeunt War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy SCENE II-A field of battle near Barnet.- help. Enter Montague, with drum and colours. Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! He and his forces enter the city. Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory; My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. Enter Somerset, with drum and colours. Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! [He and his forces enter the city. Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. Enter Clarence, with drum and colours. War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; *With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, *More than the nature of a brother's love :- *Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this means? [Taking the red rose out of his cap. Look here, I throw my infamy at thee: I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime' the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, War- wick, 'That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, 'To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother, and his lawful king? *Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath: To keep that oath, were more impiety *Than Jephtha's, when he sacrific'd his daughter. *I am so sorry for my trespass made, * Alarums, and Excursions. Enter King Ed- ward bringing in Warwick wounded. *K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; *For Warwick was a bug,4 that fear'd' us all.- Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, *That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. [Exit. And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, * My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, That I must yield my body to the earth, And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, *And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. *These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, black veil, *To search the secret treasons of the world: The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, Even now forsake me; and, of all my lands, Is nothing left me, but my body's length; Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must. Enter Oxford and Somerset. *Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are, *We might recover all our loss again! The queen from France hath brought a puissant power; 'Even now we heard the news: Ah could'st thou fly! 'War. Why, then I would not fly.-Ah, Mon tague, That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, *I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; *With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, *(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) *To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Varwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks.- 'Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; 'And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 'For 1 will henceforth be no more unconstant. K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times' And said-Commend me to my valiant brother. more belov'd, *If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, *And with thy lips keep in my soul a while! *Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst, *Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, *That glews my lips, and will not let me speak. *Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. " Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his last; And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, And more he would have said; and more he spoke, "Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-That might not be distinguish'd; but, at last, like. War. O passing traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town, and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? 'War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: I will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 1 i. e. To cement. 2 Stupid, insensible of paternal fondness. 'I well might hear deliver'd with a groan,- 'O, farewell, Warwick! War. Sweet rest to his soul!- Fly, lords, and save yourselves: For Warwick bids You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [Dies. Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! [Exeunt, bearing off Warwick's body. 3 Eminent, egregious. 4 Bugbear. 5 Terrified, 544 ACT V. THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. SCENE III-Another part of the field. rish. Enter King Edward, in triumph; Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. Flou-* That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers, with More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and 'K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory. 'But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, 'I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, 'Ere he attain his caseful western bed: rocks. Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided, *"Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. *Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit *Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, * Infuse his breast with magnanimity, * And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. queenFor, did I but suspect a fearful man, 'I speak not this, as doubting any here: 'I mean, my lords,-those powers, that the Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, 'And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud, * And blow it to the source from whence it came: *Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; *For every cloud engenders not a storm. *Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her : If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours. That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; K. Edw. We are advértis'd by our loving friends, We having now the best at Barnet field, 'Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along.- Strike up the drum; cry-Courage and away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Plains near Tewksbury. March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, Som- erset, Oxford and soldiers. *Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, *But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. "What though the mast be now blown over-board, "The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 'And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 'Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet, that he 'Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, *With tearful eyes add water to the sea, *And give more strength to that which hath too much *Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, *Which industry and courage might have saved? *Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that? And Montague our top-mast; What of him? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; What these? 6 'He should have leave to go away betimes; Lest, in our need, he might infect another, And make him of like spirit to himself. 'If any such be here, as God forbid! 'Let him depart, before we need his help. And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame.- 'Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage O, brave young pi'nce! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee; Long may'st thou live, To bear his image, and renew his glories! Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, 'If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. * Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ;-sweet Oxford, thanks. *Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, 'Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policy, To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for- wardness. Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not budge. March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, Cla- rence, Gloster, and forces. 'K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood, "Which, by the heavens" assistance, and your strength, 'Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere right. * I need not add more fuel to your fire, of* For well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out: *Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 'We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; *But keep our course, though the rough wind say -no, *From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. *As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair. *And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea? *What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit.? *And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock? *All these the enemies to our poor bark. *Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while: *Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: *Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, *Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, In case some one of you would fly from us, 2 Unsay, deny. 1 Know. Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what 1 should say, My tears gainsay;2 for every word I speak, 'Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 'Therefore, no more but this :-Henry, your sove- reign, 'Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, 'His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ; 'And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. "You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords, 'Be valiant, and give signal to the fight, [Exeunt both armies. SCENE V-Another part of the same. ums; Excursions: and afterwards a Retreat. Then Enter King Edward, Clarence. Gloster, and forces; with Queen Margaret, Oxford, and Somerset, prisoners. 'K. Edu. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hamines' Castles straight: 3 A castle in Picardy. SCENE VI. 545 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. Sone. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my for- tune. [Exeunt Oxf. and Som. guarded. *Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. *K. Edw. Is proclamation made,-that, who finds Edward, * Shall have a high reward, and he his life? * Glo. It is: and, lo, where youthful Edward comes. Enter Soldiers with Prince Edward. K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak: What! can so young a thorn begin to prick! Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make, For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, *And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York? Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou, Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd! 'Glo. That you might still have worn the petti- coat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. Prince. Let Esop' fable in a winter's night; His currish riddles sort not with this place. Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word. Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook- back rather. 'K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm² your tongue. And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murder, that I may name it? No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak:- And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.-- 'Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! 'You have no children, butchers! if you had, 'The thought of them would have stirr'd up re- morse: But, if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off, 'As deathsmen! you have rid this sweet young prince! K. Edw. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here; Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What! wilt thou not ?-then, Clarence, do it thou. Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence. do thou do it. Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it? Q. Mar. Ay, But thou usest to forswear 'hyself; 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 'What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 'K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince! [Exit, led out forcibly. K. Edw. Where's Richard gone? Clar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. Prince. I know my duty, you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward,-and thou perjur'd George,-Now And thou misshapen Dick,-I tell ye all, I am your better, traitors as ye are ;- And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. [Stabs him. * Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. [Glo. stabs him. Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. [Clar. stabs him. Q. Mar. O, kill me too! Glo. Marry, and shall. 'K. Edw. Hold, Richard, done too much. [Offers to kill her. hold, for we have Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with words?3 'K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use means for her recovery. Glo. Clarence, excuse in to the king my brother: I'll hence to London on a serious matter: 'Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. Clar. What? what? [Exit. Glo. The Tower, the Tower! 'Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak?-O raitors! murderers!- They, that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, *If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 'He was a man; this, in respect, a child; 1 The prince calls Richard, for his crooked- ness, sop. march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, And see our gentle queen how well she fares; By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-London. A room in the Tower. King Henry is discovered sitting with a book in Enter his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Gloster. Glo. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so hard? K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: My iord, I should say rather; 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better: Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike, *And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. *Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must [Exit Lieutenant. confer. *K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from. the wolf: *So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece *And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.- What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer. K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush. "With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush, And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye, 3 Dispute, contention. 2 i. e. I will compel you to be as silent as if u were deprived of speech by enchantment. 5 4 She alludes to the desertion of Clarence. Careless. 6 To misdoubt is to suspect danger, to fear. 546 ACT V THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. " Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught and kill'd. 'Glo. Why, what a peevish' fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl? " And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; 'The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea, Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. * Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! 'My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, Than can my ears that tragic history.- *But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner? K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art; 'If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner. Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy,-that many a thousand, 'Which now mistrust no parcel2 of my fear; And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye,- 'Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate, And orphans for their parents' timeless death, 'Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees; The raven rook'd³ her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope; To wit,-an indigest deformed Jump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born, To signify,-thou cam'st to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 'Thou cam'st- Glo. I'll hear no more ;-Die, prophet, in thy speech; [Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter af- ter this. Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother: And this word-love, which greybeards call divine Be resident in men like one another, And not. in me; I am myself alone.- Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buzz abroad such prophecies, That Edward shall be fearful of his life; And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 'King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone; 'Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; Counting myself but bad, till I be best.- 'I'll throw thy body in another room, And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit SCENE VII.-The same. A room in the pal ace. King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne; Queen Elizabeth with the infant prince, Clarence, Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him. K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride? Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions: Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands; two braver men Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound: With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, And made our footstool of security.- Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy :- Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night; Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace, And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid, For yet I am not look'd on in the world. This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave; And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:- Work thou the way,-and thou shalt execute. Aside. O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. queen; And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty, K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy bro- ther, thanks. 'Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit:-- To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master; See, how my sword weeps for the poo: king's death! I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. O, may such purple tears be always shed 'From those that wish the downfal of our house!- 'If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say-I sent thee thither. [Stabs him again. I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.- Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say, I came into the world with my legs forward: Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 'And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried, O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth! "And so I was; which plainly signified- That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. "Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, 1 Childish. No part of what my fears presage. 'And cried-all hail!-when as he meant --all harm; Aside. K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. Clar. What will your grace have done with Margaret? Reignier, her father, to the king of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 3 To rook, signified to squat down or lodge on any thing. 4 Select. SCENE VII. 547 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI And hither have they sent it for her ransom. (matter itself will defeat the artist. Of every au- K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence thor's works one will be the best, and one will be to France. And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befit the pleasures of the court?- Sound, drums and trumpets!-farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt. the worst. The colours are not equally pleasing, nor the attitudes equally graceful, in all the pic- tures of Titian or Reynolds. Dissimilitude of style, and heterogeneousness of sentiment, may sufficiently show that a work does not really belong to the reputed author. But in these plays no such marks of spuriousness are found. The diction, the versification, and the figures are Shaks- peare's. These plays, considered without regard The three parts of King Henry VI. are suspect-to characters and incidents, merely as narratives ed, by Mr. Theobald, of being supposititious, and in verse, are more happily conceived, and more are declared, by Dr. Warburton, to be certainly accurately finished, than those of King John. Rich- not Shakspeare's. Mr. Theobald's suspicion ari-ard II. or the tragic scenes of King Henry IV. and ses from some obsolete words; but the phraseolo-V. If we take these plays from Shakspeare, to gy is like the rest of our author's style, and single whom shall they be given? What author of that words, of which, however, I do not observe more age had the same easiness of expression and flu- than two, can conclude little. ency of numbers? Dr. Warburton gives no reason, but I suppose him Of these three plays I think the second the best. to judge upon deeper principles and more com pre- The truth is, that they have not sufficient variety of hensive views, and to draw his opinion from the action, for the incidents are too often of the same general effect and spirit of the composition, which kind; yet many of the characters are well discrim- he thinks inferior to the other historical plays. inated. King Henry, and his Queen. King Ed- From mere inferiority nothing can be inferred; ward, the Duke of Gloucester, and the Earl of War in the productions of wit there will be inequality. wick, are very strongly and distinctly painted. Sometimes judgment will err and sometimes the LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD III. King Edward the Fourth. Edward, prince of Wales, after- wards King Edward V. Richard, duke of York, George, duke of Clarence, Richard, duke of Gloster, after- wards King Richard III. A young Son of Clarence. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sons to the king. Brothers to the king. Henry, earl of Richmond, afterwards king Henry VII. Cardinal Bouchier, archbishop of Canterbury. Thomas Rotheram, archbishop of York. John Morton, bishop of Ely. Duke of Buckingham. Duke of Norfolk; Earl of Surrey, his son. Earl Rivers, brother to king Edward's queen: Marquis of Dorset, and Lord Grey, her sons. Earl of Oxford. Lord Hastings. Lord Stanley. Lord Lovel. Sir Thomas Vaughan. Sir Richard Ratcliff. Sir William Catesby. Sir James Tyrrel. Sir James Blount. Sir Walter Herbert. Sir Robert Brakenbury. lieutenant of the Tower. Christopher Urswick, a priest Another priest. Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire. Elizabeth, queen of king Edward IV. Margaret, widow of king Henry VI. Duchess of York. mother to king Edward IV. Clarence, and Gloster. Lady Anne, widow of Edward, prince of Wales, son to king Henry VI.; fterwards married to the Duke of Gloster. A young Daughter of Clarence. Lords and other attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c. Scene, England. ACT I. And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions³ dangerous, SCENE I-London. A street. Enter Gloster. | By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, Gloster. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lower'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures." Grim-visag'd War hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barhed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,- He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I,-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ;- Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time; Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore,-since I cannot prove a love. To entertain these fair well-spoken days,- I am determined to prove a villain, 1 Dances. 2 Armed. To set my brother Clarence, and the king, In deadly hate the one against the other: And, if king Edward be as true and just, As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up; About a prophecy, which says-that G Of Edwards heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. Brother, good day: What means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? His majesty, Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. Glo. Upon what cause? Clar. Clar. Because my name is-George. Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours, He should, for that, commit your godfathers:- O, belike, his majesty hath some intent, That you shall be new christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest, As yet I do not: But, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, And says-a wizard told him, that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought, that I am he: These, as I learn, and such like toys4 as these, Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 4 Fancies. 3 Preparations for mischief. SCENE II. 549 KING RICHARD III. Glo. Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women- 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower; My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she, That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she, and that good man of worship, Antony Woodeville, her brother there, That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower; From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure, But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. Heard you not, what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery? Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity trot my lord chamberlain his liberty. 'll tell you what,-I think, it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men, and wear her livery: The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,' Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge, That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Braken- bury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man;-We say the king Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks: How say you, sir? can you deny all this? Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do, Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly, alone. Brak. What one, my lord? Glo. Her husband, knave:-Would'st thou betray me? Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal, Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in,- Were it, to call king Edward's widow-sister,- I will perform it to enfranchise you. Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, Touches me deeper than you can imagine. Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long: I will deliver you, or else lie for you: Mean time, have patience. Clar. I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence!-I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here ?-the new-deliver'd Hastings? 1 The queen and Shore. 2 Lowest of subjects. Enter Hastings. Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! Well are you welcome to this open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, That were the cause of my imprisonment. Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they, that were your enemies, are his, And have prevail'd as much on him, as you. Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. Glo. What news abroad? Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home:- The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy. And his physicians fear him mightily. Glo. Now, by saint Paul, this news is bad indeed And over-much consum'd his royal person; O, he hath kept an evil diet long, "Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? Hast. He is. Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, [Exit Hastings Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter: What though I kill'd her husband, and her father? Is-to become her husband, and her father: The readiest way to make the wench amends, The which will I; not all so much for love, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives, and reigns; When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. Another street. En- ter the corps of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner. Anne. Set down, set down, your honourable load,- If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,- Whilst I a while obsequiously4 lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.- Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son," Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:- O, cursed be the hand that made these holes! Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood, that let this blood from henco! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, 3 Confined. 4 Funeral. 550 ACT L KING RICHARD III. That makes us wretched by the death of thee, That I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her be made More miserable by the death of him, Than I am made by my young lord, and thee!- Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And, still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The Bearers take up the corpse, and advance. Enter Gloster. Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand ex cus'd; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Glo. Say, that I slew them not? Anne. Why, then, they are not dead: But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Glo. I did not kill your husband. Anne. Why, then he is alive. Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by saint But that thy brothers beat aside the point. Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com- mand: Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. [The bearers set down the coffin. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.- Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not: For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern' of thy butcheries:- O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!- Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death! Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. Villian, thou know'st no law of God 'nor man; - No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. Anne, O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, 1 Example. Gle. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? I grant ye. Glo. Anne. Dost thou grant me, hedge-hog? then God grant me too, Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him, Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me that holp to send him thither: For he was fitter for that place than earth. Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. Anne. Some dungeon. Glo. Your bed-chamber. Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. Anne. I hope so. Glo. I know so.-But, gentle lady Anne,- To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method:- Is not the causer of the timeless deaths of these Plantaganets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect. Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from cheeks. Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck. You should not blemish it, if I stood by; As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. my Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both Anne I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. SCENE II. 551 KING RICHARD III. Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be reveng'd on him tha loveth thee. Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. Anne. Name him. Glo. Anne. Plantagenet. Why, that was he. Glo. The self-same name, but one of better na- ture. Anne. Where is he? Glo. Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me? Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison for thy sake! Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful' tear,- Not, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him: Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death; And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weep- ing. never sued to friend, nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword: Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword. Nay, do not pause: for I did kill king Henry ;- But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward;- [She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner. Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Anne. I have already. Glo. Speak it again, and, even with the word, That was in thy rage: This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; 1 Pittful. 2 In Bishopsgate strect. To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. Glo. Tis figur'd in my tongue. Anne. I fear me, both are false. Glo. Then man was never true. Anne. Well, wel put up your sword. Glo. Say then, my peace is made. Anne. That shall you know hereafter. Glo. But shall I live in hope? Anne. All men, I hope, live so. Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. Anne. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the ring Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Theu dost confirm his happiness for ever. Anne. What is it? Glo. That it may please you leave these sad de- signs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-place:2 Where-after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king. And wet his grave with my repentant tears,-- I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon. Anne. With all my heart! and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.- Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. Glo. Bid me farewell. Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve. But, since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkley. Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the corse. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her,-but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; With God, her conscience, and these bars again.s me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling locks. And yet to win her,-all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I some three inonta: since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman.-- Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,- The spacious world cannot again afford: And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of the sweet prince, And made her widow to a woeful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt, and am mishapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier,3 I do mistake my person all this while : Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 3 A small French coin. 552 ACT. I KING RICHARD III. I'll be at charges for a looking-giass; And entertain a score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave: And then return lamenting to my love.- Shine out, fair sun, till have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey. Riv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt, his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me? Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with goodly son, To be your comforter, when he is gone. Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector? Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. a Enter Buckingham and Stanley. Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley. Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been! Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley, To your good prayer will scarcely say-amen. Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, I hate not you for her proud arrogance. Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accus'd on true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley? Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I, Are come from visiting his majesty. Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with him? Buck. Av, madam: he desires to make atonement Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, And between them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn' them to his roval presence. Q. Eliz. 'Would all were well!-But that will never be ;- I fear, our happiness is at the height. Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. [Who are they, that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly, That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abus'd By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks you grace? Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong?- Or thee?-or thee?-or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal grace,- Whom God preserve better than you would wish'-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd2 complaints. Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter: The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provok'd by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, That in your outward action shows itself, Against my children, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gathe The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. Glo. I cannot tell ;-The world is grown so bad, That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman, There's many a gentle person made a Jack. Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning brother Gloster; You envy my advancement, and my friends; God grant, we never may have need of you! Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have reed Our brother is imprison'd by your means, of you: Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility Held in contempt; while great promotions Are daily given, to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.4 Q. Eliz. By Him, that rais'd me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, incver did incense his majesty Against the duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. Riv. She may, my lord; for Glo. She may, lord Rivers ?-why, who knows She may do more, sir, than denying that: not so? She may help you to many fair preferments; And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high desert. What may she not? She may,-ay, marry, may she,- Riv. What, marry, may she? Glo. What, marry, mav she? marry with a king A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis' your grandam had a worser match. Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs: Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, 1 Summon. 3 Low fellow. 2 Rude, ignorant. Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd. 4 A coin rated at 6s. 8d. 5 Think. SCENE III. 553 KING RICHARD III. I had rather be a country servant-maid, Than a great queen, with this condition- To be so baited, scorn'd, and storm'd at: Small joy have I in being England's queen. Enter Queen Margaret, behind. Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in ban ishment, Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,- And thou, a kingdom;-all of you, allegiance: This sorrow that I have, by right is yours, Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be- And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine. seech thee! Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch, in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak, my pains' are quite forgot. Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends; To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own. Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his or thine. Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband Grey, Were factious for the house of Lancaster;- And, Rivers, so were you :-Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War- wick; Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,- When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounc'd against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed! Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe. And the most merciless, that 'er was heard of. Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re ported. Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven? Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!- Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, Ay, and forswore himself,-which Jesu pardon!-As ours by murder to make him a king! Q. Mar. Which God revenge! Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; And, for his meed,3 poor lord, he is mew'd up: I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine; I am too childish-foolish for this world. Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales, Die in his youth, by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory like my wretched self! Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss; Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave And see another, as I see thee now, this world, Thou cacodæmon!s there thy kingdom is. Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, Which here you urge, to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king; So should we you, if you shoud be our king. Glo. If I should be?-I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king; As little joy you may suppose in me, That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless, I can no longer hold me patient.- [Advancing. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out. In sharing that which you have pill'de from me: Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects; Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou my sight? in Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast mart d: That will I make, before I let thee go. Glo. Wert thou not bar ished on pain of death? 1 Labours. 3 Reward. 2 Make royal. 4 Confined. Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen - Rivers,-and Dorset,-you were standers by,- And so wast thou, lord Hastings,-when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag. Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv's And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends' No sleep close up that deadly eve of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature, and the son of! 5 Corrupt devil. 554 ACT KING RICHARD III. Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested- Glo. Margaret. Q. Mar. Glo. Q. Mar. Richard! Ha? I call thee not. Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse. Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in-Margaret. Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself. Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,' Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad. Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse; Lest, to thy harnı, thou move our patience. Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine. Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty. Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are mala- pert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current:2 0, that your young nobility could judge, What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them; And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Glo. Good counsel, marry ;-learn it, learn it, marquis. Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high, Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade;-alas! alas!- Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest :- O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it; As it was won with blood, lost be it so! Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me; Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame,- And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage! Buck. Have done, have done. Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, In sigr of league and amity with thee: Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, 1 Alluding to Gloster's form and venom. 2 He was just created marquis of Dorset. And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog; Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him. And all their ministers attend on him. Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gen tle counsel? And sooth the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow; And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess.- Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. [Exit. Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, why she's at liberty. Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof, that I have done to her. I Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Glo. Yet you have all the vantages of her wrong was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains ;- God pardon them that are the cause thereof! Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath" to us. Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd;- For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside. Enter Catesby. Cates. Madam, his maiesty doth call for you, And for your grace,-er 1 you, my noble lords. Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come:-Lords, will you go with me? Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. [Exeunt all but Gloster. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence,-whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,- I do beweep to many simple gulls; Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; And tell them-'tis the queen and her allies, That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now they believe it; and withal whet me To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture, Tell them-that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ; And seem a saint when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers. But soft, here come my executioners.- How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates? Are you now going to despatch this thing? 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant, me: That we may be admitted where he is. Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about [Gives the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; 4 Wonder. 3 Nest. 6 Put in a sty. 5 Advantage. 7 Harm. SCENE IV. 555 KING RICHARD III. For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps, May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate, Talkers are no good doers! be assur'd, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads ;-about your business straight; Go, go, despatch. 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exe. SCENE IV.-The same. A room in the Tower. Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days: So full of dismal terror was the time. Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me. Clar. Methought, that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloster: Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Clarence is come,--false, fleeting, perjur'd Clo rence,- That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury ;- Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments' With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. I Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,- That now give evidence against my soul,- For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites me :- O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children!- I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. Brak. I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest! [Cla. reposes himself on a chair. Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward En- And, for unfelt imaginations, gland, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board, Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time death, To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk,' Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. of Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony? Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul; I pass'd, methought, the melancholy ficod, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who erv'd aloud,-What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood: and he shriek'd out aloud,- 1 Body. They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, between their titles, and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the two Murderers. 1 Murd. Ho! who's here? Brak. What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou hither? 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. Brak. What, so brief? 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than te- dious:- Let him see our commission; talk no more. [A paper is delivered to Brakenbury, who reads it. Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble duke of Clarence to your hands:- I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys;-there sits the duke asleep : I'll to the king; and signify to him, That thus i have resign'd to you my charge. 1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury. 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? 1 Murd. No; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. 2 Murd. When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great judgment day. 1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me. 1 Murd. What! art thou afraid? 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me. 1 Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 2 Murd. So I am to let him live. 1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so. 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope, this holy humour of mine will change; it was wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now? 556 KING RICHARD III. 2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's Jone. 2 Murd. Come, he dies; I had forgot the re- ward. 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. 2 Murd. "Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, or none, will entertain it. What lawful quest' have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronoune'd The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope for any goodness, By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart, and lay no hands on me; The deed you undertake is damnable. 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. 1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again? Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a danger- Hath in the table of his law commanded, ous thing, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot That thou shalt do no murder; Wilt thou then steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's? it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand, wife, but it detects him: 'Tis a blushing shame-faced To hurl upon their heads that break his law. spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurt full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold, that by chance I found; it beggars any man For false forswearing, and for murder too; that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means In quarrel of the house of Lancaster." to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it. 1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh. 1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects nis reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? 1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the nilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey-butt, in the next room. 2 Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop of him. 1 Murd. Soft! he wakes. 2 Murd. Strike. 1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a of wine. cup 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. Clar. In God's name, what art thou? 1 Murd. A man, as you are. Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: Why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both Murd. Tu, to, to,- Clar. To murder me Both Murd Ay, ay. on thee, 1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous blade, Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend. 1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in such dear degree? Clar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: He sends you not to murder me for this; For in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, O, know you, that he doth it publicly; Take rot the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course, To cut off those that have offended him. 1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister, When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice," was struck dead by thee? Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother and I love him well. If you are hir'd for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my bother Gloster; Who shall reward you better for my life, Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster hates you. Clar. O no; he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both Murd. Ay, so we will. Clar.. Tell him when that our princely father York Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have i offended you? 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 2 Murd. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men, To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? 1 Brave. 3 Inquest, jury. 2 Head. 4 On the part. And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones; as he lesson'd us to weep. Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. I Murd. Right, as snow in harvest.-Come, you deceive yourself; 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. Clar. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune, 5 Youth. 6 Reward. SCENE I. 557 KING RICHARD III. And tugg'd ne in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. 1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your king; Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset,-Buckingham, nor you;- me?-You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God, by murd'ring Ah, sirs, consider, he, that sent you on To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 2 Murd. What shail we do? Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish.- Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent' from liberty, as I am now,- If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,-- Would not entreat for life?- My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; 0, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress. A begging prince what beggar pities not? 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 1 Murd. Take that, and that; if all this will not do, [Stabs him. I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [Exit with the body. 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately des- patch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter first Murderer. 1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been. 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. I Murd. So do not I; go, coward, as thou art.- Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, Till that the duke give order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I will away; For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE 1.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter King Edward (led in sick,) Queen Eliza- beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, Grey, and others. K. Ed. Why, so:-now have I done a good day's work;- You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate; And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! 1 Shut up. 36 Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine! K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him,-Hastings, love lord marquis, Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable. Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset. K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou, this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate Upon your grace, [To the Queen.] but with all duteous love Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven, When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. [Embracing Rivers, &c. K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking- ham, Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, To make the blessed period of this peace. Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. Enter Gloster. Glo. Good-morrow to my sovereign king, and queen; And, princely peers, a happy time of day! K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day :- Brother, we have done deeds of charity; Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege,- Among this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Hold me a foe; Have aught committed that is hardly borne If I unwittingly, or in my rage, By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me, to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love.- First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service;- Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ;- Of you, lord Rivers,-and, lord Grey, of you,- That all without desert have frown'd on me ;- Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive, With whom my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night; I thank my God for my humility. Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter;- 558 ACT II. KING RICHARD III. I would to God, all strifes were well compounded.- My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness. To take our brother Clarence to your grace. Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, To be so flouted in this royal presence? Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead? [They all start. You do him injury, to scorn his corse. K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? Dor. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence, But his red color hath forsook his cheeks. K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was re- vers'd. Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried:- God grant, that some; less noble, and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion. Enter Stanley. Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow. Stan. I will not rise,unless your highness hear me. K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re- quest'st. Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. K. Edw. Have I tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd? Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me, And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king? Who told me, when we both lay in the field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments; and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:- But for my brother, not a man would speak,- Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholden to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life.- O God! I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this.-- Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. 0, Poor Clarence! [Exeunt King Queen, Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, and Grey. 1 Ignorant. Glo. This is the fruit of rashness-Mark'd you not, How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death? O! they did urge it still unto the king: God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, To comfort Edward with our company? [Exeunt Buck. We wait upon your grace. SCENE II.-The same. Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and Daughter of Clarence. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? Duch. No, boy. Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your breast; And cry-O Clarence, my unhappy son! Son. Why do you lock on us, and shake you head, And call us-orphans, wretches, cast-aways, If that our noble father be alive? Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; I do lament the sickness of the king, As loth to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost. Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With earnest prayers all to that effect. Daugh. And so will I. Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable' and shallow innocents. You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Son. Grandam, we can: for my good uncle Gloster Told me, the hing, provok'd to't by the queen, Devis'd impeachments to imprison him: And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him, as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, gran- dam? Duch. Ay, boy. Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter Queen Elizabeth distractedly; Rivers, and Dorset, following her. Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience? Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence:- Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches, when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves, that want ineir sap?--- If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a noble husband's death, And liv'd by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance, Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, SCENE III. 559 KING RICHARD III. That grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I (Thine being but a moiety of my grief,) To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries! Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, am not barren to bring forth laments: Ali springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the wat'ry moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Cla- rence! Duch. Alas, for both, both mine. Edward and Clarence! Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward? and he's gone. Chil. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. Duch, What stays had I, but they? and they are gone. Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss. Duch. Was never mother had so dear a iuss. Alas! I am the mother of these griefs; Their woes are parcell'd,' mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: I for a Clarence weep, so doth not sue. These habes for Clarence weep, and so do I: I for an Edward weep, so do not they :- Alas! you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. Dor. Comfort, dear mother; God is much dis- pleased, That you take with unthankfulness is doing; In common wordly things, 'tis call'd-ungrateful, With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. Now cheer each otner in each other's love. Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buckingham? Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out Which would be so much the more dangerous, By how much the estate is green, and yet ungov ern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us; And the compact is firm, and true in me. Riv. And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd: Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. Hast. And so say I. Glo. Then be it so; and go we to determine, Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam,-and you my mother, will you go To give your censure in this weighty business? [Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloster. Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince, For God's sake, let not us two stay at home: For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince. Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet!-My dear cousin, I, as a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. [Exeunt. Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him, Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward s grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, I Ratcliff, and others. Glo. Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star, But none can cure the harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, I did not see your grace:-Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. Duch. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! Glo. Amen; and make me die a good old man!- That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing; [Aside. I marvel, that her grace did leave it out. Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, 1 Divided. SCENE III.-The same. A street. Enter two Citizens, meeting. 1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbor: Whither away so fast? 2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? 1 Cit. Yes; the king's dead. 2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. Enter another Citizen. 3 Cit. Neighbors, God speed! 1 Cit. Give you good morrow, sir. 3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Ed- ward's death? 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 1 Cit. No, no; by God's grace, his son shall reign. 3 Cit. Wo to that land, that's govern'd by a child! 2 Cit. In him there, is a hope of government; That, in his nonage, council under him, And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself. 2 Opinion. 3 Preparatory. 4 Minority. 560 ACT. II. KING RICHARD III. No doubt, shall then, and ill then, govern well. 1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 3 Cit. Stood the state so? no, no, good friends, God wot;' For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king dad virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and mother. 3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his father; Or, by his father there were none at all: For emulation now, who shall be nearest, Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster; And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud: And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before. 1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be well. 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth: All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear: You cannot reason2 almost with a man That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so: By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see The water swell before a boist'rous storm, But leave it all to God. Whither away? 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 3 Cit. And so was I; I'll bear you company. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter the archbishop of York, the young duke of York, Queen Elizabeth, and the duchess of York. Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony- Stratford; And at Northampton they do rest to-night: To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince; I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. Q. Eliz. But I hear, no; they say, my son York Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. of York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. Duch. Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow. York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster, Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace: And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. Duch. 'Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee: He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young, So long a growing, and so leisurely, That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious Inadam. 1 Knows. 2 Converse. Duch. I hope, he is; but yet let mothers doubt. York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remem- ber'd, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. Duch. How, my young York? I pry'thee, let me hear it. York. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast, That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old; 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. Grandam, this would have been a biting jest, Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this? York. Grandam, his nurse. Duch. His nurse? why she was dead ere thou wast born. York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. Q. Eliz. A parlous boy: Go to, you are too shrewd. Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. Arch. What news? Mess. Enter a Messenger. Here comes a messenger: Such news my lord, How doth the prince? As grieves me to unfold. Q. Eliz. Mess. Well, madam, and in health. Duch. What is thy news? Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to Pomfret, With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. Duch. Who hath committed them? Mess. Gloster and Buckingham. Q. Eliz. The mighty dukes For what offence? Mess. The sum of all I can I have disclos'd; Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady, Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house! The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind; Insulting tyranny begins to jut Upon the innocent and awless throne :-- Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! I see, as in a map, the end of all. Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days! How many of you have mine eyes beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were tost, For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, Make war upon themselves; brother to brother, Blood to blood, self 'gainst self:-0, preposterous And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen; Or let me die, to look on death no more! Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sane tuary.- Madam, farewell. Duch. Stay, I will go with you. Q: Eliz. You have no cause. Arch. My gracious lady, g [To the Queen And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The seal I keep; And so betide to me, As well I tender you and all of yours! Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt 3 Perilous, dangerous. SCENE L 561 KING RICHARD III. ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. A street. The trumpets sound. Enter the prince of Wales, Gloster, Buckingham, Cardinal Bouchier, and others. Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber. Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- reign : The weary way hath made you melancholy. Prince. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : I want more uncles here to welcome me. Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : No more can you distinguish of a man, Than of his outward show; which, God he knows, Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous; Your grace attended to the sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts: God keep you from them, and from such false friends! Prince. God keep me from false friends! but they were none. Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes greet you. to Enter the Lord Mayor, and his train. May. God bless your grace with health and happy days! Prince. I thank you, good my lord ;-and thank you all.- [Exeunt Mayor, &c. I thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way: Fie, what a slug is Hastings! that he comes not To tell us, whether they will come, or no. Enter Hastings. Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweat- ing lord. Prince. Welcome, my lord: What, will our mother come? Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, he queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary: The tender prince Would fain have conie with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld. Buck. Fie! what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers?-Lord cardinal, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the duke of York Unto his princely brother presently? If she deny,-lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory Can from his mother win the duke of York, Anon expect him here: But if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land, Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional: Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, You break not sanctuary in seizing him. The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place: This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it: And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: 1 Sensible vice the buffoon in the old plavs Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, You break no privilege nor charter there. Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; But sanctuary children ne'er till now. Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me? Hast. I go, my lord. Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. [Exe. Cardinal and Hastings. Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. If I may counsel you, some day or two, Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation. Did Julius Cæsar build that place, my lord? Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place :- Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. Prince. Is it upon record? or else reported Successively from age to age he built it? Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd; Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day. Glo. So wise, so young, they say, do ne'er live long. [Aside Prince. What say you, uncle? [Aside. Glo. I say, without charácters, fame lives long. Thus, like the formal' vice, Iniquity, moralize two meanings in one word. I Prince. That Julius Cæsar was a famous man; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live: Death makes no conquest of this conqueror, For now he lives in fame, though not in life. I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. Buck. What, my gracious lord? Prince. An if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. Glo Short summers lightly2 have a forward spring. [Aside. Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of York. Prince. Richard of York! how fares our loving brother? York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now. Prince. Ay, brother; to our grief, as it is yours: Too late he died, that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty. Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York? York. I thank you gentle uncle. O, my lord, You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth: The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. Glo. He hath, my lord. York. And therefore is he idle? Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. York. Then is he more beholden to you than I? Glo He may command me, as my sovereign; But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. York. I pray you, uncle, then give me this dag- ger. Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. Prince. A beggar, brother? York. Of my kind uncle. that I know will give; 3 Lately. 2 Commonly. 562 ACT IIL KING RICHARD III. And, being but a toy, which is no grief to give. Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. York. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it? Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light gifts; In weightier things you'll say a beggar, nay. Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. Gle. What, would you have my weapon, little lord? York. I would, that I might thank you as you call me. Glo. How? York. Little. Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in talk:- Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:- Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he rea- sons! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself: So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass along? Myself, and my good cousin of Buckingham, Will to your mother; to entreat of her, To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear?. York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost; My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. Prince. I fear no uncles dead. Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. But come, my lord, and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. [Exeunt Prince, York, Hastings, Cardinal, and attendants. Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incens'd' by his subtle mother, To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? Glo. No doubt, no doubt O, 'tis a parlous boy; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable; He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. Buck. Well, let them rest.- Come hither, gentle Catesby; thou art sworn As deeply to effect what we intend, As closely to conceal what we impart : Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ;- What think'st thou ? is it not an easy matter To make William lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle? Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, That he will not be won to aught against him. Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will not he? Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. Buck. Well then, no more but this: Go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, How he doth stand affected to our purpose; 1 Incited. 2 Intelligent. And summon him to-morrow to the Tower. To sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, And give us notice of his inclination: For we to-morrow hold divided³ councils, Wherein thyself'shalt highly be employ'd. Glo. Commend me to lord William: tell him Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle; And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly. Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed I can. Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? Cate. You shall, my lord. Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us both [Exit Catesby Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? Glo. Chop off his head, man ;-somewhat we will do:- And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. Come, let us sup betimes; that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. [Exe. SCENE II.-Before Lord Hastings' house. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lora, my lord,- Hast. [Within.] Mess. [Knocking. Who knocks? One from Lord Stanley. Hast. [Within.] What is't o'clock? Mess. Upon the stroke of four. Enter Hastings. Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights? Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. First, he commends him to your noble lordship. Hast. And then,- Mess. And then he sends you word, he dreamt To-night the boar had rased off his helm: Besides, he says, there are two councils held; And that may be determin'd at the one, Which may make you and him to rue at the other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea sure,- If presently, you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines. Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; Bid him not fear the separated councils: His honour, and myself, are at the one; And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby; Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us, Whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance: And for his dreams-I wonder, he's so fond' To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers: To fly the boar, before the boar pursues,' Were to incense the boar to follow us, And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 5 Weak. 9 Separate. 4 Example. SCENE III. 563 KING RICHARD III. Go, bid thy master rise and come to me; And we will both together to the Tower, Where, he shall see, the boar' will use us kindly. Mess. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. Enter Catesby. Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord! Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring: What news, what news, in this our tottering state? Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; And, I believe, will never stand upright, Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. Hast. How! wear the garland? dost thou mean the crown? Cate. Ay, my good lord. Hast. Come, come, have with you.--Wot you what, my lord? To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded. Stan. They, for their truth, might better wear their heads, Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats, But come, my lord, let's away. Enter a Pursuivant. Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fel- low. [Exeunt Stan. and Catesby. How now, sirrah? how goes the world with thee? Purs. The better, that your lordship please to ask. Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now, Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet: Then, was I going prisoner to the Tower, Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my By the suggestion of the queen's allies; shoulders, Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? Cate. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you for- ward Upon his party, for the gain thereof: And, thereupon, he sends you this good news,- That, this same very day, your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my adversaries : But, that I'll give my voice in Richard's side, To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows, I will not do it, to the death. Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence, That they, who brought me in my master's hate, I live to look upon their tragedy. Well, Catesby, ere a fornight make me older, I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't. Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it. Hast. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, who think themselves as sa As thou, and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. Cate. The princes both make high account you,- For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. Hast. I know, they do; and I have well de- serv'd it. Enter Stanley. Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear man? Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, Catesby;- You may jest on, but by the holy rood, I do not like these several councils, I. Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours; And never, in my life, I do protest, Was it more precious to me than 'tis now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am? Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure, And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust; But yet, you see, how soon the day o'ercast. This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt; Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward! What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent 1 i. e. Gloster, who had a boar for his arms. But now, I tell thee (keep it to thyself,) This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than ere I was. Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good con- tent! me. Hast. Gramercy, fellow: There, drink that for [Throwing him his purse. Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant. Enter a Priest. Priest. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise; Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. Enter Buckingham. Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord cham- berlain ! Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your honour hath no shriving4 work in hand. Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man, The men you talk of came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower? Buck. I do, my lord; but long I cannot stay there : I shall return before your lordship thence. Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it [Aside. not. Come, will you go? Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Pomfret. Before the Castle. En- ter Ratcliff, with a guard conducting Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, to execution. Rat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,- To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die, For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you! A knot vou are of damned blood-suckers. Vaugh. You live, that shall cry wo for this hereafter. Rat. Despatch; the limit of your lives is out. Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret,! O thou bloody priso Within the guilty closure of thy walls, Richard the Second here was hack'd to death: And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our heads, 2 Cross. 3 Know. 4 Confession. 564 ACT. III. KING RICHARD III. When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and 1, For standing hy when Richard stabb'd her son. Riv. Then curs'd she Hastings, then curs' Buckingham, she Then curs'd she Richard:-0, remember, God, To hear her prayers for them, as now for us! And for my sister, and her princely sons,- Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods, Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt! Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate.' Riv. Come, Grey,-come, Vaughan,-let us here embrace: Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-London. A room in the Tower. Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the bishop of Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at a table: officers of the council attending. To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden; For I myself am not so well provided, As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. Re-enter bishop of Ely. Ely. Where is my lord protector? I have sent For these strawberries. Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning; There's some conceit³ or other likes him well, When he doth bid good morrow with such spirit. I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he; For by his face straight shall you know his heart. By any likelihood he show'd to-day? Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is of fended; Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. met Is-to determine of the coronation: In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time? Stan. They are; and wants but nomination. Ely. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind herein? Who is most inward2 with the noble duke? Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind. Buck. We know each other's faces: for our hearts,- He knows no more of mine, than I of yours; Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine :- Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well:| But, for his purpose in the coronation, I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble lord, may name the time; And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. Enter Gloster. Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good mor- row: Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail'd Upon my body with their hellish charms? Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders: Whosoe'er they be, I say, my lord, they have deserved death. Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble lord,- Glo. If! thou protector of this damned strumpet, Talk'st thou to me of ifs ?-Thou art a traitor:- Off with his head :-now, by saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same.- Lovel, and Catesby, look, that it be done; The rest that love me, rise, and follow me. [Exeunt council, with Gloster and Buckingham. Hast. Wo, wo, for England! not a whit for re; For I, too fond,4 might have prevented this: Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm ; But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly. I have been long a sleeper; but, I trust, My absence doth neglect no great design, Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble Which by my presence might have been concluded. And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. William lord Hastings had pronoune'd your part,O, now I want the priest that spake to me: I mean, your voice,-for crowning of the king. I now repent I told the pursuivant, Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be bolder; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there; I do beseech you send for some of them. Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit Ely. Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. [Takes him aside. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business; And finds that testy gentleman so hot, That he will lose his head, ere give consent, His master's child. as worshipfully he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. [Exeunt Gloster and Buckingham. Stan. We have not yet set down this day of tri- umph. 1 Expiated, completed. 2 Intimat As too triumphing, how mine enemies, To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, And I'myself secure in grace and favour. O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. Cate. Despatch, my lord, the duke would be at dinner; Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, Lives live a drunken sailor on a mast; Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. Lov. Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to ex- claim. Hast. O, bloody Richard!-miserable England! I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee, That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.- 4 Weak, foolish 3 Thought. SCENE V, VI. 565 KING RICHARD III Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head; They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt. SCENE V-The same. The Tower walls. En- ter Gloster and Buckingham, in rusty armour, marvellous ill-favored. Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour? Murder thy breath in middle of a word,- And then again begin, and stop again, As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror? Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, intending' deep suspicion: ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles; And both are ready in their offices, At any time, to grace my stratagems. But what, is Catesby gone? Because, my rd we wo 'd have had you heard The traitor speak, and tiraorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treasons; Unto the citizens, who, haply, may That you might well have signified the same Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. May. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve, As well as I had seen, and heard him speak: And do not doubt, right noble princes both, But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens With all your just proceedings in this case. Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, To avoid the censures of the carping world. Buck. But since you came too late of our intent, Yet witness what you hear we did intend: And so, my good ford mayor, we bid farewell. [Exit Lord Mayor. Glo. Go after, after, cousin Buckingham, Glo. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post :- Enter the Mayor and Catesby. buck. Let me alone to entertain him.-Lord mayor,- Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. Buck. Hark, hark! a drum. Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for you,- Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard us! Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings' head. Glo. Be patient, they are friends; Ratcliff and Lovel. Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. Glo. So dear I loved the man, that I must weep. I took him for the plainest harmless't creature, That breath'd upon the earth a Christian: Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts; So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, That, his apparent open guilt omitted, I mean his conversation with Shore's wife,- He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor That ever lived.-Look you, my lord mayor, Would you imagine, or almost believe, Were't not, that by great preservation (We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor This day had plotted in the council-house, To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? May. What! had he so? Glo. What! think you we are Turks, or infidels' Or that we would, against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death: But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England, and our persons' safety. Enforc'd us to this execution? May. Now, fair befall you! he deserv'd his death; And your good graces both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts. I never look'd for better at his hands, After he once fell in with mistress Shore. Buck. Yei had we not determin'd he should die, Until your lordships came to see his end; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented: 1 Pretending. 2 Criginal draft. There, at your meetest vantage of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying-he would make his son Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house, Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, And bestial appetite in change of lust; Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, Without control, listed to make his prey, Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:- Tell them, when that my mother went with child Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, My princely father, then had wars in France; And, by just computation of the time, Found, that the issue was not his begot; Being nothing like the noble duke my father. Which well appeared in his lineaments, Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. Buck. Doubt not, my lord; I'll play the orator, As if the golden fee, for which I plead, Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's castle; With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. Where you shall find me well accompanied, Buck. I go; and, towards three or four o'clock, Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. [Exit Buckingham. Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Dr. Shaw,- Go thou [to Cate.] to friar Penker;-bid them both Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. [Exeunt Lovel and Catesby. To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; Now will I in, to take some privy order And to give notice, that no manner of person Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit. SCENE VI.--A street. Enter a Scrivener. Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ; The precedent was full as long a-doing: And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. Here's a good world the while!-Who is so gross 566 ACT IIL KING RICHARD III. That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who so bold, but says-he sees it not? Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. [Exit. SCENE VII.-The same. Court of Baynard's castle. Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. Gla. How now? how now? what say the citizens? Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, The citizens are mum, say not a word. Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil- dren? Buck. I did; with his contract with lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France; The insatiate greediness of his desires, And his enforcement of the city wives; His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,- As being got, your father then in France; And his resemblance, being not like the duke. Withal, I did infer your lineaments,- Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind: Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. And, when my oratory grew to an end, I bade them, that did love their country's good, Cry-God save Richard, England's royal king! Glo. And did they so? Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statues, or breathless stones, Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them; And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence: His answer was, the people were not us'd To be spoke to but by the recorder. Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again: Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd; But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, At lower end o' the hall, hurl'd up their caps, And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard! And thus I took the vantage of those few,- Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I; This general applause, and cheerful shout, Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard: And even here brake off and came away. Glo. What tongueless blocks were they; would they not speak? Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, come? Buck. The mayor is here at hand; intend' some fear; Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; For on that ground I'll make a holy descant: And be not easily won to our requests; Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. Glo. I go; and if you plead as well for them, As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. Buck. Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks; [Exit Gloster. Enter the Lord Mayor, Alderman, and Citizens. Welcome, my lord; I dance attendance here; I think, the duke will not be spoke withal.-- Enter from the castle, Catesby. Now, Catesby! what says your lord to my request? 3 Fatten. 1 Pretend. 2 A couch. Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, To visit him to-morrow, or next day: He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation; And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd, To draw him from his holy exercise. Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen, Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke; In deep designs, in matter of great moment, No less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his grace. Cate. I'll signify so much unto him straight. [Ex. Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,2 But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping, to engross³ his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: Happy were England, would this virtuous prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. May. Marry, God defend, his grace should say us nay! Buck. I fear, he will: Here Catesby comes again; Re-enter Catesby. Now, Catesby, what says his grace? Cate. He wonders to what end you have assem bled Such troops of citizens to come to him, His grace not being warn'd thereof before, He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. Suspect me, that I mean no good to him: Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; And so once more return and tell his grace. [Exit Catesby. When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous contemplation.. Enter Gloster, in a gallery above, between two Bishops. Catesby returns. May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen ! Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince And, see, a book of prayer in his hand; To stay him from the fall of vanity: True ornaments to know a holy man.- Lend favourable ear to our requests; Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion, and right Christian zeal. I rather do beseech you pardon me, Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology; Who, earnest in the service of my God, But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? Neglect the visitation of my friends. Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. Glo. Ido suspect, I have done some offence, That seems disgracious in the city's eye; And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Buck. You have, my lord; Would it might please your grace, On our entreaties to amend your fault! Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you re- sign SCENE VII. 567 KING RICHARD III. The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The scepter'd office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemish'd stock: Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts (Which here we waken to our country's good,) The noble isle doth want her proper limbs; Her face defac'd with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shoulder'd' in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. Which to recure,2 we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land: Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another's gain: But as successively, from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just suit come I to move your grace. Glo. I cannot teli, if to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, Best fitteth my degree, or your condition: If, not to answer, you might haply think, Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me; If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So season'd with your faithful love to me, Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. Therefore,-to speak, and to avoid the first; And, then in speaking, not to incur the last,- Definitively thus I answer you. Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert Unmeritable, shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away, And that my path were even to the crown, As the ripe revenue and due of birth; Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty, and so many, my defects, That I would rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,- Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me; (And much I need to help you, if need were ;) The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty, And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay what you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars,- Which, God defend, that I should wring from him! Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well consider'd. You say, that Edward is your brother's son; So say we too, but not by Edward's wife: For first he was contract to lady Lucy, Your mother lives a witness to his vow; And afterwards by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the king of France. These both put by, a poor petitioner, A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts 1 Thrust into. 2 Recover. 3 Empire. To base declension and loath'd bigamy: By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners call-the prince More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffer'd benefit of dignity: If not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing time, Unto a lineal true-derived course. May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you. Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit. Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on me? I am unfit for state and majesty :- I do beseech you, take it not amiss; I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. 6 Buck. If you refuse it,-as in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; As well we know your tenderness of heart, And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kindred, And equally, indeed, to all estates,- Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no, Your brother's son shall never reign our king; But we will plant some other in your throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house. And, in this resolution, here we leave you; Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. [Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit; If you deny them, all the land will rue it. Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Well, call them again; I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Ex. Cate. Albeit against my conscience and my soul.- Re-enter Buckingham, and the rest. Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave men,- Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, I must have patience to endure the load: But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof; For God he knows, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this. May. God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it. Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title,- Long live king Richard, England's worthy king! All. Amen. Ruck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd? Glo. Even when you please, since you will have it so. Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace; And so, most joyfully, we take our leave. Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again.- [To the Bishops Farewell, good cousin ;-farewell, gentle friends. Exeuni 4 Want ability. 5 Minute, 3 Pity. 568 ACT. IV. KING RICHARD III. ACT IV. SCENE I-Before the Tower. Enter on one side, Queen Elizabeth, duchess of York, and marquis of Dorset; on the other, Anne, duchess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter. Duch. Who meets us here?-my niece Plan- tagenet Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower, On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. Daughter, well met. Anne. God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day! Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister? Whither away? Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there. You shall have letters from me to my son In your behalf, to meet you on the way; Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. Duch 0 ill-inspiring wink of misery! O my accursed womb, the bed of death; A cockatrice¹ hast thou hatch'd to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous! Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. O, would to God, that the inclusive verge Of golden metal,2 that must round my brow, Were red-hot steel, to sears me to the brain: Anointed let me be with deadly venom; And die, ere men can say-God save the queen Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why ?--When he that is my husband now, Come to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all When scarce the blood was well washed from his together: Enter Brakenbury. And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.- Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How doth the prince, and my young son of York? Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your pa- tience, I may not suffer you to visit them; The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary. Q. Eliz. The king? who's that? Brak. I mean, the lord protector. 2. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he set bounds between their love, and me? I am their mother, who shall bar me from them? Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: T'hen bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame, And take thy office from thee, on thy peril. Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so ; I am round by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brakenbury. Enter Stanley. Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.- Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster. [To the duchess of Gloster. There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! Dor. Be of good cheer:-Mother, how fares your grace? Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone, Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother's name is ominous to children: If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house, Lest tl.ou increase the number of the dead: And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse.- Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam :- Take all the swift advantage of the hours; 1 A serpent supposed to originate from a cock's egg. hands, Which issu'd from my other angel husband, And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish,-Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, For making me, so young, so old a widow! And, when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed, And be thy wife (if any be so mad) More miserable by the life of thee, Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, Even in so short a space, my woman's heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words, And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse: Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest; For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu: I pity thy com- plaining. Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!- [To Dorset. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!-- [To Anne. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts pcccess [To Q. Elizabeth. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen." Q. Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the thee! Tower.- Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow For tender princes, use my babies well! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exc SCENE II-A room of state in the palace. Flourish of trumpets. Richard, as king upon others. his throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and K. Rich. Stand all apart.-Cousin of Bucking ham,- 2 The crown. 3 Burn. 4 Sorrow SCENE II. 569 KING RICHARD III Buck. My gracious sovereign. K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice, And thy assistance, is king Richard seated:- But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? Buck Still live they, and forever let them last! K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, i To try if thou be current gold, indeed:- :- Young Edward lives;-Think now what I would speak. Buck. Say on, my loving lord. K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king. Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward lives. Buck. True, noble prince. K. Rich. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live,-true, noble prince! Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull :- Should I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes: Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this: I will resolve your grace immediately. [Ex. Buck. Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip. [Aside. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his throne. And unrespective boys: none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes ;- High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.- Boy, Page. My lord. K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt- ing gold Would tempt unto a close exploit³ of death? Page. I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. K. Rich. What is his name? Page. His name, my lord, is-Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy.- [Exit Page. The deep-revolving, witty4 Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels: Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, And stops he now for breath ?-well, be it so.- Stan. Enter Stanley. How now, lord Stanley? what's the news? Know, my loving lord, The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled Richmond, in the parts where he abides. K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad, That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence'' daugh- ter: The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.- 1 Touchstone. 3 Secret act. 2 Inconsiderate. 4 Cunning. 5 Look, how thou dream'st!-I say again, give out, About it; for it stands me much upon, That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die: To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.- [Exit Catesby. I must be married to my brother's daughter, Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass :- Uncertain way of gain! But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.- Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel. Is thy name-Tyrrel? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. K. Rich. Art thou, indeed? Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord. K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two ene mies. K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep ene- mies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel; Go, by this token:-Rise, and lend thine ear: [Whispers. There is no more but so:-Say, it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight. Re-enter Buckingham. [Exit. Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand that you did sound me in. K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond. Buck. I hear the news, my lord. K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son:-Well, look to it. Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I shall possess. K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. Buck. What says your highness to my just re quest? K. Rich. I do remember me,-Henry the Sixth Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish' boy. A king!-perhaps- Buck. My lord,- K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at that time. Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? Buck. My lord, your promise of the earldom- K. Rich. Richmond!--When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, And call'd it Rouge-mont: at which name, I started; Because a bard of Ireland told me once, I should not live long after I saw Richmond. Buck. My lord,- K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock? 7 Foolish 5 It is of the utmost consequence to my designs 6 Act. 570 ACT IV. KING RICHARD III. Buck. I am thus bold At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, To put your grace in mind of what you promis d me. And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock? To her I go, a jolly, thriving wooer. Buck. Of ten. K. Rich. Well, let it strike. Buck. Upon the stroke Why, let it strike? K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein to-day. Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. [Exeunt King Richard, and train. [ Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service With such contempt? made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone To Brecknock,2 while my fearful head is on. [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. Enter Tyrell. Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; The most arch deed of piteous massacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children, in their death's sad story. O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,- Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another Within their alabaster innocent arms: Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind; But, O, the devil-there the villain stopp'd; When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.- Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bear this tidings to the bloody king. Enter King Richard. And here he comes:-All health, my sovereign lord! K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news? Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done. K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? Tyr. I did, my lord. K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But where, to say the truth, I do not know. K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell, till then. Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up close; His daughter meanly match'd in marriage; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night, Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 1 An image like those at St. Dunstan's church n Fleet-street. 3 Merciless. 2 His castle in Wales. Enter Catesby. Cate. My Lord,- K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh- men, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near, Than Buckingham, and his rash-levied strength. Come,-I have learn'd, that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary: Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Go, muster men: My counsel is my shield; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Before the Palace. Enter Queen Margaret. Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France; hoping, the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here? Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings, And hear your mother's lamentation!" Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my wo-wearied tongue is still and mute,- Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from sucn gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost, Wo's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'á, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood. Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here! 4 The country in which Richmond had taken refuge. 5 Bishop of Ely. 6 Introduction. SCENE IV. 571 KING RICHARD III Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? [Sitting down by her. Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, Give me the benefit of seniory,' And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them. Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:- I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood; That foul defacer of God's handy-work; That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.- O upright, just, and true disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow2 with other's moan! Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Q. Mar. Bear with me, I am liungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulderate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, And send them thither: But at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly conveyed from hence:- Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live to say, The dog is dead! Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen: The presentation of but what I was, The flattering index of a direful pageant, One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below: A mother only mock'd with two fair babes; A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot; A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble; A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers? Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art. For happy wife, a most distressed widow; 2 Companion. 1 Seniority. 3 Throwr in to boot. For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For being sued to, one that humbly sues; For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care: For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me: For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; For one commanding all, obey'd of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, And left thee but a very prey to time; Having no more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke; From which even here I slip my wearied head, And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis- chance,- These English woes shall make me smile in France. Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day; Compare dead happiness with living wo; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he, that slew them, fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse: Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit. Q. Mar. Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. [Drum, within. I hear his drum,-be copious in exclaims. Enter King Richard, and his train, marching. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be branded, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown, And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children? Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his scn? Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? Duch. Where is kind Hastings? K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets!-strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say.- [Flourish. Alarums Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. Duch. Art thou my son? 4 Indexes were anciently placed at the be ginning of books. 5 Flaring. 6 Owned 572 ACT. IV. KING RICHARD III. K. Rich. Ay; I thank God my father, and your- self. Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con- dition,' That cannot brook the accent of reproof. Duch. O, let me speak. K. Rich. Do, then; but I'll not hear. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony. K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? Duch. No, hv the holy rood,2 thou know'st it well, Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and fu- rious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven- turous; Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever grac'd me in thy company? Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say-she is not so. K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her bro thers. K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were op posite. Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con- trary. K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes des tiny: My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins. Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; call'd your grace To breakfast once, forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.- Strike up the drum. Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. Duch. Hear me a word; For I shall never speak to thee again. K. Rich. So. Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- nance, Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror; Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, And never look upon thy face again. Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse, Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more, Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies, And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit. Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going. K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you. Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,- They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives. K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed; Throw over her the veil of infamy: So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, will confess she was not Edward's daughter. K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. 1 Disposition. 3 1ouchy, fretful. And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize, And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd! Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of heaven, To be discover'd, that can do me good? K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady. Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads? K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory. Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise" to any child of mine? K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee. Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love thy daughter. Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. K. Rich. What do you think? Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul: So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers; And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it. K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean- ing: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter And do intend to make her queen of England. Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king? K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen: Wha else should be? Q. Eliz. What, thou? 2 Cross. 4 Unavoidable. 5 Constant. 6 A crown. 7 Bequeath SCENE IV. 573 KING RICHARD III. K. Rich. of it, madam? Q. Eliz. Ilow canst thou woo her? K. Rich. That I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q. Eliz. And wilt tho. learn of me? K. Rich. Even so: What think you With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys: And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar. Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's brother Madam, with all my heart. Q. Eliz. Send to her by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave, Edward, and York, then, haply,' will she weep: Therefore present to her,-as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,- A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. If this inducement move her not to love, Send her a letter of thy noble deeds; Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake, Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the way To win your daughter. Q. Eliz. There is no other way; Unless thou could'st put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this. K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her? Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but have thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam's name is little less in love, Than is the doating title of a mother; They are as children, but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss, you have, is but-a son being king, And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul, Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity: The king, that calls your beauteous daughter-wife, Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother; Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repair'd with double riches of content. What! we have niany goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl; Advantaging their loan, with interest Of ten-times-double gain of happiness. Go then, my mother, to thy daughter, go; Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess 1 Perhaps. 2 In the Levitical law, chap. xviii. 14. Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle" Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honour, and her love, Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this al- liance. Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with stil! lasting war. K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command. entreats. Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king' King forbids. 2 K. Rich. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. Q. Eliz. To wail the title as her mother doth. K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last? K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last? K. Rich. As long as Heaven, and nature length- ens it. Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard likes of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sove- reignty. K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plain- lv told. K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my lovi.g tale. Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest is too harsh a style. K. Rich Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead; Too deep and dead, poor infants in their graves. K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break. K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,- Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonor'd, and the third usurp'd. K. Rich. I swear. Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no os th. Thy George, profan'd, hath lost its holy honour; Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtus; Tay crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: I something thou would'st swear to be believ'd, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd K. Rich Now by the world,- Q. Eliz. "Tis full of thy foul wrongs. K. Rich. My father's death,- Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd K. R.ch. Then by myself,- Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misused. K. Rich. Why then, by God,- Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him, 3 The ensigns of the order of the Garter. 574 ACT IV, KING RICHARD III. The unity, the king thy brother made, Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, The imperial metal, circling now thy head, Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now? K. Rich. By the time to come. Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh- ter'd, Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age: The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come: for that thou hast Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast. K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent! So thrive I in my dangerous attempt Of hostile arms! myself myself confound! Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours! Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!. In her consists my happiness, and thine; Without her, follows to myself, and thee, Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin, and decay: It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided, but by this. Therefore, dear mother (I must call you so,) Be the attorney of my love to her. Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish' found in great designs. Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself? K. Rich. Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself. Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them: Where in that nest of spicery,2 they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. Q. Eliz Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go.--Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [Kissing her. Exit Q. Eliz. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing-woman! How now? what news? Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following. Cate. Here, my good lord. K. Rich. Catesby, dly to the duke Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salisbury; When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful villain [To Catesby Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highnes pleasure, What from your grace I shall deliver to him K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby;-Bid lim levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Cate. I go. Erit Rat. What, may it please you shal! I do at S isbury! K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go. Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter Stanley. K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.-Stanley, what news with you? Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing; Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! What need'st thou run so many miles about, When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way? Once more, what news? Stan. Richmond is on the seas. K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. K. Rich. Well, as you guess? Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword un sway'd? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd? What heir of York is there alive, but we? And who is England's king, but great York's heir Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas? Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not. K. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him back? Where be thy tenants, and thy followers? Are they not now upon the western shore, Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. K. Rich. Cold friends to me; what do they in the north, Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast When they should serve their sovereign in the west? Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful, hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back: 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff, thyself,-or Catesby; where is he? 1 Foolish. 2 The phoenix's nest. Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty king; Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends; and meet your grace, Where, and at what time, your majesty shall please K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou would'st be gone to join with Richmond: I will not trust you, sir. Stan. Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful; I never was, nor never will be, false. SCENE I, II. 575 KING RICHARD III. K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, | My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold; leave behind Your son, George Stanley; look your heart be firm, Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. [Exit Stanley. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advértised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates, are in arms. Enter another Messenger. 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors' If I revolt, off goes young George's head; The fear of that withholds my present aid.. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? Chris. At Pembroke, or at Har'ford-west, is Wales. Stan. What men of name resort to him? Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley; Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; And many other of great fame and worth: And towards London do they bend their course, If by the way they be not fought withal. Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to him; Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [Gives papers to Sir Christopher. [Exeunt. Enter another Messenger. 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking- ham- K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death? [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, Is,-that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; And he himself wander'd away alone, No man knows whither. K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy: There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in? n ACT V. SCENE I-Salisbury. An open place. Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with Buckingham, led to execution. Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him? Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. Buck. Hastings and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my Vaughan, and all that have miscarried liege. Enter another Messenger. 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness,- The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest: Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, If they were his assistants, yea, or no; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. By underhand corrupted foul injustice; If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction! This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not? Sher. It is my lord. Buck. Why, then, All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday, This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found False to his children, or his wife's allies: This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul, By the false faith of him whom most I trusted Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. That high All-seer which I dallied with, Hath turn d my feigned prayer on my head, And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points on their master's bosoms. Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,-- When he quoth she shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.- Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame; K. Rich. Away, towards Salisbury; while we Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Enter Catesby. Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond Is, with a mighty power,2 landed at Milford, Is colder news, but yet they must be told. reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost :- Some one take order, Buckingham be brought To Salisbury;-the rest march on with me. [Exe. SCENE VA room in Lord Stanley's house. Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick.3 Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:- That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, 1 Associates. 2 Force. 3 Chaplain to the countess of Richmond. [Exeunt Buckingham, &c. SCENE II-Plain near Tamworth. Enter, with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford, Str James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, with forces, marching. e Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 4 A sty in which hogs are set apart for fattening 5 Injurious practices. 576 ACT. V KING RICHARD III. Thus far into the bowels of the land. Have we march'd on without impediment; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine Lies now even in the centre of this isle, Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn: From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march. In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war. Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide. Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me; Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much (Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) His regiment lies half a mile at least South from the mighty power of the king. Richm. If without peril it be possible, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him, And give him from me this most needful note. Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business; In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. [They withdraw into their tent. Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends Enter, to his tent, King Richard, Norfolk, Ratcliff, for fear; Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. Richin. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march: True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Bosworth Field. Enter King Richard, and forces; the Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others. K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.- My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,- Nor. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! must we not? Here, most gracious liege. Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie to- night; [Soldiers begin to set up the king's tent. But where, to-morrow?-Well, all's one for that.- Who hath descried the number of the traitors? - Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account: Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse faction want. Up with the tent.-Come, noble gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the ground;- Call for some men of sound direction:- Let's want no discipline, make no delay; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. Some of the soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And, by the bright track of his fiery car. Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.- Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.- Give me some ink and paper in my tent ;- I'll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit' each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small power. My lord of Oxford,-you, sir William Brandon,- And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me: The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;- Good captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent:- 1 Appoint. 2 Remains with. 3 A watch-light. 4 Wood of the lances. and Catesby. K. Rich. What is't o'clock? Cate. It's nine o'clock. K. Rich. I'ts supper time, my lord; I will not sup to-night. Give me some ink and paper.- What, is my beaver easier than it was?- And all my armour laid into my tent? Cate. It is, my liege; and all things are in readi- ness. K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. Nor. I go, my lord. K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. Nor. I warrant you, my lord. K. Rich. Ratcliff, Rat. My lord? K. Rich. [Exit. Send out a pursuivant at arms To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall Into the blind cave of eternal night.- Fill me a bowl of wine.-Give me a watch:3- [To Catesby. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.- Look that my staves4 be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff, Rat. My lord? K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord Nor- thumberland? Rut. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop, Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. - So, set it down.-Is ink and paper ready? Rat. It is, my lord. K. Rich. Bid my guard watch; leave me. About the mid of night, come to my tent And help to arm me-Leave me, I say. [King Richard retires into his tent. Exeunt Ratcliff and Catesby. Richmond's tent opens, and discovers him and his officers, &c. Enter Stanley. Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford, Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Tell me, how fares our loving mother? Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, Who prays continually for Richmond's good: So much for that.-The silent hours steal on, 5 Twilight. 6 Deputation. SCENE III. 577 KING RICHARD IIL And flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief, for so the season bids us be, Prepare thy battle early in the morning; And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war. I, as I may (that which I would, I cannot,) With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: But on thy side I may not be too forward, Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father's sight. Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon: God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu :-Be valiant, and speed well! Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap; Lest leaden slumber peise' me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory: Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. [Exeunt Lords, &c. with Stanley. O Thou! whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye; Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries! Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in thy victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps. The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry the Sixth, rises between the two tents. Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! [To King Richard. Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth At Tewksbury; Despair therefore, and die!- Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. The Ghost of King Henry the Sixth rises. Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body [To King Richard. By thee was punched full of deadly holes: Think on the Tower, and me; Despair, and die; Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.- Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror! [To Richmond. Harry, that prophesy'd thou should'st be king, Doth comfort thee in thy sleep; Live, and flourish! The Ghost of Clarence rises. Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! [To King Richard. I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword; Despair, and die! Thon offspring of the house of Lancaster, [To Richmond. The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee; Good angels guard thy battle! Live, and flourish! The Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, rise. Rio. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair, and die! [To King Richard. 1 Weigh. Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair! [To King Richard. Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan; and, with guilty fear, Let fall thy lance! Despair, and die!-- bosom [To King Richard. All. Awake! and think, our wrongs in Richard's [To Richmond. Will conquer him ;-awake, and win the day! The Ghost of Hastings rises. Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake; [To King Richard. And in a bloody battle end thy days! Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die !- Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! [To Richmond. Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower; And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die.- Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! Live, and beget a happy race of kings! Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. Ghost. Richard thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: To-morrow, in the battle, think on me, And fail thy edgeless sword; Despair, and die !-- Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep: Dream of success and happy victory; [To Richmond. Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. crown; The Ghost of Buckingham rises. Ghost. The first was 1, that help'd thee to the [To King Richard. The last was I that felt thy tyranny: O, in the battle think on Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness! Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death; Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!- I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid: [To Richmond But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd: God and good angels fight on Richmond's side; And Richard falls in height of all his pride. [The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starts out of his dream. K. Rich. Give me another horse,-bind up my wounds,- Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft; I did but dream; O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!- The lights burn blue.-It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No;--Yes; I am: Then fly,-What, from myself? Great reaso Why? Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself? I love myself. Wherefore? for any good, That I myself have done unto myself? O, no: alas, I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not. 578 ACT. V. KING RICHARD III. Fool, of thyself speak well :-Fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all,-Guilty! guilty! I shall despair.-There is no creature loves me; And, if I die, no soul will pity me: Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself. - Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd Came to my tent: and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. Rat. My lord,- Enter Ratcliff. K. Rich. Who's there? Of England's chair,' where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy. Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will, in justice, ward2 you as his soldiers; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children's children quit³ it in your age. Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village God, and Saint George! Richmond, and victory! cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. K. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! What thinkest thou? will our friends prove all true? Rat. No doubt, my lord. K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,- Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To hear, if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt King Richard and Rateliff. Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentle- men, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. Lords. How have you slept, my lord? Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams, That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mur- der'd, Came to my tent, and cried-On! victory! I promise you, my heart is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords? Lords. Upon the stroke of four. Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give di- rection.- [He advances to the troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on: Yet remember this,- God, and our good cause, fight upon our side; The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; Richard except, those, whom we fight against, Had rather have us win, than him they follow. For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant, and a homicide; One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him; A base foul stone, made precious by the foil [Exeunt Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, attendants, and forces. K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touch- ing Richmond? Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. K. Rich. He said the truth: And what said Surrey then? Rat. He smil'd and said, the better for our pur- pose. K. Rich. He was i'the right; and so, indeed, it is. [Clock strikes. Tell the clock there-Give me a calendar.- Who saw the sun to-day? Rat. Not I, my lord. K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book, He should have brav'd' the east an hour ago: A black day will it be to somebody.- Ratcliff,- Rat. My lord? K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me, I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. More than to Richmond? for the self-same heaven That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. Enter Norfolk. Nor. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle;-Caparison my horse;- Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:- I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered. My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot; Our archers shall be placed in the midst: John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. They thus directed, we ourself will follow In the main battle; whose puissance on either side Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot!-What think'st thou, Norfolk? Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign.- This found I on my tent this morning. [Giving a scroll K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, [Reads For Dickons thy master is bought and sold. 1 Throne. 2 Guard. 4 Made it splendid. 9 Requite. 5 The ancient familiarization of Richard. SCENE IV. 579 KING RICHARD III. A thing devised by the enemy.- Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls; Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe; Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. March on, join bravely, let's to't pell-mell; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? Remember whom you are to cope withal;- A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest; You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other. And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow, Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? A milk-sop, one that never in his life Felt so much cold as over-shoes in snow? Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves: If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretagnes; whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives? Ravish our daughters ?-Hark, I hear their drum. [Drum afar off: Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proad horses hard, and ride in blood; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves !2 Enter a Messenger. K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think, there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him :- A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! [Ere. Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond; and exeunt fighting. Retreat, and flourish. Then enter Richmond, Stanley, bearing the crown, with divers other Lords, and forces. Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victo- rious friends; The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, acquit thee! From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal; Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Richm. Great God of heaven, say, Amen, to all :- But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living? Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. That in submission will return to us; We will unite the white rose with the red:- And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long hath frown'd upon their enmity!- What traitor hears me, and says not,-Amen? England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, All this divided York and Lancaster, The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; Divided, in their dire divisica.-- O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! And let their heirs (God, if thy will be sc,) Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace. With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again,, And make poor England weep in streams of blood' Alar-Let them not live to taste this land's increase, What says lord Stanley? will he bring his power? Mesc. My lord, he doth deny to come.. K. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh; After the battle let George Stanley die. K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: Advance our standards, set upon our foes; Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-Another part of the field. ums: Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and forces; to him Catesby. Cate, Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, Daring an opposite to every danger; His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death: Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! Alarum. Enter King Richard. a K. Rich. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse. horse! 1 Company. would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again; That she may long live here, God say-Amen. [Exeunt. This is one of the most celebrated of our author's performances; yet I know not whether it has not happened to him as to others, to be praised most, when praise is not most deserved. That this play has scenes noble in themselves, and very well con- trived to strike in the exhibition, cannot be denied. But some parts are trifling, others shocking, and JOHNSON. 2 Fright the skies with the shivers of your lances. Isome improbable. KING HENRY VIII. King Henry the Eighth. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Cardinal Wolsey. Cardinal Campeius. Capucius, ambassador from the emperor Charles V. Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury. Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Buckingham. Duke of Suffolk. Earl of Surrey. Lord Chamberlain. Lord Chancellor. Gardiner, bishop of Winchester. Bishop of Lincoln. Lord Abergavenny. Sands. Sir Henry Guildford. Sir Thomas Lovell. Sir Anthony Denny. Sir Nicholas Vaux. Secretaries to Wolsey. Cromwell, servant to Wolsey. Griffith, gentleman-usher to queen Katharine. Three other Gentlemen. Doctor Butts, physician to the king. Garter, king at arms. Lord Surveyor to the duke of Buckingham. Brandon, and a Serjeant at arms. Door-keeper of the council-chamber. Porter, and his Man. Page to Gardine:. A Crier. Queen Katharine, wife to king Henry, afterwards divorced. Anne Bullen, her maid of honour; afterwards queen. An old lady, friend to Anne Bullen. Patience, woman to queen Katharine. Several Lords and Ladies in the dumb shows; Women attending upon the queen; Spirits, which appear to her; Scribes, Officers, Guards. and other Attendants. Scene, chiefly in London and Westminster; once, at Kimbolton. PROLOGUE. ACT I. I COME no more to make you laugh; things SCENE I.-London. An ante-chamber in the now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow, Sad, high, and working, full of state and wo, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it. Such, as give Their money out of hope they may believe, May here find truth too. Those, that come to see Only a show or two, and so agree, The play may pass; if they be still, and willing, I'll undertake, may see away their shilling Richly in two short hours. Only they, That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, A noise of targets; or to see a fellow In a long motley coat, guarded' with yellow, Will be deceiv'd: for, gentle hearers, know, To rank our chosen truth with such a show As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring (To make that only true we now intend,2 Will leave us never an understanding friend, Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town, Be sad, as we would make ye; Think, ye see The very persons of our noble story, As they were living; think, you see them great, And follow'd with the general throng, and sweat, Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery! And, if you can be merry then, I'll say, A man may weep upon his wedding-day. 2 Pretend. 1 Laced Palace. Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door, at the other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord Abergavenny. Buckingham. GOOD morrow, and well met. How have you done, Since last we saw in France? Nor. Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer Of what I saw there. Buck. I thank your grace: An untimely ague Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, Met in the vale of Arde. Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: I was then present, saw them salute on horseb Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clu In their embracement, as they grew together; Which had they, what four thron'd ones could h weigh'd Such a compounded one? Buck. All the whole time I was my chamber's prisoner. Nor. Then you lost The view of earthly glory: Men might say, Till this time, pomp was single; but now married To one above itself. Each following day Became the next day's master, till the last Made former wonders it's: To-day, the French All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,, Shone down the English: and, to-morrow, they 3 Henry VIII. and Francis I. king of France. 4 Glittering, shining. OF "Henry VIII." Act I., Scene 1. WOLSEY AND BUCKINGHAM. WOLSEY.-"Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look." SCENE I. 581 KING HENRY VIII. Made Britain, India: every man, that stood, Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were As cherubims, all gilt: the madams too, Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear The pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them as a painting: now this mask Was cry'd incomparable; and the ensuing night Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings, Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, As presence did present them; him in eye, Still him in praise; and, being present both, Twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns (For so they phrase them,) by their heralds chal- leng'd, The noble spirits to arms, they did perform Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit, That Bevis was believ'd. Buck. O, you go far. Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect In honour honesty, the tract of every thing Would by a good discourser lose some life, Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; To the disposing of it nought rebell'd; Order gave each thing view; the office did Distinctly his full function. Buck. Who did guide, I mean, who set the body and the limbs Of this great sport together, as you guess? Nor. One, certes, that promises no element* In such a business. Buck. I pray you, who, my lord? Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend cardinal of York. Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed from his ambitious finger. What had he To do 'n these fierce' vanities? I wonder, That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up he rays o' the beneficial sun, And keep it from the earth. Surely, sir, Nor. There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends: For, being not propp'd by ancestry (whose grace Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon For high feats done to the crown; neither allied To eminent assistants, but, spider-like, Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, The force of his own merit makes his way; A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys A place next to the king. I cannot tell Aber. What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride Peep through each part of him: Whence has he that? If not from hell, the devil is a niggard; Or has given all before, and he begins A new hell in himself. Buck. Why the devil, Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, Without the privity o' the king, to appoint Who should attend on him? He makes up the file Of all the gentry; for the most part such Too, whom as great a charge as little honour He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, The honourable board of council out, Must fetch him in the papers. 1 In opinion, which was most noble. Sir Bevis, an old romance. 4 Practice. 3 Certainly. 6 Lump of fat. 7 List. 5 Proud. I do know Aber. Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this so sicken'd their estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. O, many Buck. Have broke their backs with laying manors on them For this great journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poor issue? Nor. Grievingly I think, The peace between the French and us not values The cost that did conclude it. Every man, Buck. After the hideous storm that follow'd, was A thing inspir'd: and, not consulting, broke Into a general prophecy,-That this tempest Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded The sudden breach on't. Nor. Which is budded out; For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. Aber. The ambassador is silenc'd? Nor. Is it therefore Marry, is't. Aber. A proper title of a peace; and purchas'd At a superfluous rate! Buck. Why, all this business Our reverend cardinal carried.9 Nor. 'Like it your grace, The state takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read The cardinal's malice and his potency Together: to consider further, that What his high hatred would effect, wants not A minister in his power: You know his nature, That he's revengeful; and I know, his sword Hath a sharp edge: it's long, and, it may be said, It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock, That I advise your shunning. Enter Cardinal Wolsey (the purse borne before him,) certain of the guard, and two Secretaries with papers. The Cardinal in his passage fixeth his eye on Buckingham, and Buckingham on him, both full of disdain. Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha? Where's his examination? 1 Secr. Here, so please you. Ay, pleas your grace. Wol. Is he in person ready? 1 Secr. Wol. Well, we shall then know more; aud Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. [Exe. Wolsey and train. Buck. This butcher's cur10 is venom-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore, best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Out-worth's a noble's blood. Nor. What, are you chaf'd? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only Which your disease requires. Buck. I read in his looks Matter against me; and his eye revil'd Me, as his abject object; at this instant 8 Sets down in his letter without consulting the council. 9 Conducted. 10 Wolsey was the son of a butcher. 582 ACT I. KING HENRY VIII. He bores' me with some trick: He's gone to the! (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal king; I'll follow, and out-stare him. Nor. Stay, my lord, And let your reason with your choler question What 'tis you go about: To climb steep hills, Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like A full-hot horse; who being allow'd his way, Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England Can advise me like you: be to yourself As you would to your friend. Buck. I'll to the king; And from a mouth of honour quite cry down This Ipswich feilow's insolence; or proclaim, There's difference in no persons. Nor. Be advis'd; Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself: We may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, In seeming to augment it, wastes it? Be advis'd: I say again, there is no English soul More stronger to direct you than yourself; If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay, the fire of passion. Buck. Sir, I am thankful to you; and I'll go along By your prescription:-but this top-proud fellow, (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but From sincere motions,) by intelligence, And proofs as clear as founts in Júly, when We see each grain of gravel, I do know To be corrupt and treasonous. Nor. Say not, treasonous. Buck To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, Or wolf, or both (for he is equal ravenous, As he is subtle; and as prone to mischief, As able to perform it: his mind and place Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) Only to show his pomp as well in France As here at home, suggests the king our master To this last costly treaty, the interview, That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass Did break i'the rinsing. 'Faith, and so it did. Nor. Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal The articles o'the combination drew, As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified, As he cried, Thus let be: to as much end, As give a crutch to the dead: But our count-cardinal Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey, Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows (Which as I take it is a kind of puppy To the old dam, treason,) Charles the Emperor, Under pretence to see the queen his aunt (For 'twas, indeed, his colour; but he came 1o whisper Welsey,) here makes visitation: His fears were, that the interview, betwixt England and France, might, through their amity, Breed him some prejudice; for from this league Peep'd harms hat menac'd him: He privily Dals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,- Which I do well: for, I am sure, the emperor Paid ere ne promis'd; whereby his suit was granted, Ere it was ask'd;-but when the way was made, And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ;-- That he would please to alter the king's course, And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 1 Stabs. 2 Excites. 3 Unfair stratagem. Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, And for his own advantage. I am sorry Nor. To hear this of him; and could wish, he were Something mistaken in't. Buck. No, not a syllable; I do pronounce him in that very shape, He shall appear in proof. Enter Brandon; a Sergeant at Arms before him, and two or three of the guards. Bran. Your office, serjeant; execute it. Serj. My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king. Buck. Sir, Lo you, my lord, The net has fall'n upon me; I shall perish Under device and practice.3" Bran. I am sorry To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasure You shall to the Tower. Buck. To plead mine innocence; It will help me nothing, for that die is on me, Which makes my whitest part biack. The will of Heaven Be done in this and all things!-I obey.- O my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. Bran. Nay, he must bear you company :-The [To Abergavenny. king Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further. Aber. As the duke said, The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure By me obey'd. Bran. Here is a warrant from The king, to attach lord Montacute; and the bodies Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,- Buck. So, so; These are the limbs of the plot: no more, I hope. Bran. A monk o'the Chartreux. Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins? Bran. He. Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great car- Hath show'd him gold: my life is spann'd already: dinal I am the shadow of poor Buckingham; Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By dark'ning my clear sun.-My lord, farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The council-chamber. Cornets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, Officers, and Assistants. The King enters, leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder. K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it, Thanks you for this great care: I stood i'the level Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks To you that chok'd it.-Let be call'd before us That gentleman of Buckingham's: in person I'll hear him his confessions justify; And point by point the treasons of his master He shall again relate. The King takes his state. The Lords of the Council take their several places. The Cardinal places himself under the King's feet, on his right side. 4 Measured. Chair. SCENE II. 583 KING HENRY VIII. mouths: A noise within, crying Room for the Queen. En- | Is nam'd, your wars in France: This makes bold ter the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk: she kneels. The King riseth from Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze his state, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her Allegiance in them; their curses now, by him. Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor. K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us :-Half your suit Never name to us; you have half our power: The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; Repeat your will, and take it. Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. That you would love yourself; and, in that love, Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor The dignity of your office, is the point Of my petition. K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been com- missions Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their loyalties:-wherein, although, My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as putter-on Of these exactions, yet the king our master (Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!) even he escapes not Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion. Nor. Not almost appears, It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them 'longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar, And Danger serves among them. K. Hen. Taxation! Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass, That tractable obedience is a slave To each incensed will. I would, your highness Would give it quick consideration, for There is no primer business. K. Hen. By my life, This is against our pleasure. Wol. And for me, I have no farther gone in this, than by A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but By learned approbation of the judges. If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know My faculties, nor person, yet will be The chronicles of my doing,-let me say, 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake2 That virtue must go through. We must not stint? Our necessary actions, in the fear To cope malicious censurers; which ever, As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is Not ours, or not allow'd ; what worst, as oft, Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up. For our best act. If we shall stand still, In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, We should take root here where we sit, or sit State statues only. Things done well, K. Hen. And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of cach? A trembling contribution! Why, we take, From every tree, lop, bark, and part o'the timber; And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, The air will drink the sap. To every county, Wherein? and what taxation ?-My lord cardinal, Where this is question'd, send our letters, with You that are blam'd for it alike with us, Know you of this taxation? Wol. Please you sir, I know but of a single part, in aught Pertains to the state; and front but in that file' Where others tell steps with me. No, my lord, Q. Kath. You know no more than others: but you frame. Things, that are known alike; which are not whole- some To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are Most pestilent to the hearing: and, to bear them, The back is sacrifice to the load. They say, They are devis'd by you; or else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. Still exaction! K. Hen. The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, Is this exaction? Q. Kath. I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compel from each The sixth part of his substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this ! I am only one among the other counsellors. 2 Thicket of thorns. 3 Retard. Free pardon to each man that has denied The force of this commission.: Pray, look to't; I put it to your case. Wol. A word with you. [To the Secretary. Let there be letters writ to every shire, Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd, That, through our intercession, this revokement. And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary, Enter Surveyor. Q. Kath. I am sorry, that the duke of Bucking- Is run in your displeasure. ham K. Hen. It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker, To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, And never seek for aid out' of himself. Yet see When these so noble benefits shall prove Not well-dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly Than ever they were fair. This man so cómplete, 4 Encounter. 7 Bevond. 5 Sometime. 6 Approved. 584 ACT 1. KING HENRY VIII. Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, Go forward. Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, Hath into monstrous habits put the graces That once were his, and is become as black As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear (This was his gentleman in trust,) of him Things to strike honour sad.-Bid him recount The fore-recited practices; whereof We cannot feel too little, hear too much. Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous for him, To ruminate on this so far, until It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, It was much like to do: He answer'd, Tush! It can do me no damage: adding further, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads what you, Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the duke of Buckingham. K. Hen. Speak freely. Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day It would infect his speech, That if the king Should without issue die, he'd carry¹ it so To make the sceptre his: These very words I have heard him utter to his son-in-law, Lord Aberga'ny; to whom by oath he menac'd Revenge upon the cardinal. Wol. Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends. Q. Kath. Deliver all with charity. K. Hen. My learn'd lord cardinal, Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him. At any time speak aught? Surv. Should have gone off. K. Hen. Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha! There's mischief in this man:-Canst thou say fur. ther? Surv. I can, my liege. K. Hen. Surv. Proceed. Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reprov'd the duke About sir William Blomer,- K. Hen. I remember, Of such a time:-Being my servant sworn, The duke retain'd him his.But on; What hence? Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been com- mitted, As to the Tower, I thought,-I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in his presence; which, if granted, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife into him. K. Hen. A giant traitor! Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. K. Hen. What was that Hopkins? Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, And this man out of prison? His confessor; who fed him every minute Q. Kath. God mend all! With words of sovereignty. K. Hen. There's something more would out of thee; What say'st! K. Hen. How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose,2 within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech amongst the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I replied, Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted, 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; That oft, says he, Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the confession's seal He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke, My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensu'd,-Neither the king, nor his heirs, (Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke Shall govern England. Q. Kath If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o'the tenants: Take good heed, You charge not in your spleen a noble person, And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. K. Hen. Let him on :- 1 Conduct, manage. 2 Now Merchant-Taylor's School. Surv. After-the duke his father, with the knife,- He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor Was,-Were he evil us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. K. Hen. There's his period, To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial; if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, Let him not seek't of us; By day and night, He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A room in the palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands. Cham Is it possible, the spells of France should Juggle Men into such strange mysteries? Sands. New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage, is but merely A fit or two of the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold them, you would swear directly Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. Sands. They have all new legs, and lame oues one would take it, That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 3 Grimace. SCENE IV. 585 KING HENRY VIII A springhalt' reign'd among them. Cham. How Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they have worn out Cristendom. now? What news, sir Thomas Lovell? Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 'Faith, my lord, Lov. I hear of none, but the new proclamation That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Cham. What is't for? Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre.2 They must either Lov. (For so run the conditions) leave these remnants Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, With all their honourable points of ignorance, Pertaining thereto (as fights, and fireworks; Abusing better men than they can be, Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, And understand again like honest men; Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, They may, cum privilegio, wear away The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their dis- eases Are grown so catching. Cham. What a loss our ladies Will have of these trim vanities! Lov. Ay, marry, There will be wo indeed, lords; the sly whore- sons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. Sands. The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're going; (For, sure, there's no converting of them ;) now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plain- song, And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady, Held current music too. Well said, lord Sands; Your colt's tooth is not cast yet. Cham. Sands. Nor shall not, while I have a stump. Cham. Whither were you a going? Lov. Your lordship is a guest too. Cham. No, my lord; Sir Thomas, To the cardinal's; O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous indeed, nind A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where. Cham. No doubt, he's noble; He had a black mouth, that said other of him. Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal; in him, paring would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: Men of his way should be most liberal, 1 A disease incident to horses. 2 A palace at Paris. 3 With authority. They are set here for examples. Cham. True, they are so But few now give so great ones. My barge stays, Your lordship shall along:-Come,good sir Thomas We shall be late el.e: which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, This night, to be comptrollers. Sands. I am your lordship's [Exeunt SCENE IV.-The presence chamber in York place. Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Enter at one door, Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as guests, at another door, enter Sir Henry Guildford. Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates To fair content, and you: pone here, he hopes, In all this noble bevy, has brought with her One care abroad; he would have all as merry As first-good company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people.-O, my lord, you are tardy. Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir Thomas Lovell. The very thought of this fair company Clapp'd wings to me. Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford. Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these Should find a running banquet ere they rested, I think, would better please them: By my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones. Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con fessor To one or two of these! Sands. I would I were; They should find easy penance. Lov. 'Faith, how easy; Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Si Harry, Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this: His grace is ent'ring.-Nay, you must not freeze; Two women plac'd together makes cold weather:- My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking, Pray, sit between these ladies. Sands. By my faith, And thank your lordship.-By your leave, sweet ladies: [Seats himself between Anne Bullen and another lady. If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father. Was he mad, sir? Anne. Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad; in love too: But he would bite none; just as I do now, He would kiss you twenty with a breath. Cham. [Kisses her. Well said, my lord.- So, now you are fairly seated:-Gentlemen, The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies Pass away frowning. Sands. Let me alone. For my little cure, Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, attended, and takes his state. Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests; that c ble lady, 4 The speaker is at. Bridewell, and the e nal's house was at Whitehall. 5 Company. 6 Chair. 586 ACT II. KING HENRY VIII. 1 K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd beauty, C [Music. Darc Your grace? Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, Is not my friend: This, to confirm my welcome; And to you all good health. [Drinks. Till now I never knew thee. Sands. Your grace is noble ;- Wol. My lord,-- Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, Cham. And save me so much talking. Wol. My lord Sands, I am beholden to you: cheer your neighbours.- Ladies, you are not merry ;-Gentlemen, Whose fault is this? Sands. The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have them Talk us to silence. Anne. You are a merry gamester, My lord Sands. Sands. Yes, if I make my play.". Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam, For 'tis to such a thing,- Anne. You cannot show me. Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. [Drum and trumpets within: chambers2 discharged. Wol. What's that? Cham. Look out there, some of you. [Exit a Servant. Wol. What warlike voice? And to what end is this?-Nay, ladies, fear not; By all the laws of war you are privileg'd. Re-enter Servant. Cham. How now? what is't? Serv. A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they have left their barge, and landed; And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes. Wol. Good lord chamberlain, Go, give them welcome; you can speak the French tongue; And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at ful! upon them:-Some attend him.-I [Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise, and tables removed. Wol. Pray, tell them thus much from me There should be one amongst them, by hie person, More worthy this place than myself; to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it. Cham. I will, my lord. [Cham. goes to the company, and returns Wol. What say they? Cham. Such a one, they all confess There is, indeed; which they would have your grace Find out, and he will take it." Wol. Let me see then.- [Comes from his state, By all your good leaves, gentlemen;-Here I'l make My royal choice. K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal: [Unmasking. You hold a fair assembly; you do well, my lord: You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, I should judge now unhappily." Wol. I am glad, Your grace is grown so pleasant. K. Hen. My lord chamberlain Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady's that? Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bul- len's daughter, The viscount Rochford, one of her highness' wonen. K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one.-Sweet heart, I were unmannerly, to take you out, And not to kiss you.-A health, gentlemen, Let it go round. Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I'the privy chamber? Lov. Yes, my lord. Wol. fear, with dancing is a little heated. K. Hen. I fear, too much. Wol. In the next chamber. Your grace, There's fresher air, my lord, K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one.-Sweet partner, You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. A good digestion to you all: and, once more, I shower a welcome on you;-Welcome all. I must not yet forsake you :-Let's be merry ;- Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, as Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths maskers, habited like Shepherds, with sixteen To drink to these fair ladies, and a measures Torch-bearers; ushered by the Lord Chamber- To lead them once again: and then let's dream They pass directly before the Cardinal, Who's best in favour.-Let the music knock it. lain. and gracefully salute him. A noble company! what are their pleasures? Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd To tell your grace;-That, having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less, Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks; and, under your fair con- duct, Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat An hour of revels with them. Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay them A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea- sures. [Ladies chosen for the dance. The King chooses Anne Bullen. [Exeunt, with trumpets. ACT II. SCENE I-A street. Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 1 Gent. Whither away so fast? 2 Gent. 0,-God save you! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great duke of Buckingham. 1 Gent. I'll save you That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony Of bringing back the prisoner. 2 Gent. 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 3 The chief place. 1 Chocze my game. 2 Small cannon. 5 Dance. Were you there? 4 Mischievously. SCENE 1. 587 KING HENRY VIII, 2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happen'd? | Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, 2 Gent. And by that name must die; Yet, heaven bear wit ness, Is he found guilty? 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 2 Gent I am sorry for't. 1 Gent. So are a number more. 2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it? 1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where, to his accusations, He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney, on the contrary, Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desir'd To him brought, viva voce, to his face: At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief. 2 Gent. That was he, The same. That fed him with his prophecies? 1 Gent. All these accused him strongly; which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not: And so his peers, upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly, for life: but all Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself? 1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar,- to hear And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! The law I bear no malice for my death, It has done, upon the premises, but justice: But those, that sought it, I could wish more Chris- tians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive them: Yet let them look, they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then my guiltless blood must cry against them: For further life in this world I ne'er hope, Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies More than I dare make faults. You few that iov'd me, And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me, like good angels, to my end; And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven.-Lead on, o'God's name. Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy Shall make my grave.-Commend me to his grace; And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him, You met him half in heaven: My vows and prayers Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me, Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live Longer than I have time to tell his years! Sure, he does not. Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be! And, when old time shall lead him to his end, Goodness and he fill up one monument! His knell rung out, his judgment,-he was stirr'd With such an agony, he sweat extremely, And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly, In all the rest show'd a most noble patience 2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death. 1 Gent. He never was so womanish: the cause He may a little grieve at. 2 Gent. Certainly, The cardinal is the end of this. 1 Gent. 'Tis likely, By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father. 2 Gent. Was a deep envious one. 1 Gent. That trick of state, At his return, No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, And generally; whoever the king favors, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too. All the commons Hate him perniciously, and o'my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buck- ingham, 2 Gent. The mirror of all courtesy ;- 1 Gent. Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruined man you speak of. Lov. To the water-side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. Vaux. Prepare there, The duke is coming: see, the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture, as suits The greatness of his person. Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable, And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun: Yet I am richer than my base accusers, That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make them one day groan for't. My noble father. Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, Flying for succour to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, And without trial fell; God's peace be with him " Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying Enter Buckingham from his arraignment; Tip- My father's loss, like a most royal prince, staves before him; the ax with the edge towards Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins, him; halberds on each side; with him Sir Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Thomas Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all Sands, and common people. 2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. Buck. All good people You that have thus far come to pity me, 1 Close. That made me happy, at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial. And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me A little happier than my wretched father: Yet thus far we are one in fortunes,-Both Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most : 588 ACT 11. KING HENRY VIII. A most unnatural and farthless service! Heaven has an end in all: Yet you that hear ine, This from a dying man receive as certain : Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels, Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour, Of my long weary life has come upon me. Farewell: me! And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell.-I have done; and God forgive [Exeunt Buckingham and train. 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity!-Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their heads, That were the authors. 2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of wo: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us! Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith' to conceal it. 1 Gent. I do not talk much. 2 Gent. Let me have it; I am confident; You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear A buzzing, of a separation Between the king and Katharine? 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not; For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor, straight To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. 2 Gent. But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now: for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain, The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: To confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; As all think, for this business. 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor, For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark: But is't not cruel, That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. 1 Gent. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. He will have all, I think. Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. Nor. Lord chamberlain. Cham. Well met, my good Good day to both your graces. Suff. How is the king employ'd? Cham. Full of sad thoughts and troubles. Nor. I left him private, What's the cause? Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's wife No, his conscience Has crept too near his conscience. Suff Has crept too near another lady. Nor. "Tis so; This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal; That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he lists. The king will know him one day. Suff. Pray God, he do! he'll never know himself else. Nor. How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, He dives into the king's soul; and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs, and all these for his mar riage: And, out of all these to restore the king, He counsels a divorce; a loss of her, That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; Of her, that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with: even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the king: And is not this course pious? Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel: "Tis most true, These news are every where; every tongue speaks them, And every true heart weeps for't: All, that dare Look into these affairs, see this main end,- The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. Suff. And free us from his slavery. Nor. We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will work us all From princes into pages: all men's honours Into what pitch2 he please. Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd Suff For me, my lords "Tis woful. I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed: As I am made without him, so I'll stand, If the king please; his curses and his blessings Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him, that made him proud, the pope. Nor. Let's in, [Exeunt. SCENE II.-An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter. Cham. My lord,-The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, rid- den, and furnished. They were young, and hand- some; and of the best breed in the north. When My lord, you'll bear us company? they were ready to set out for London, a man of Cham. my lord cardinal's, by commission, and main The king hath sent me other-where: Besides, power, took 'em from me; with this reason,-His You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: master would be served before a subject, if not be- Health to your lordships. fore the king: which stopped our mouths, sir. I fear he will, indeed: Well, let him have them: And, with some other business, put the king From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 1 Great fidelity. Nor. him :- Excuse me; Thanks, my good lord chamberlais [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 2 High or low SCENE III. 589 KING HENRY VIII Norfolk opens a folding-door. The King is dis- | So dear in heart, n.t to deny her that covered sitting, and reading pensively. Suff. How sad he looks! sure, he is much af- flicted. K. Hen. Who is there? ha? Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way, Is business of estate; in which, we come To know your royal pleasure. K. Hen. You are too bold: Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha?- Enter Wolsey and Campeius. A woman of less place might ask by law, Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have; and my favour To him that does best; God forbid else. Cardinal, Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey. Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner. Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour You are the king's now. to you; Gard. But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me, [Aside. K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. [They converse apart. Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace Who's there? my good lord cardinal ?-O my In this man's place before him. Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience, Thou art a cure fit for a king.-You're welcome, [To Campeius. Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom; Use us, and it :-My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. [To Wolsey. Wol. Sir, you cannot. I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. K. Hen. We are busy; go. [To Norfolk and Suffolk. Nur. This priest has no pride in him?" Suff Not to speak of; I would not be so sick though,' for his place: But this cannot continue. Nor, If it do, Wol. Yes, he was. Cam. Was he not held a learned man? Wol. Yes, surely. Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. Wol. How! of me? Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him; And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man2 still; which so griev'd him, That he ran mad, and died. Wol. Heaven's peace be with him! That's christian care enough: for living murmurers, There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow Aside. If I command him, follows my appointment; I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. I'll venture one heave at him. Suff I another. [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom: Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard tied hy blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean, the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms, K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. [Exit Gardiner. The most convenient place that I can think of, For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; There ye shall meet about this weighty business:- My Wolsey, see it furnish'd.-O my lord, Would it not grieve an able man, to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, con- science,- O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exe Have their free voices; Rome, the nurse of judg- SCENE III.-An ante-chamber in the Queen's ment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius; Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms, I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves; They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble: to your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, (The court of Rome commanding,)-you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant, In the unpartial judging of this business. K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted Forthwith, for what you come; Where's Gardiner? Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her apartments. Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. Anne. Not for that neither;-Here's the pang that pinches : His highness having liv'd so long with het: and she So good a lady, that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her,-by my life, She never knew harm-doing:-- now, after So many courses of the sun enthron'd, Still growing in a majesty and pomp,-the which To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,-after this process, To give her the avaunt !3 it is a pity Would move a monster. Old L. Melt and lament for her. Anne. Hearts of most hard temper O, Go 's will! much better, She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal, Yet, is that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging As soul and body's severing. Old L. Alas, poor lady, 1 So sick as he is proud. 2 Out of the king's presence. 3 A sentence of ejection. 4 Quarreller. 38 590 ACT II. KING HENRY VIII. She's a stranger now again.' Anne. So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Old L. Is our best having.2 Anne. Our content By my troth, and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. Old L. Beshrew me, I would, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy : You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings: and which gifts (Saving your mincing) the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, If you might please to stretch it. Anne. Nay, good troth,- Old L. Yes, troth, and troth,-You would not be a queen? Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old L. 'Tis strange; a three-pence bow'd' would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? No, in truth. Anne. Old L. Then you are weakly made: Pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. Anne. How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old L. In faith for little England You'd venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'lon r'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter the Lord Chamberlain. More than my all, is nothing: nor my prayere Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers, and wishes, Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness. Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. Cham. Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, The king hath of you.-I have perus'd her we [As da Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, That they have caught the king: and who ke yet, But from this lady may proceed a gem, To lighten all this isle ?-I'll to the king, And say, I spoke with you. Anne. My honour'd lord. [Exit Lord Chamberla. Old L. Why, this it is; see, see! I have been begging sixteen years in court, (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late," For any suit of pounds: and you, (0 fate!) A very fresh-fish here, (fie, fie upon This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd u Before you open it. Anne. This is strange to me. Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, on There was a lady once ('tis an old story,) That would not be a queen, that would she not, For all the mud in Egypt:-Have you heard it? Anne. Come, you are pleasant. Old L. With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect; No other obligation: By my life, That promises more thousands: Honour's train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, I know, your back will bear a duchess ;-Say, Are you not stronger than you were? Anne. Good lady, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy. And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me, To think what follows. The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence: Pray, do not deliver Cham. Good-morrow, ladies. What were't worth What here you have heard, to her. to know The secret of your conference? Anne. My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope, All will be well. Anne. Now I pray God, amen! Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion to you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than marchioness of Pembroke; to which title A thousand pounds a year, annual support, Out of his grace he adds. Anne. I do not know, What kind of my obedience I should tender; 1 No longer an Englishwom in. 3 Truth. 4 Kid-skin. 2 Possession. 5 Crook'd. Old L. What do you think me? [Exeunt. SCENE IV-A Hall in Black-Friars. Trum pets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habits of doctors; after them, the Arch bishop of Canterbury alone; after him, the Bishops of Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat: then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman Usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Serjeant at Arms, bearing a silver mace; then two Gen- tlemen, bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two Cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. Then enter the King and Queen, and their trains. The King takes place under the cloth of state; the two Cu.dinals sit under him as judges. The Queen takes place at some 6 Opinion. 7 Flourish on cornets s Ensigns of dignity carried before cardinals. SCENE IV. 591 KING HENRY VIII. distance from the King. The Bishops place (And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men themselves on each side the court, in manner of Of singular integrity and learning, a consistory; between then, the Scribes. The Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled Lords sit next the Bishops. The Crier and the To plead your cause: It shall be therefore bootless, rest of the attendants stand in convenient order That longer you desire the court; as well about the stage. For your own quiet, as to rectify What is unsettled in the king. Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. K. Hen. What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides the authority allow'd: You may then spare that time. Wol. Be't so:-Proceed. Scribe. Say, Henry, king of England, come into the court. Crier. Henry, king of England, &c. K. Hen. Here. Scribe. Say, Katharine, queen of England, come into court. Crier. Katharine, queen of England, &c. The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet; then speaks.] Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me:" for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? what cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable: Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, I ever contradicted your desire, Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? what friend of mine That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you: If, in the course And process of this time, you can report And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckon❜d one The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many A year before: It is not to be question'd That they had gather'd a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till 1 may Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel i will implore: if not, i'the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! Wol. 1 Useless. You have here, lady, 2 Deny, Cam. His grace Hath spoken well, and justly: Therefore, madam, It's fit this royal session do proceed; And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produc'd, and heard. Q. Kath. To you I speak. Wol. Q. Kath. Lord cardinal,- Your pleasure, madam? Sir, I am about to weep; but thinking that We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain; The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. Wol. Be patient yet. Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay before, Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induc'd by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy; and make my challenge, You shall not be my judge: for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, Which God's dew quench!-Therefore, I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soui, Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more, I hold my most malicious foe, and think not At all a friend to truth. Wol. I do profess You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom O'er-topping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you; nor injustice For you, or any: how far I have proceeded Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the consistory, Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me, That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: The king is present: if it be known to him, That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood? yea, as much As you have done my truth. But if he know, That I am free of your report, he knows, I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies, to cure me: and the cure is, to Remove these thoughts from you: The which before His highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking, And to say so no more. Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and hum ble-mouth'd; 3 You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility: but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounter I Where powers are your retainers: and your words Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, You tender more your person's honour, than Your high profession spiritual: That again I do refuse you for my judge; and here, Before you all, appeal unto the pope. 3 Appearance. 592 ACT II. KING HENRY VIII To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, And to be judg'd by him. [She court'sies to the King, and offers to depart. Cam. The queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well. She's going away. K. Hen. Call her again. Whether our daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me, Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble The region of my breast; which forc'd such way, That many maz'd considerings did throng, And press'd in with this caution. First, methought; Crier. Katharine, queen of England, come into I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had the court. Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, keep your way: When you are call'd, return.-Now the Lord help, They vex me past my patience!-pray you, pass on: I will not tarry; no, nor ever more, Upon this business, my appearance make In any of their courts. [Exe. Queen, Grif. and her other attendants. K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate: That man i'the world, who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,- Obeying in commanding,-and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,¹) The queen of earthly queens:-She is noble born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me. Wol. Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your highness, That it shall please you to declare, in hearing Of all these ears (for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloos'd; although not there At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I Did broach this business to your highness; or Laid any scruple in your way, which might Induce you to the question on't? or ever Have to you,-but with thanks to God for such A royal lady,-spake one the least word, might Be the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? K. Hen. My lord cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so, but, like to village curs, Bark when their fellows do: by some of these The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd: But will you be more justified? you ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never Desir'd it to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd; oft The passages made³ toward it:-on my honour, I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't,- I will be bold with time, and your attention:- Then mark the inducement. Thus it came;-give heed to't:- My conscience first received a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; Who had been hither sent on the debating A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and Our daughter Mary: I'the progress of this busi- ness, Ere a determinate resolution, he I mean the bishop) did require a respite; Wherein he might the king his lord advértise 1 Speak out thy merits. 2 Immediately satisfied. 3 Closed or fastened. 4 Floating without guidance. Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, If not conceiv'd a male child by me, should Do no more offices of life to't' than The grave does to the dead: for her male issue Or died where they where made, or shortly after This world had air'd them: Hence 1 took a thought, This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom, Well worthy the best heir o'the world, should not Be gladded in't by me: Then follows, that I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling4 in The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present here together; that's to say, I meant to rectify my conscience,-which I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,- By all the reverend fathers of the land, And doctors learn'd,-First, I began in private With you, my lord of Lincoln; you remember How under my oppression I did reek," When I first mov'd you. Lin. Very well, my liege. K. Hen. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say How far you satisfied me. Lin. So please your highness, The question did at first so stagger me,- Bearing a state of mighty moment in't, And consequence of dread,-that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had, to doubt; And did entreat your highness to this course, Which you are running here. K. Hen. I then mov'd you, My lord of Canterbury; and got your leave To make this present summons :-Unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court; But by particular consent proceeded, Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on: For no dislike i'the world against the person Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life, And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our mortal state to come, with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'de o'the world. Cam. So please your highness, The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day: Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the queen, to call back her appeal She intends unto his holiness. [They rise to depart. K. Hen. I may perceive, [Aside. These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-belov'd servant, Cranmer, Pr'ythee, return!" with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on. [Exe. in manner as they entered 5 Waste, or wear away. 6 Without compare. 7 An apostrophe to the absent bishop. SCENE I. 593 KING HENRY VIII. ACT III. SCENE I.-Palace at Bridewell. A room in the Queen's apartment. The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave working. SONG. Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the moutain-tops, that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing To his music, plants, and flowers, Ever sprung; as sun, and showers, There had been a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art; Killing care, and grief of heart, Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. Enter a Gentleman. Q. Kath. How now? I Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord car- dinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, May be absolv'd in English. Wol. Noble lady, (And service to his majesty and you,) am sorry, my integrity should breed We come not by the way of accusation, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. To taint that honour every good tongue blesses; Nor to betray you any way to sorrow; You have too much, good lady: but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the king and you; and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions, And comforts to your cause. Cam. Most honour'd madam, My lord of York,-out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace; Forgetting like a good man, your late censure Both of his truth and him (which was too far,)- Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside. My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!) But how to make you suddenly an answer, Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car- In such a point of weight, so near mine honour dinals Wait in the presence.' Q. Kath. Would they speak with me? Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. Q. Kath. Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? do not like their coming, now I think on't. They should be good men: their affairs are right- eous: But all hoods make not monks. Enter Wolsey and Campeius. Wol. Peace to your highness! Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife; I would by all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with- draw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. Q. Kath. Speak it here; There's nothing I have done yet, o'my conscience, Deserves a corner: 'Would, all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not (so much I am happy Above a number,) if my actions Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them, Envy and base opinion set against them, I know my life so even: If your business Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. Wol. Tante est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,- Q. Kath 0, good my lord, no Latin; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have liv'd in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you peak truth, for their poor mistress' sake: 4 1 Presence-chamber. 2 Professions. (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit, And to such men of gravity and learning, In truth, I know not. I was set at work Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking Either for such men, or such business. For her sake that I have been (for I feel The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces, Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause; Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears; Your hopes and friends are infinite. Q. Kath. In England, But little for my profit: Can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here; They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, In mine own country, lords. Cam. I would, your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. Q. Kath. How, sir? Cam. Put you n.ain cause into the king's pro- tection; He's loving and most gracious; 'twill be much Both for your honour better, and your cause; For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you, You'll part away disgrac'd. Wol. He tells you rightly. Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin: Is this your Christian counsel ? oat upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge, That no king can corrupt. Cam. Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men 1 thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues: But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye: Mend them for shaine, my lords. Is this your comfort? 3 Outweigh. 594 ACT III. KING HENRY VIII. The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady? A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish you half my miseries, I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, iest at once The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Wo upon ye, And all such false professors! Would ye have me (If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits,) Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas! he has banish'd me his bed already; His love, too long ago: I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me, above this wretchedness? all your studies Make me a curse like this. Cam. Your fears are worse. Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long-(let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends,)-a wife, a true one? A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory,) Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? lov'd him next heav'n? obey'd him? Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?" Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords. Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour-a great patience. Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. Wol. 'Pray, hear me. Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady? I am the most unhappy woman living.- Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? [To her Women. Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me, Almost, no grave allow'd me:-Like the lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head, and perish. Wol. If your grace Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest, You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places, The way of our profession, is against it; We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits, They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: Pray, think us Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever casts Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware, you lose it not: For us, if you please To trust us in your business, we are ready To use our utmost studies in your service. Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, prar- forgive me, If I have us'd2 myself unmannerly: You know, I am a woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray, do my service to his majesty: He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs, That little thought, when she set footing here, She should have bought her dignities so dear. ment. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Ante-chamber to the King's apart. Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain, Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints, And force them with a constancy, the cardinal Cannot stand under them: If you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise, But that you shall sustain more new disgraces, With these you bear already. Sur. I am joyful To meet the least occasion, that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be reveng'd on him. Which of the peers Suff Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least. Strangely neglected? when did he regard The stamp of nobleness in any person, Out of himself? Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures; What he deserves of you and me, I know; What we can do to him (though now the time. Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the king, never attempt Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft. Over the king in his tongue. Nor. O, fear him not, His spell in that is out: the king hath found Matter against him, that for ever mars The honey of his language. No, he's settled, Not to come off, in his displeasure. Sur. Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. Nor. Believe it, this is true. In the divorce, his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded; wherein he appears, As I could wish mine enemy. Sur. His practices to light? Suff Sur. How came Most strangely. O, how, how! Suff. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, And came to the eye o'the king: wherein was read, How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness To stay the judgment o'the divorce: For if It did take place, I do, quoth he, perceive My king is tangled in affection to Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen. vants. 1 Served him with superstitious attention. Sur. Has the king this? 2 Behaved. 3 Enforces. SCENE II. 595 KING HENRY VIII. Suff Sur Cham. The king in this coasts, Believe it. Will this work? perceives him, how he And hedges, his own way. But in this point All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic After his patient's death; the king already Hath married the fair lady. 'Would he had! Sur. Suff. May you be happy in your wish, my lord! For, I profess, you have it. Sur. Trace' the conjunction! Suff. Now all my joy My amen to't! Nor. All men's. Suff. There's order given for her coronation: Marry, this is yet but young,2 and may be left To some ears unrecounted.-But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memoriz'd. Sur. But, will the king Digest this letter of the cardinal's? The Lord forbid! Nor. Suff Marry, amen! No, no; There be more wasps that buzz about his nose, Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stolen away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; Has left the cause o'the king unhandled; and Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, To second all his plot. I do assure you The king cried, ha! at this. Cham. And let him cry ha, louder! Nor. When returns Cranmer? Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him There is more in it than fair visage.-Bullen! No, we'll no Bullens.-Speedily I wish To hear from Rome.-The marchioness of Pen broke! Nor. He's discontented. Suff. May be, he hears the king Does whet his anger to him. Sur. Lord, for thy justice! Sharp enough, Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's daughter, To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen!- This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it Then, out it goes.-What though I know her vir- tuous, And well-deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to Our cause, that she should lie i'the bosom of Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up A heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle. Nor. He is vex'd at something. Suff. I would, 'twere something that would fret the string, The master-cord of his heart! Enter the King, reading a Schedule; and Lovell Suff The king, the king K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu- lated To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i'the name of Christ. Now, God incense him, Does he rake this together ?-Now, my lords; Saw you the cardinal? But, my lord, Suff. He is return'd, in his opinions; which Have satisfied the king for his divorce, Together with all famous colleges Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe, His second marriage shall be publish'd, and Her coronation. Katharine no more Shall be call'd, queen; but princess dowager, And widow to prince Arthur. Nor. This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain Nor. My lord, we have Stood here observing him: Some strange commotion Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight, Springs out into fast gait; then, stops again, Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts His eye against the moon: in most strange postures We have seen him set himself. K. Hen. It may well be; There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning, Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I requir'd; And, wote you, what I found He has; and we shall see him There; on my conscience, put unwittingly? In the king's business. For it, an archbishop. Suff Nor. Suff. The cardinal- Nor. So I hear. 'Tis so. Enter Wolsey and Cromwell. Observe, observe, he's moody. Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? Crom. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber. Wol. Look'd he o'the inside of the paper? Crom. Presently He did unseal them; and the first he view'd, He did it with a serious mind; a heed Was in his countenance: You, he bade Attend him here this morning. Wol. To come abroad? Is he ready I think, by this he is. Wol. Leave me a while.- [Exit Cromwell. Crom. It shall be to the duchess of Alençon, The French king's sister; he shall marry her.- Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing,- The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks Possession of a subject. Nor. It's Heaven's will; Some spirit put this paper in the packet, To bless your eye withal. K. Hen. If he did think His contemplation were above the earth, And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid, His thinkings are below the moon, not worth His serious considering. [He takes his seat, and goes to Wolsey. Wol. whispers Lovell, whe Ever God bless your highness! K. Hen. Heaven forgive me! Good, my lord, You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inven tory Of your best graces in your mind; the which ! Follow. 2 New. 8 Made memorable. 4 An inventory. 5 Steps. 6 Know 596 ACT III. KING HENRY VIII. You were now running o'er; you have scarce time, What appetite you have. To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span, To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that deem you an ill husband; and am glad To have you therein my companion. Wol. Sir, For holy offices I have a time; a time To think upon the part of business, which I bear i'the state; and nature does require Her times of preservation, which, perforce, I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, Must give my tendance to. K. Hen. You have said well. Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying! K. Hen. 'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you: He said, he did; and with his deed did crown His word upon you. Since I had my office, I have kept you next my heart; have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, But par'd my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you. Wol. What should this mean? Sur. The Lord increase this business! [Aside. K. Hen. Have I not made you The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours:-my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet, fill'd with my abilities: Mine own ends Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person, and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; My prayers to heaven for you; my loyalty, Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it. K. Hen. Fairly answered; A loval and obedient subject is Therein illustrated: The honour of it Does pay the act of it; as, i'the contrary, The foulness is the punishment. I presume, That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more On you, than any; so your hand, and heart, Your brain, and every function of your power, Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, As 'twere in love's particular, be more To me, your friend, than any. Wol. I do profess, That for your highness' good I ever labour'd More than mine own; that am, have, and will be. Though all the world si ould crack their duty to you, And throw it from their soul: though perils did Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty, As doth the rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours. K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken: Take notice, lords, he has a loval breast, For you have seen him open't.--Read o'er this; Giving him papers. And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with [Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wol sey: the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering. Wol. What should this mean? What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him; Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper; I fear, the story of his anger.-'Tis so; This paper has undone me :-'Tis the account Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom, And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil Made me put this main secret in the packet, I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? No new device to beat this from his brains? I know, 'twill stir him strongly; Yet I know A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, Will bring me off again. What's this-To the Pope? The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell! I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more. Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: who commands you To render up the great seal presently Into our hands; and to confine yourself To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, Till you hear further from his highness. Wol. Stay, Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry Authority so weighty. Suff. Who dare cross them? Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it (I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,-envy. How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin! Follow your envious courses, men of malice; You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, You ask with such a violence, the king (Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me: Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, Tied it by letters patents: Now, who'll take it? Sur. The king that gave it. Wol. It must be himself then Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. Wol. Proud lord, thou liest, Within these forty hours Surrey durst better Have burnt that fongue, than said so. Sur. Thy ambition, Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: The heads of all thy brother cardinals, (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together, Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy You sent me deputy for Ireland; i Esher, in Surrey. SCENE II. 597 KING HENRY VIII. Far from his succour, from the king, from all That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him; Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, Absolv'd him with an axe. Wol. This, and all else This talking lord can lay upon my credit, I answer, is most false. The duke by law Found his deserts; how innocent I was From any private malice in his end, His noble jury and foul cause can witness. If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, You have as little honesty as honour; That I, in the way of loyalty and truth Toward the king, my ever royal master, Dare mate' a sounder man than Surrey can be, And all that love his follies. Sur. By my soul, Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st feel My sword i'the life-blood of thee else.-My lords, Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, To be thus jaded2 by a piece of scarlet, Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap, like larks." Wol. Is poison to thy stomach. Sur. All goodness Yes, that goodness Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion; The goodness of your intercepted packets, You writ to the pope, against the king: your good- ness, Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.- My lord of Norfolk,-as you are truly noble, As you respect the common good, the state Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,- Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles Collected from his life :-I'll startle you Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, But that I am bound in charity against it! Either of king or council, when you went Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold To carry into Flanders the great seal. Sur. Item, you sent a large commission To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude, Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, A league between his highness and Ferrara. Suff. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- stance (By what means got, I leave to your own con- science,) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have for dignities; to the mere undoing Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; Which, since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with. Cham. O my lord, Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him So little of his great self. Sur. I forgive him. Suff. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is, Because all those things, you have done of late By your power legatines within this kingdom, Fall into the compass of a pramunire,6- That therefore such a writ be sued against you; To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be Out of the king's protection:-This is my charge. Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations How to live better. For your stubborn answer, About the giving back the great seal to us, The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolsey. Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root, hand: But, thus much, they are foul ones. Wol. And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, So much fairer, This many summers in a sea of glory; And spotless shall mine innocence arise, When the king knows my truth. Sur. But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, This cannot save you: Weary, and old with service, to the mercy I thank my memory, I yet remember Some of these articles; and out they shall. Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, You'll show a little honesty. Wol. Speak on, sir: I dare your worst objections: if I blush, It is, to see a nobleman want manners. Sun. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have at you. First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, You wrought to be a legate; by which power You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. Nor Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, o. else To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king To be your servant. Suff 1 Equal. Then, that, without the knowledge 2 Ridden. 3 A cardinal's hat is scarlet, and the method of daring larks is by small mirrors on scarlet cloth. Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ve; I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspéct of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have, And when he falls, be falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again- Wol. Enter Cromwell, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no ower to speak, sir. What, amaz'd A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed. At my misfortunes Crom. 4 Absolute. can thy spirit wonder, How does your grace? 5 As the Pope's legate. 6 A writ incurring a penalty. 598 ACT IV. KING HENRY VIII. Vol Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. . know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, Why, well; | Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels, how can inan then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me, humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken L A load would sink a navy, too much honour: (), 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad? Crom. The heaviest and the worst, 8 your displeasure with the king. Wol. God bless him! Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen Lord chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden: But he's a learned man.-May he continue Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears' wept on 'em! What more? Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king. And,-pr'ythee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewel The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. ACT IV. [Exeunt. Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,SCENE I-A street in Westminster. Enter Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury, Wol. That's news, indeed. Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was view'd in open, as his queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation. Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me, all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever: No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master: seek the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use- now, and provide For thine own future safety. Crom. O my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.- The king shall have my service; but my prayers For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. - Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee. Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,- Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 1 The chancellor is the guardian of orphans. two Gentlemen meeting. 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 2 Gent. And so are you. 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and behold The lady Anne pass from her coronation? 2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last en- counter, The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 1 Gent. 'Tis very true: but that time offered sorrow; This, general joy. 2 Gent. 'Tis well: The citizens, I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds; As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward In celebration of this day with shows,. Pageants, and sights of honour. 1 Gent. Never greater, Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains, That paper in your hand? 1 Gent. Yes; 'tis the list Of those, that claim their offices this day, By custom of the coronation. The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims To be high steward; next, the duke of Norfolk, He to be earl-marshal; you may read the rest. 2 Gent. I thank you, sir; had I not known those customs, I should have been beholden to your paper. But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, The princess dowager? how goes her business? 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop Of Canterbury, accompanied with other Learned and reverend fathers of his order, Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not: From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which And, to be short, for not appearance, and The king's late scruple, by the main assent Of all these learned men she was divorc'd, 2 Interest. SCENE I. 599 KING HENRY VIII. Enter a third Gentleman. And the late marriage' made of none effect: Since which she was removed to Kimbolton, Where she remains now, sick. 2 Gent Alas, good lady!- [Trumpets. The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming. THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. A lively flourish of trumpets; then enter 1. Two Judges. 2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace be- fore him. God save you sir: Where have you been broiling? 3 Gent. Among the croud i'the abbey; where a finger Could not be wedg'd in more; and I am stifled With the mere rankness of their joy. 2 Gent. You saw The ceremony? 3 Gent. That I did. 1 Gent. How was it? 3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 3. Choristers singing. [Music. Of lords, and ladies, having brought the queen 4. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then To a prepar'd place in the choi:, fell off Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his A distance from her; while her grace sat down head, a gilt copper crown. To rest a while, some half an hour, or so, Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on In a rich chair of state, opposing freely his head a demi-coronal of gold. With The beauty of her person to the people. him the earl of Surrey, bearing the rod Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman of silver with the dove, crowned with an That ever lay by man. which when the people earl's coronet. Collars of SS. Had the full view of, such a noise arose 6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coro- As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, net on his head, bearing a long white As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, wand, as high-steward. With him, the (Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces duke of Norfolk, with the rod of mar- Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy shalship, a coronet on his head. Collars I never saw before. Great-bellied women, That had not half a week to go, like rams 7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports; In the old time of war, would shake the press, under it, the Queen in her robe; in her And make them reel before them. No man living hair richly adorned with pearl, crowned. Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woven On each side of her, the bishops of London So strangely in one piece. and Winchester. of SS. 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train. 9. Certain ladies or countesses, with plain circlets of gold, without flowers. 2 Gent. But pray, what follow'd? 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest paces Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and, saint- like, Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly, Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people: 2 Gent. A royal train, believe me.-These I When by the archbishop of Canterbury know;- Who's that, that bears the sceptre? 1 Gent. Marquis Dorset: And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that should be The duke of Suffolk. 1 Gent. 1 Gent. 2 Gent. 'Tis the same; high-steward. 2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk? Yes. Heaven bless thee! Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.- [Looking on the Queen. Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; Our king has all the Indies in his arms, And more, and richer, when he strains that lady: I cannot blame his conscience. 1 Gent. They, that bear The cloth of honour over her, are four barons Of the Cinque-ports. She had all the royal makings of a queen; As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblema, Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir, With all the choicest music of the kingdom, Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, And with the same full state pac'd back again To York-place, where the feast is held. 1 Gent. Sir, you Must no more call it York-place, that is past: For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost; 'Tis now the king's, and call'd-Whitehall. 3 Gent. I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name Is fresh about me." 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops Were those who went on each side of the queen? 3 Gent Stokesley and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester, (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) 2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all, are The other, London. near her. I take it, she that carries up the train, Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 1 Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses. 2 Gent. He of Winchester Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, The virtuous Cranmer. 3 Gent. All the land knows that. 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, However, yet there's no great breach; when it indeed; And, sometimes, falling ones. 1 Gent. No more of that. [Exit procession, with a great flourish of trumpets. 1 The marriage lately considered as valid. comes, Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you? 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell A man in much esteem with the king, and truly A worthy friend -The king Has made him master o'er the jewel-house, 600 ACT IV. KING HENRY VIII And one, already, of the privy-council. 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests; Something I can command. As I walk thither, I'll tell ye more. Both. You may command us, sir. SCENE II.-Kimbolton. Enter Katharine, ager, sick; led between Griffith and Patience. Grif. How does your grace? Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death: My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair ;- So, now, methinks, I feel a little ease. I were malicious else. Grif. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading: Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not; [Exe. But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer dow-(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, And though he were unsatisfied in getting, He was most princely: Ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little: And, to add greater honours to his age Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, With thy religious truth, and modesty, Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, IVas dead? Grif. Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace, But of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,2 For my example. Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam: For after the stout earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, He could not sit his mule. Kath. Alas! poor man! Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him; To whom he gave these words,-O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity! So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness Pursu'd him still; and three nights after this, About the hour of eight (which he himself Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance, Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with charity,-He was a man Of an unbounded stomach,4 ever ranking Himself with princes: one, that by suggestion Ty'd all the kingdom. simony was fair play; His own opinion was his law: I'the presence He would say untruths; and be ever double, Both in his words and meaning: He was never, But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: His promises were, as he then was, mighty; But his performance, as he is now, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example. Grif. Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now? Kath. Yes, good Griffith; Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him! Patience, be near me still; and set me lower: I have not long to trouble thee.-Good Griffith, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to. Sad and solemn music. Grif. She is asleep: Good wench, let's sit down quiet, For fear we wake her ;-Softly, gentle Patience. The vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six personages, clad in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays, or palm, in their hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head; at which, the other four make reverent court'sies; then the two that held the garland, deliver the same to the other next two, who observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland over her head: which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two, who likewise ob- serve the same order: at which (as it were by inspiration,) she makes in her sleep signs of re joicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues. Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? Grif. Madam, we are here. Kath. It is not you I call for: Saw you none enter, since I slept? Grif None, madam, Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 1 This scene is above any other part of Shak- Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces speare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? of any other poet; tender and pathetic, without They promis'd me eternal happiness; gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without the help of romantic circumstances, without im- probable sallies of poetical lamentation, and with- out any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON. 2 Haply. 3 By short stages. 5 Of the king. 6 Formed for. 7 Ipswich. 4 Pride. SCENE I. 601 KING HENRY VIII. And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall, Assuredly. Grif. I am most joy ul, nadam, such good dreams Possess your fancy. Kath. Bid the music leave, They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases. Pat. Do you note, How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden? How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks, And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes? Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray. Pat. Heaven comfort her! Enter a Messenger. Mess. An't like your grace, Kath. You are a saucy fellow: Deserve we no more reverence? Grif. You are too blame, Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel. Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon, My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this fellow Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: Of which there is not one, I dare avow, (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, For virtue, and true beauty of the soul, For honesty, and decent carriage, A right good husband, let him be a noble ; And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. The last is, for my men:-they are the poorest, But poverty could never draw them from me ;- That they may have their wages duly paid them, And something over to remember me by ; If Heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, And able means, we had not parted thus. These are the whole contents:-And, good my lord, By that you love the dearest in this world, Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, To do me this last right. Cap. By heaven, I will; Or let me lose the fashion of a man! In all humility unto his highness: Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me Say, his long trouble now is passing For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell, Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him, You must not leave me yet. I must to bed; My lord.-Griffith, farewell.-Nay, Patience, Call in more women.-When I am dead, good wench, Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Grif. and Mess. Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius. If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. With maiden flowers, that all the world may know Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me, Kath. O, my lord, Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, I can no more.- What is your pleasure with me? Cap. Noble lady, First, mine own service to your grace; the next, The king's request that I would visit you; Who grieves much by your weakness, and by me Sends you his princely commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort. Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; "Tis like a pardon after execution: That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; But now I am past ali comforts here, but prayers. How does his highness? Cap. Madam, in good health. Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish, When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name Banish'd the kingdom!-Patience, is that letter, I caus'd you write, yet sent away? Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Katharine. Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord the king. Cap. Most willing, madam. Kath. In which I have commended to his good- ness The model' of our chaste loves, his young daugh- [Exeunt, leading Katharine. ACT V. Enter SCENE I-A gallery in the palace. Gardiner bishop of Winchester; a Page with a torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell. Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? Boy. It hath struck. Gar. These should be hours for necessities, Not for delights; times to repair our nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times.-Good hour of night, sir Thomas! Whither so late? Lov. Came you from the king, my lord? Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero4 With the duke of Suffolk. Lov. I must to him, too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? It seems, you are in haste: an if there be No great offence belongst to't, give your friend Some touch of your late business: Affairs, that walk The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have ter:2- Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding; (She is young, and of' a noble modest nature; I hope, she will deserve well; and a little To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition is, that his noble grace would have some pity Upon my wretched women, that so long, 1 Image. 2 Afterwards Queen Mary. 3 Even if he should be. In them a wilder nature, than the business That seeks despatch by day. Lov. My lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your ear Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour, They say, in great extremnity; and fear'd, She'll with the labour end. 4 A game at cards. 5 Hint. 602 ACT V. KING HENRY VIII. Gar. The fruit she goes with, | Suf. I wish your highness I pray for, heartily; that it may find A quiet night, and my good mistress will Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, Remember in my prayers. I wish it grubb'd up now. Lov. Methinks. I could Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says. She's a good creature. and, sweet lady, does Deserve our better wishes. K. Hen. Charles, good night.-- [Exit Suffolk. Enter Sir Anthony Denny. Well, sir, what follows? Gar. But, sir, sir,- Hear me, sir Thomas: You are a gentleman Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,- "Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me.-- Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves. Lov. Now, sir. you speak of two The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom- well,- I Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master O'the rolls, and the king's secretary: further, sir, Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, With which the time will load him: The archbishop Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare speak One syllable against him? Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day, Sir (I may tell it you,) I think, I have Incens'd' the lords o'the council, that he is (For so I know he is, they know he is,) A most arch heretic, a pestilence That does infect the land: with which they moved, Have broken with the king; who hath so far Given ear to our complaint (of his great grace And princely care; foreseing those fell mischiefs Our reasons laid before him) he hath commanded, To-morrow morning to the council-board He be convented.3 He's a rank weed, sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your affairs I hinder you too long: good night, sir Thomas. Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page. As Lovell is going out, enter the King, and the Duke of Suffolk. K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night; My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. K. Hen. But little, Charles; Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.- Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news! Lov. I could not personally deliver to her What you commanded me, but by her woman I sent your message; who return'd her thanks In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your high- ness Most heartily to pray for her. K. Hen. What say'st thou? ha! To pray for her? what, is she crying out? Lov. So said her woman; and that her suffer- ance made Almost each pang a death. K. Hen. Alas, good lady! Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and With gentle travail, to the gladding of Your highness with an heir! K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles, Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone; For I must think of that, which company Will not be friendly to. 1 Set on. Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, As you commanded me. K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury? "Tis true: Where is he, Denny? Den. Ay, my good lord. K. Hen. Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. K. Hen. Bring him to us. [Exit Denny, Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake; am happily come hither. [Aside. Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay. K. Hen. Ha!-I have said.--Be gone. What!- Exeunt Lovell and Denny. Cran. I am fearful:-Wherefore frowns he thus? 'Tis his aspéct of terror. All's not well. K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to know Wherefore I sent for you. Cran. It is my duty, To attend your highness' pleasure. K. Hen. 'Pray you, arise, My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. Come, you and I must walk a turn together; I have news to tell you: Come, come, give me your hand. Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, And am right sorry to repeat what follows: I have, and most unwillingly, of late Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, Grievous complaints of you; which, being con- sider'd, Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, This morning come before us; where, I know, But that, till further trial, in those charges Which will require your answer, you must take Your patience to you, and be well contented To make your house our Tower: You a brother of us,4 It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness Would come against you. Cran. I humbly thank your highness; And am right glad to catch this good occasion Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know, There's none stands under more calumnious tongues Than I myself, poor man. K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury: Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up; Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame, What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd You would have given me your petition, that I should have ta'en some pains to bring together Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you Without indurance further. Cran. Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty; If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, Will triumph o'er my person; which I weighs not 3 Summoned. 2 Told their minds. 5 Value. 4 One of the council SCENE II. 603 KING HENRY VIII. Being of those virtues vacant. What can be said against me. K. Hen. I fear nothing Know you not how Your state stands i'the world, with the whole world? Your enemies Are many, and not small; their practices Must bear the same proportion: and not ever' The justice and the truth o'the question carries The due o'the verdict with it: At what ease Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt To swear against you? such things have been done. You are potently oppos'd; and with a malice Of as great size. Ween2 you of better luck, I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master, Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to; You take a precipice for no leap of danger, And woo your own destruction. Cran. God, and your majesty, Protect mine innocence, or I fall into The trap is laid for me! Be of good cheer; K. Hen. They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. Keep comfort to you; and this morning see SCENE II.-Lobby before the council-chamber. Enter Cranmer; Servants, Door-keepers, &c. attending. Cran. I hope, I am not too late; and yet the gentleman, That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me To make great haste. All fast? what means this?-Hoa! Who waits there ?-Sure, you know me? But yet I cannot help you. D. Keep. Cran. Yes, my lord; - Why? D. Keep. Your grace must wait, till you be call'd for. Cran. Enter Doctor Butts. Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, I came this way so happily: The king Shall understand it presently. Cran. [Aside.] So. [Exit Butts. 'Tis Butts, The king's physician; As he past along, How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me! You do appear before them; if they shall chance, Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For In charging you with matters, to commit you, The best persuasions to the contrary Fail not to use, and with what vehemency The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties Will render you no remedy, this ring Deliver them, and your appeal to us There make before them.-Look, the good man weeps! He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother! I swear, he is true-hearted; and a soul None better in my kingdom.-Get you gone, And do as I have bid you.- [Exit Cranmer. He has strangled His language in his tears. Enter an old Lady. Gent. [Within.] Come back; What mean you? Lady. I'll not come back: the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners.-Now, good angels K. Hen. Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings! Now, by thy looks I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd? Say, ay; and of a boy. Lady. Ay, ay, my liege; And of a lovely boy: The God of heaven Both now and ever bless her!-'tis a girl, Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen Desires your visitation, and to be Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you, As cherry is to cherry. K. Hen. Lov. Lovell,- Enter Lovell. Sir. K. Hen. Give her a hundred marks. I'll to [Exit King. the queen. Lady. A hundred marks! By this light, I'l have more. An ordinary groom is for such payment. I will have more, or scold it out of him. Said I for this, the girl is like to him? I will have more, or else unsay't; and now While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue. 1 Always. 2 Think. [Exeunt. certain, This is of purpose laid, by some that hate me, (God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,) To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me Wait else at door; a fellow-counsellor, Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their plea- sures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter at a window above, the King and Butts. Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight,- K. Hen. What's that, Butts? Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day. K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it? Butts. There, my lord The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages, and footboys. K. Hen. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed: "Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought, Is this the honour they do one another? They had parted so much honesty among their., (At least good manners,) as not thus to suffer A man of his place, and so near our favour, To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, And at the door too, like a post with packets. By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery: Let them alone, and draw the curtain close; We shall hear more anon.- THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. [Exeunt. Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The Chancellor places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seal being left void above him, as for the Arch bishop of Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. Cromwell at the lower end, as secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary: Why are we met in council? Crom. Please your honours, The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gar. Has he had knowledge of it? Crom Nor. Yes. Who waits there? Yes. D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? Gar. 604 ACT V KING HENRY VIII. D. Keep. My lord archbishop; | But reverence to your calling makes me modest. Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, That's the plain truth! your painted gloss discovere To men that understand you, words and weakness. Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect. For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man. And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty: But we all are men, In our own natures frail; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty, And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, oy your teaching, and your chap- lains, (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer (Out of our easiness, and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, Farewell all physic: And what follows then? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness, Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching, And the strong course of my authority, Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever, to do well: nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart,' my lords,) A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience, and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. Pray Heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me. Suf. Nay, my lord, That cannot be; you are a counsellor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment, We will be short with you. "Tis his highness' plea- sure, And our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; Where, being but a private man again, You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More than, I fear, you are provided for. Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You are always my good friend; if your will pass, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, You are so merciful: I see your end, 'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition; Win straving souls with modesty again, Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, Lay all the weight ve can upon my patience, I make as little doubt, as vou do conscience In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 1 In singleness of heart.' Acts ii. 46. Gar. Good master secretary, I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst Of all this table, say so. Crom. Why, my lord? Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect? ye are not sound. Crom. Gar. Not sound, I say. Crom. Not sound? Would you were half so honest, Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom. Remember your bold life too. Chan. Forbear, for shame, my lords. Gar. Crom. Do. This is too much; I have done. And 1. Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner; There to remain till the king's further pleasure Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords? All. We are. Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? Gar. What other Would you expect? You are strangely trouble- some.- Let some o'the guard be ready there. Enter Guard. Cran. Must I go like a traitor thither? Gar. And see him safe i'the Tower. Cran. For me? Receive him, Stay, good my lords, I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring. Sur. "Tis no counterfeit. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves. Nor. Do you think, my lords. The king will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd? Cham. 'Tis now too certain, How much more is his life in value with him. 'Would I were fairly out on't. Crom. My mind gave me, In seeking tales, and informations, Against this man (whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,) Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye. Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat. Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we boun] to heaven In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; Not only good and wise, but most religious: One that, in all obedience, makes the church The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengther SCENE III. 605 KING HENRY VIII. That holy duty, out of dear respect, His royal self in judgment comes to hear The cause betwixt her and this great offender! K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden com- mendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not To hear such flattery now, and in my presence; They are too thin and base to hide offences. To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.- Good man, [To Cranmer.] sit down. Now let me see the proudest He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: By all that's holy, he had better starve, Than but once think his place becomes thee not. Sur. May it please your grace,- K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. I had thought, I had men of some understanding And wisdom, of my council; but I find none. Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, This good man (few of you deserve that title,) This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy At chamber-door? and one as great as you are? Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him, Not as a groom: There's some of ye, I see, More out of malice than integrity, Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; Which ye shall never have, while I live. Chan. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men) meant for his trial, And fair purgation to the world, than malice; I am sure, in me. K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, If a prince May be beholden to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; Be friends, for shame, my lords.-My lord of Can- terbury, I have a suit which you must not deny me; That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, You must be godfather, and answer for her. Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour; How may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you? K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons; you shall have Two noble partners with you; the old duchess Norfolk, And lady marquis Dorset; Will these please you? Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, Embrace, and love this man. Gar. And brother-love, I do it. Cran. With a true heart, And let Heaven Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. of A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.- Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long To have this young one made a Christian. As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; So I grow stronger, you more honour gain. SCENE III.-The Palace Yard. Noise and tu mult within. Enter Porter and his Man. [Exe. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: Do you take the court for Paris garden ?2 ye rude slaves, leave your gaping." [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue: Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to them.-I'll scratch your heads: You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, ye rude rascals? Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impos- sible (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,) To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep On May day morning; which will never be: We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, sir. Port. You did nothing, sir. Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- brand,4 to mow them down before me: but, if I spared any, that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, God save her. [Within.] Do you hear, master-perter? Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.-Keep the door close, sirrah. Man. What would you have me do? Port. What should you do, but knock them down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Chris- tian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together. Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o'my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pink'd porringers fell off her head, for kindling such a com- bustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor" once, and hit that woman, who cried out, Clubs! when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of bury where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom- Canter-staff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw 1 It was an ancient custom for sponsors to pre- sent spoons to their god-children. 2 The bear-garden on the Bank-side. 3 Roaring. 4 Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danis] giant. 5 Pink'd cap. 6 The brazier. 606 ACT V KING HENRY VIII. mine honour in, and let them win the work: The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no au- dience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in limbo patrum,' and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles,2 that is to come. Enter the Lord Chamberlain. Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves?-Ye have made a fine hand, fellows, There's a trim rabble let in: Are all these Your faithful friends o'the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening. Port. An't please your honour, We are but men; and what so many may do, Not being torn a-pieces, we have done : An army cannot rule them. Cham. As I live, If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads Clap round fines. for neglect: You are lazy knaves; And here ye lie baiting of bumbards,3 when Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound: They are come already from the christening: Go, break among the press, and find a way out To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. Port. Make way there for the princess. Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll make your head ache. Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail; I'll pick you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. With this kiss take my blessing: God proter: thee! Into whose hands I give thy life. Cran. Amen. K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal : I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, When she has so much English. Cran. Let me speak, sir, For Heaven now bids me; and the words utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. This royal infant (Heaven still move about her!) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be (But few now living can behold that goodness,) A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows with her : In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. [Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) ror, SCENE IV.-The Palace." Enter trumpets, Who, from the sacred ashes cf her honour, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk, with his And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, ter marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls, for the christen- That were the servants to this chosen infant, ing gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a can- Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; opy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, god- Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, mother, bearing the Child, richly habited in a His honour and the greatness of his name mantle, &c. Train dorne by a Lady; then fol- Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish, lows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other god- And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches mother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about To all the plains about him:-Our children's the stage, and Garter speaks. Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth. Flourish. Enter King, and Train. children Shall see this, and bless Heaven. K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders. Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England. An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and 'Would I had known no more! but she must die, the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray :- All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye! before She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. K. Hen. O lord archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man; never, This happy child, did I get any thing: This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire Stand up, lord.-To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. [The King kisses the child. I thank ve all,-To you, my good lord mayor, And your good brethrer, I am much beholden; K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop; What is her name? Cran. K. Hen. Elizabeth. 1 Place of confinement. 2 A dessert of whipping. 3 Black leather vessels to hold beer. 4 Pitch. 5 At Greenwich. This and the following seventeen lines were probably written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James. SCENE IV. 607 KING HENRY VIII. I have receiv'd much honour by your presence; And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way Lords;- Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think He has business at his house; for all shall stay, This little one shall make it holiday. EPILOGUE. [Exeunt. 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please All that are here: Some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city Abus'd extremely, and to cry,-that's witty: Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we are like to hear For this play at this time is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we show'd them: If they smile, And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. The play of Henry the Eighth is one of those which still keeps possession of the stage by the splendor of its pageantry. The coronation, about forty years ago, drew the people together in multi- tudes for a great part of the winter Yet pomp is not the only merit of this play. The meek sorrows, and virtuous distress of Katharine, have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written. JOHNSON. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Priam, King of Troy. Hector, Troilus, Paris, his sons. Deiphobus, Helenus, Eneas, Antenor, Trojan commanders. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Thersites, a deformed and scurrillous virgin. Alexander, servant to Cressida. Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to Diomedes. Helen, wife to Menelaus. Andromache, wife to Hector: Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess. Greeks. Pandarus, uncle to Cressida. Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. Cressida, daughter to Calchas. Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. Agamemnon, the Grecian general. Menelaus, his brother. Scene, Troy, and the Grecian camp hefore it. Achilles, Ajax, Ulysses, Grecian commanders. Nestor, Diomedes, Patroclus, PROLOGUE. ACT i. IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of SCENE I.-Troy. Before Priam's palace. En Greece The princes orgulous,' their high blood chaf'd, Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, Fraught with the ministers and instruments Of cruel war: Sixty and nine, that wore Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay Put forth toward Phrygia: and their vow is made, To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel. To Tenedos they come; And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge Their warlike fraughtage;2 Now on Dardan plains The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, And Antenorides, with massy staples, And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, Sperr3 up the sons of Troy. Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, Sets all on hazard:-And hither am I conie A prologue arm'd,-but not in confidence Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited In like conditions as our argument,- To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, 'Ginning in the middle; starting thence away To what may be digested in a play. Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; Now, good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 1 Proud, disdainful. 2 Freight. 3 Shut. 4 A 1, what went before. ter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. Troilus. CALL here my varlet, I'll unarm again: Why should I war without the walls of Troy, That find such cruel battle here within? Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. Pan. Will this geer" ne'er be mended? Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman's tear, Tamer than sleep, fonder" than ignorance; Less valiant than the virgin in the night, And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Tro. Have I not tarried? Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Tro. Still have I tarried. Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word-hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking: nay, 5 A servant to a knight. 7 Weaker. 6 Habit. SCENE II. 609 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. Tro. Patience herself, what goddess ere she be, At Priam's royal table do I sit; And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, So, traitor!-when she comes!When is she thence? Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. Tro. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive2 in twain; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more compari- son between the women,-But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,-But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but- Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus- When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd, Reply not in how many fathoms deep They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, i am mad In Cressid's love: Thou answer'at, She is fair; Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; Handlest in thy discourse, 0, that her hand, In whose comparison all whites are ink, Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense Hard as the palm of ploughmen! This thou tell'st me, As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her; But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me. The knife that made it. Pan. I speak no more than truth. Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands. Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? Pan. I have had my labour for my travail ; ill- thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you: gone between and between, but small thanks for my la- bour. Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me? Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sun- day. But what care I? I care not, an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. Tro. Say I, she is not fair? Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair, When with your blood you daily paint her thus. I cannot fight upon this argument; It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. But Pandarus-O gods, do you plague me! I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar; And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl: Between our Ilium, and where she resides, Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood; Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar, Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. Alarum. Enter Eneas. Ene. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore no afield? Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer sorts, 3 For womanish it is to be from thence. What news, Æneas, from the field to-day? Ene. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. Tro. By whom, Æneas? Ene. Troilus, by Menelaus. Tro. Let Paris bleed: "Tis but a scar to scorn; Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. Ene. Hark! what good sport is out of town to- day! Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were may.- But, to the sport abroad;-Are ye bound thither? Ene. In all swift haste. Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exe. SCENE II.-The same. A street. Enter Cres- sida and Alexander. Cres. Who were those went by? Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. Cres. And whither go they? Alex. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; And, like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath. Cres. What was his cause of anger? Alex. The noise goes, this; There is among the Greeks A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; They call him, Ajax. Cres. Good: And what of him? Alex. They say he is a very man per se,* Alone stands alone. Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the or have no legs. Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see Alex. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts her: for my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the matter. Tro. Pandarus,- Pan. Not I. Tro. Sweet Pandarus,- Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will ave all as I found it, and there an end. [Exit Pandarus. An Alarum. Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds! 1 Shrink. 2 Split. 3 Suits. the lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, that his valor is crush'd" into folly, his folly sauced with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint, but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy hath the joints of every thing: but every thing sc without cause, and merry against the hair: He 4 By himself. 6 Mingled. 5 Characters. 7 Grain. $10 ACT I. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. out of joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. Cres. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector angry?" Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the battle, and struck him down: the disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking. Enter Pandarus. Cres. Who comes here? Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. Cres. Hector's a gallant man. Alex. As may be in the world, lady. Pan. What's that? what's that? Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. Pan. Good morrow, Cousin Cressid: What do you talk of?-Good morrow, Alexander.-How do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? Cres. This morning, uncle. Pan. What were you talking of, when I came ? Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early. Cres. No, but brown. Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. Cres. Why, Paris, hath colour enough. Pan. So he has. Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much; if she praised him above, his complexion is higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a good complex- ion. I had as lief, Helen's golden tongue had com- mended Troilus for a copper nose. Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him better than Paris. Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him the other day into a compassed' window,-and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his particulars therein to a total. Pan. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter?" Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him; Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.she came, and puts me her white hand to his Pan. Was he angry? cloven chin,- Cres. So he says here. Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too'; he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that and there is Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. Cres. What, is he angry too? Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. Cres. O, Jupiter! there's no comparison. Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him? Cres. Ay, if ever I saw him before and knew him. Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is not Hector. Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some degrees. Cres. 'Tis just to each of them; he is himself. Pen. Himself? Alas! poor Troilus! I would he were, Cres. So he is. Pan-Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. Cres. He is not Hector. Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself.-'Would he were himself! Well, the gods are above; Time must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well,-I would my heart were in her body!-No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus. Cres. Excuse me. Pan. He is elder. Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. Pan. The other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale, when the other's come to't. Hec- tor shall not have his wit this year. Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. Pan. Nor his qualities;-- Cres. No matter. Pan. Nor his beauty. Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's better. Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen her- self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,)-Not brown neither. 1 Bow. 2 Thief. 3 A proverbial saying. Cres. Juno have mercy!-How came it cloven? Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his smiling becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia. Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. Pan. Does he not? Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. Pan. Why, go to then :-But to prove to you that Helen loves Troilus,- Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so. Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg. Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell. Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled his chin;-Indeed, she has a marvel- lous white hand, I must needs confess. Cres. Without the rack. Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. Cres. Alas, poor chin: many a wart is richer. Pan. But, there was such laughing;-Queen Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. Cres. With mill-stones.3" Pan. And Cassandra laughed. Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes;-Did her eyes run o'er too? Pan. And Hector laughed. Cres. At what was all this laughing? Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin. Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed too. Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at his pretty answer. Cres. What was his answer? Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is white. Cres. This is her question. One and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: Pan. That's true; make no question of that. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my husband? The forked one, quoth he; pluck it out, and give it him. But, there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris SCENE II. 611 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that it passed.' not hear the people cry, Troilus? Helenus is a Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. Pan. Well, cousin I told you a thing yesterday; think on't. Cres. So I do. Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere a man in April. Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May. [A Retreat sounded. Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall we stand up here, and see them as they pass toward Ilium? good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. Cres. At your pleasure. Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see most bravely: I'll tell you them all by their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest. Eneas passes over the stage. Cres. Speak not so loud. Pan. That's neas; Is not that a brave man? he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you; But mark Troilus; you shall see anon. Cres. Who's that? Antenor passes ver. Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he's a man good enough: he's one o'the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of person:-When comes Troi- lus?-I'll show you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see him nod at me. Cres. Will he give you the nod?³ Pan. You shall see. Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. man? Hector passes over. priest. Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? Troilus passes over. Pan. Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus: 'Tis Troilus! there's a man, niece!--Hem! brave Troi- lus! the prince of chivalry! Cres. Peace, for shame, peace! Pan. Mark him; note him ;-0 brave Troilus, look well upon him, niece; look you, how his sword is blooded, and his helm more hack'd than Hec- tor's; And how he looks, and how he goes!-0 Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way; had I a sis e admirable youth! he ne'er saw three and twenty. were a Grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris?-Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change would give an eye to boot. Forces pass over the stage. Cres. Here come more. Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look the eagles are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon and all Greece. Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles; a better man than Troilus. Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. Cres. Well, well. Pan. Well, well?-Why, have you any discre- tion? have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, libc- rality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man? Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date in the pie,-for then the man's date Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; There's a fellow!-Go thy way, Hector;-There's a brave man, niece,-O brave Hector!-Look, how is out. he looks! there's a countenance: Is't not a brave Pan. You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you lic. Cres. O, a brave man! Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good-my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to Look you what hacks are on his helmet: look you defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my yonder, do you see? look you there! There's no beauty; and you to defend all these: and at all jesting there's laying on; take't off who will, as these wards I lie, at a thousand watches. they say: there he hacks! Cres. Be those with swords? Paris passes over. Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the devil come to him, it's all one: By god's lid it does one's heart good:-Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris: look ye yonder, niece; Is't not a gal- lant man too, is't not?-Why, this is brave now.- Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha! 'would I could see Troilus now!-you shall see Troilus anon. Cres. Who's that? Helenus passes over. Pan. That's Helenus;-I marvel, where Troilus is:-That's Helenus ;-I think he went not forth to- day:-That's Helenus. Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? Pan. Helenus? no-yes, he'll fight indifferent well :-I marvel, where Troilus is :-Hark; do you 1 Went beyond bounds, 2 As if 'twere. 3 A term in the game at cards called Noddy. 4 Helmet Pan. Say one of your watches. Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward telling how I took the blow; unless it swell past what I would not have hit, I can watch you for hiding, and then it is past watching. Enter Troilus' Boy. Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. Pan. Where? Boy. At your own house; there he unarms him. Pan. Good boy, tell him I come: Exit Boy.] 1 doubt, he be hurt.-Fare ye well, good niece. Cres. Adieu, uncle. Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by. Cres. To bring, uncle, Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. Cres. By the same token-you are a bawd-- [Exit Pandarus. Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise: 5 Dates were an ingredient in ancient pastry of almost every kind. 6 Guard. 612 ACT I. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. But more in Troilus thousand fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be; Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing: Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not this,- Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is: That she was never yet, that ever knew Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue: Therefore this maxim out of love I teach,- Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech: Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Ex. SCENE III.-The Grecian camp. Before Aga- memnon's tent. Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, Menelaus, and others. Agam. Princes, What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? The ample proposition, that hope makes In all designs begun on earth below, Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and disasters Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain Tortive and errant' from his course of growth. Nor, princes, is it matter new to us, That we come short of our suppose so far, And, flies fled under shade, Why, then, the thing of courage, As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize, And with an accent tun'd in self-same key, Returns to chiding fortune. Ulyss. Agamemnon,-- Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, In whom the tempers and the minds of all Should be shut up,-hear what Ulysses speaks. Besides the applause and approbation The which,-most mighty for thy place and sway, [To Agamemnon, And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life,--- I give to both your speeches,-which were such, [To Nestor As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece Should hold up high in brass; and such again, As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, Should with a bond of air (strong as the axletree On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears To his experienc'd tongue,-yet let it please both, Thou great, and wise,-to hear Ulysses speak. Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect That matter needless, of importless burden, Divide thy lips; than we are confident, When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws, That after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand; We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. Sith every action that hath gone before, Whereof we have record, trial did draw Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, And that unbodied figure of the thought That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works; And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought else But the protractive trials of great Jove, To find persistive constancy in men? The fineness of which metal is not found In fortunes' love: for then, the bold and coward, The wise and fool, the artist and unread, The hard and soft, seem all affin'd³ and kin: But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away; And what hath mass, or matter, by itself Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled. Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat,4 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men: The sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus' horse: Where's then the saucy boat. Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now Co-rivall'd greatness? either to harbour fled, Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide, In storms of fortune: For, in her ray and brightness, The herd hath more annoyance by the prize, Than by the tiger: but when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 1 Twisted and rambling. 2 Since. 3 Joined by artinity. 4 The throne. 5 The daughter of Neptune. 6 The gad-fly that stings cattle. 7 Expectation. Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master But for these instances. The specialty of rules hath been neglected: And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. When that the general is not like the hive, To whom the foragers shall all repair, What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. The heavens themselves, the planets, and the centre, 10 Observe degree, priority, and place, Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Office, and custom, in all line of order: And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, And posts, like the commandment of a king, Sansi check to good and bad: But when the planets, In ovil mixture to disorder wander, What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny? What raging of the sea? shaking of earth? Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors, Divert and crack, rend and deracinate¹2 The unity and married calm of states Quite from their fixture; 0, when degree is shaked Which is the ladder of all high designs, The enterprise is sick! How could communities, Degrees in schools and brotherhoods 13 in cities, Peaceful commerce from dividable¹4 shores, The Primogenitive and due of birth, But by degree stand in authentic place? Prerogative of age, crowds, sceptres, laurels, Take but degree away, untune that string, And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets In mere¹s oppugnancy: The bounded waters 8 Rights of authority. 10 Constancy. 11 12 Force up by the roots 3 Masked Without. 13 Corporations, companies. 14 Divided. 15 Absolute. SCENE III. 613 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, And make a sop of all this solid globe: Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead: Force should be right: or, rather, right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides,) Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then every thing includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite; And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and power, Must make perforce an universal prey, And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Follows the choking. And this neglection of degree it is, That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd By him one step below; he, by the next; That next, by him beneathi: so every step, Exampled by the first pace that is sick Of his superior, grows to an envious fever Of pale and bloodless emulation: And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd The fever whereof all our power' is sick. Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, What is the remedy? Ulyss. The great Achilles,-whom crowns The sinew and the forehand of our host,- Having his ear full of his airy fame, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent opinion Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus, Upon a lazy bed the livelong day Breaks scurril jests; And with ridiculous and awkward action (Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,) Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. Nest. And in the imitation of these twain (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns With an imperial voice,) many are infect. Ajax is grown self-will'd; and bears his head In such a rein, in full as proud a place As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him; Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war, Bold as an oracle: and so is Thersites (A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) To match us in comparisons with dirt; To weaken and discredit our exposure, How rank soever rounded in with danger. Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice; Count wisdom as no member of the war; Forestall prescience, and esteem no act But that of hand: the still and mental parts,- That do contrive how many hands shall strike, When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight,- Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: They call this-bed-work, mappery, closet-war: So that the ram, that batters down the wall, For the great swing and rudeness of his poize, They place before his hand that made the engine; Or those, that with the fineness of their souls By reason guide his execution. Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounds. Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. Men. From Troy. Agam. Ene. Enter Eneas. What would you 'fore our tent? Is this Even this. Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray? Agam. JEne. May one, that is a herald, and a prince, Do a fair message to his kingly ears? Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice Call Agamemnon head and general. Ene Fair leave, and large security. How may stranger to those most imperial looks Know them from eyes of other mortals! Agam. He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, Thy topless deputation he puts on; And, like a strutting player,-whose conceit Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich To hear the wooden dialogue and sound Twixt his stretch'd footing, and the scaffoldage,4-A Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks, 'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff, The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; Cries-Excellent!-'tis Agamemnon just.- Now play me Nestor ;-hem, and stroke thy beard, As he, being 'drest to some oration. That's done,-as near as the extremest ends Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife: Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent! Tis Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus, Arming to answer in a night alarm. And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit, And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, Shake in and out the rivet :-and at this sport, Sir Valour dies; cries, O! enough, Patroclus; Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion, All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, Severals and generals of grace exact, Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, 1 Army, force. 2 In modern language, takes us off. Ene. Ay; I ask that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheel to be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus: How? Which is that god in office, guiding men? Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy Are ceremonious courtiers. Ene. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, As bending angels; that's their fame in peace. But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and Jove's accord, Nothing so full of heart. But pence, Eneas, Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! The worthiness of praise disdains his worth, If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth But what the ripening enemy commends, That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure, transcends. Agam. Sir, you of Troy call yourself Æneas? Ene. Ay, Greek, that's my name. 3 Supreme. 4 The galleries of the theatre 6 Unadapted. 5 Beyond the truth. 614 ACT I. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Agam. Ene. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. Agam. He hears nought privately, that comes from Troy. What's your affair, I pray you? | Be you my time to bring it to some shape. Ene. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him: I bring a trumpet to awake his ear; To set his sense on the attentive bent, And then to speak. Agam. Speak frankly' as the wind; It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, He tells thee so himself. Ene. Trumpet, blow loud, Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;-- And every Greek of mettle, let him know, What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. [Trumpet sounds. We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy A prince call'd Hector (Priam is his father,) Who in this dull and long-continued truce Is rusty grown; he bade me take a trumpet, And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords! If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, That holds his honour higher than his ease; That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril; That knows his valour, and knows not his fear; That loves his mistress more than in confession (With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) And dare avow her beauty and her worth, In other arms than hers,-to him this challenge. Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy, To rouse a Grecian that is true in love: If any come, Hector shall honour him; If none he'll say in Troy, when he retires, The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth The splinter of a lance. Even so much. Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord Æneas; If none of them have soul in such a kind, We left them all at home: But we are soldiers; And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, That means not, hath not, or is not in love! If then one is, or hath, or means to be, That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now; But, if there be not in our Grecian host One noble man, that hath one spark of fire To answer for his love, Tell him from me,- I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, And in my vantbrace2 put this wither'd brawn; And, meeting him, will tell him, That my lady' Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste As may be in the world: His youth in flood, I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. Ene. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth! Ulyss. Amen. Agam. Fair lord Æneas, let me touch your hand; To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. Achilles shall have word of this intent; So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: Yourself shall feast with us before you go, And find the welcome of a noble foe. [Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor. Ulyss. Nestor, Nest. What says Ulysses? Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain, 2 An armour for the arm. 4 Size, measure. 1 Freely. 3 Difficulty. Nest. What is't? Ulyss. This 'tis: Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride That hath to this maturity blown up In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, To overbulk us all. Nest. Well, and how? Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, However it is spread in general name, Relates in purpose only to Achilles. Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub. stance, Whose grossness little characters sum up: And, in the publication, make no strain,3 But that Achilles, were his brain as barren As banks of Libya,-though, Apollo knows, 'Tis dry enough,-will with great speed of judg- ment, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose Pointing on him. Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you? Nest. Yes It is most meet; Whom may you else oppose, That can from Hector bring those honours off, If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat, Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses, Our imputation shall be odly pois'd In this wild action: for the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling4 Of good or bad unto the general; And in such indexes, although small pricks' To their subséquent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd, He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice: And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, Makes merit her election; and doth boil, As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd Out of our virtues; Who miscarrying, What heart receives from hence a conquering part, To steel a strong opinion to themselves? Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, In no less working, than our swords and bows Directive by the limbs. Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech;- Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector. Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not, The lusture of the better shall exceed, By showing the worse first. Do not consent, That ever Hector and Achilles meet; For both our honour and our shame, in this, Are dogg'd with two strange followers. Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; are they? what Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, Were he not proud, we all should share with lim But he already is too insolent; And we were better parch in Afric sun, Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,, Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd, Why, then we did our main opinion crush In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery; And, by device, let blackish Ajax draw 5 Small points compared with the volumes. 6 Estimation or character. SCENE I. 615 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. The sort' to fight with Hector: Among ourselves, Give him allowance for the better man, For that will physic the great Myrmidon, Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail, Yet go we under our opinion² still That we have better men. But, hit or miss, Our project's life this shape of sense assumes,- Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. Nest. Ulysses, Now I begin to relish thy advice; And I will give a taste to it forthwith To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone Must tarre³ the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. ACT II. [Exeunt. SCENE I.-Another part of the Grecian camp. Enter Ajax and Thersites. Ajax. Thersites,- Ther. Agamemnon-how if he had boils? full, all over, generally? Ajax. Thersites, Ther. And those boils did run?-Say so,-did not the general run then? were not that a botchy sore? Ajax. Dog,- Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I see none now. Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel then. [Strikes him. Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: I will beat thee into handsomeness. Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holi- ness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a red murrain o'thy jade's tricks! Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation. Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? Ajax. The proclamation,- Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not; my fingers itch. Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. Ajax. I say, the proclamation, Ajax. Thou stool for a witcn! Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee: Thou scurvy valiant ass, thou art here put to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit, like a Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no bowels, thou! Ajax. You dog! Ther. You scurvy lord! Ajax. You cur! [Beating him. Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel. do, do. Enter Achilles and l'atrocles. Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you thus? How now, Thersites? what's the matter, man? Ther. You see him there. do you? Achil. Ay; what's the matter? Ther. Nay, look upon him. Achil. So I'do; What's the matter? Ther. Nay, but regard himn well. Achil. Well, why I do so. Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. Achil. I know that, fool. I Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, Achilles, Ajax, -who wears his wit in his belly, and his guts in his head,-I'll tell vo what I say of him. Achil. What? Ther. I say, this Ajax-- [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. Achil. Nay, good Ajax. Ther. Has not so much wit- Achil. Nay, I must hold you. Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle for whom he comes to fight. Achil. Peace, fool! Ther. I would have peace and quietness, bu the fool will not: he there; that he; look you there Ajax. O thou damned cur! I shall of Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? Ther. No, I warrant vou; for a fool's will shame it. Patr. Good words, Thersites. Achil. What's the quarrel? Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenor the proclamation, and he rails upon me. Ther. I serve thee not. Ajax. Well, go to, go to. Ther. I serve here voluntary. Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his great-not voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax less, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that was here the voluntary, and you as under an im- thou barkest at him. press. Ajax. Mistress Thersites! Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. Ajax. Cobloaf! Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. [Beating him. Ajax. You whoreson cur! Ther. Do, do. 1 Lot. 4 Pound. 2 Character. Ther. Even so?-a great deal of your wit toc lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Eector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of your brains; a' were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel. Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor,-whose 3 Provoke. 6 5 Ass, a cant term for a foolish fellow. Continue. 7 The membrane that protects the braz 8 Voluntarily. 616 ACT II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on | Bear the great sway of his affairs with rea ons, their toes,-yoke you like draught oxen, and make Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? you plough up the wars. Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother Achil. What, what? Ther. Yes, good sooth: To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou afterwards. Patr. No more words, Thersites; peace. Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach' bids me, shall I? Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come any more to your tents; I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Exit. Patr. A good riddance. Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our host: That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, That hath a stomach; and such a one, that dare Maintain-I know not what; 'tis trash: Farewell. Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him? Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise, He knew his man. Ajax. O, meaning you :-I'll go learn more of it. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Troy. A room in Priam's palace. Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and He- lenus. Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks; Deliver Helen, and all damage else- As honour, loss of time, travel, expense, priest, You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your reasons: You know, an enemy intends you harm; You know, a sword employ'd is perilous, And reason flies the object of all harm: Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds A Grecian and his sword, if he do set The very wings of reason to his heels; And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Or like a star dis-orb'd?-Nay, if we talk of reason, Let's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and honour Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect³ Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost The holding. Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued? Hect. But value dwells not in particular will: It holds his estimate and dignity As well wherein 'tis precious of itself As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry, To make the service greater than the god; And the will dotes, that is attributive Without some image of the affected merit. To what infectiously itself affects, Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election Is led on in the conduct of my will; My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment: How may I avoid, Although my will distaste what it elected, Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- The wife I chose? there can be no evasion sum'd In hot digestion of this cormorant war,- Shall be struck off:-Hector, what say you to't? Hector. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, As far as toucheth my particular, yet, Dread Priam, There is no lady of more softer bowels, More spungy to suck in the sense of fear, More ready to cry out-Who knows what follows? Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety, Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go: Since the first sword was drawn about this question, Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,2 Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours: If we have lost so many tenths of ours, To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us, Had it our name, the value of one ten; What merit's in that reason, which denies The yielding of her up? Tro. Fie, fie, my brother! Weigh you the wort and honour of a king, So great as our dread father, in a scale Of common ounces? will you with counters sum The past-proportion of his infinite? And buckle-in a waist most fathomless, With spans and inches so diminutive As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame! Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharpe at reasons, You are so empty of them. 1 Bitch, hound. 3 Caution. 4 Should not our father 2 Tenths. Shrink, or fly off. To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour: We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands We do not throw in unrespective sieve," Because we now are full. It was thought meet, Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: Your breath with full consent bellied his sails; The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd; And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held cap- tive, 6 He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt: Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl, Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went (As you must needs, for you all cry'd-Go, go,) If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your lands, And cry'd-Inestimable !) why do you now The issue of your proper wisdoms rate; And do a deed that fortune never did, Beggar the estimation which you priz'd Richer than sea and land? O theft most base; That we have stolen what we do fear to keep? But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen, That in their country did them that disgrace, We fear to warrant in our native place! Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans, cry! Pri. 5 Basket. What noise? what shriek is this 6 Priam's sister, Hesione. SCENE III. 617 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. Cas. [Within.] Cry, Trojans ! Hect. It is Cassandra. Enter Cassandra, raving. Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, And I will fill them with prophetic tears. Hect. Peace, sister, peace, Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled elders, Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes A moiety of that mass of moan to come. Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears; Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a wo: Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these strains Of divination in our sister work Some touches of remorse? or is your blood So madly hot, that no discourse of reason, Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause, Can qualify the same? [Exit. high Tro. Why, brother Hector, We may not think the justness of each act Such and no other than event doth form it; Nor once deject the courage of our minds, Because Cassandra's mad: her brain-sick raptures Cannot distaste' the goodness of a quarrel, Which hath our several honours all engag'd To make it gracious. For my private part, I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons: And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us Such things as might offend the weakest spleen To fight for and maintain! Par. Else might the world convince³ of levity As well my undertakings, as your counsels: But I attest the gods, your full consent Gave wings to my propension, and cut off All fears attending on so dire a project. For what, alas, can these my single arms? What propugnation is in one man's valour, To stand the push and enmity of those This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, Were I alone to pass the difficulties, And had as ample power as I have will, Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, Nor faint in the pursuit. Pri. Paris, you speak Like one besotted on your sweet delights: You have the honey still, but these the gall; So to be valiant, is no praise at all. queen, Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; But I would have the soil of her fair rape Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. What treason were it to the ransack'd Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, Now to deliver her possession p On terms of base compulsion? Can it be, That so degenerate a strain as this Should once set footing in your generous bosoms; There's not the meanest spirit on our party, Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw, When Helen is defended; nor none so noble, Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd, Where Helen is the subject: then, I say, 1 Corrupt, change to a worse state. 3 Convict. 2 To set it off. 4 Defence. 5 Commented. Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, The world's large spaces cannot parallel. Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well: And on the cause and question now in hand Have gloz'd,'-but superficially; not much Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought Unfit to hear moral philosophy: The reasons, you allege, do more conduce To the hot passion of distemper'd blood, Than to make up a free determination 'Twixt right and wrong; For pleasure and revenge Have ears more deat than aaaers to the voice Of any true decision. Nature craves, All dues be render'd to their owners; Now What nearer debt in all humanity, Than wife is to the husband? if this law Of nature be corrupted through affection; And that great minds, of partial indulgence To their benumbed wills, resist the same; There is a law in each well, order'd nation, To curb those raging appetites that are Most disobedient and refractory. If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,- As it is known she is, these moral laws Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud To have her back return'd: Thus to persist In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong, But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless, My sprightly brethren, I propend" to you In resolution to keep Helen still; For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence Upon our joint and several dignities. Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design: Were it not glory that we more affected Than the performance of our heaving spleens, I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, She is a theme of honour and renown: A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds; Whose present courage may beat down our foes And fame, in time to come, canonize us: For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, As smiles upon the forehead of this action, For the wide world's revenue. Hect. I am yours, You valiant offspring of great Priamus.- I have a roisting challenge sent amongst The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: I was advértis'à, tneir great general slept, Whilst emulation in the army crept; This, I presume, will wake him. SCENE III.-The Grecian camp. Before Achil- les' tent. Enter Thersites. [Exeunt. Ther. How now, Thersites? what, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? shall the elephant Ajax car- ry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O wor- thy satisfaction! 'would, it were otherwise; that ! could beat him, whilst he railed at me: 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles,-a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpen. 6 Through. 7 Incline to, as a question of honour. 8 Blustering. 9 Envy. 618 Аст II. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. tine craft of thy caduceus; if ye take not that little Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and little less than little wit from them that they have! such knavery! all the argument is, a cuckold, and which short-armed ignorance itself knows is so a whore; A good quarrel, to draw emulous fac- abundant scarce, it will not in circumvention de- tions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry ser- liver a fly from a spider, without drawing their pigo on the subject! and war, and lechery, con- massy irons, and cutting the web. After this, the found all! vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the bone- ache! for that, methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war for a placket. I have said my prayers; and devil, envy, say Amen.-What, ho! my lord Achilles! Enter Patroclus. Patr. Who's there? Thersites? Good Thersites, come in and rail. Agam. Where is Achilles? [Exit. Patr. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are here. He shent our messengers; and we lay by Our appertainments, visiting of him: Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think We dare not move the question of our place, Or know not what we are. Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent; He is not sick. Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt coun- terfeit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my contemplation: but it is no matter; Thyself upon thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you ignorance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man; thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near but, by my head, 'tis pride: But why, why? let thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death! him show us a cause.-A word, my lord. then if she, that lays thee out, says-thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but lazars.3 Amen.-Where's Achil- les? Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer? Ther. Ay; the heavens hear me ! Enter Achilles. Achil. Who's there? Patr. Thersites, my lord. Achil. Where, where?-Art thou come! Why, my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come; what's Agamemnon? Ther. Thy commander, Achilles;-Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? Patr. Thy lord, Thersites; Then tell me, I pray thee, what's thyself? Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou? Patr. That mayest tell, that knowest. Achil. O, tell, tell. Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Agamem- 1on commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool. Patr. You rascal! [Takes Agamemnon aside. Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. Nest. Who? Thersites ? Ulyss. He. Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.8 Ulyss. No, you see, he is his argument, that has his argument; Achilles. Nest. All the better; their fraction is more our wish, than their faction: But it was a strong com- posure, a fool could disunite. Ulyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. Re-enter Patroclus. Nest. No Achilles with him. Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy: his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. Patr. Achilles bids me say-he is much sorry, If any thing more than your sport and pleasure Did move your greatness, and this noble state, To call upon him; he hopes, it is no other, But, for your health and your digestion's sake, An after-dinner's breath.9 Agam. Hear vou, Patroclus;- We are too well acquainted with these answers; Achil. He is a privileged man.-Proceed, Ther-But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, sites. Ther. Peace, fool; I have not done. Cannot outfly our apprehensions. Much attribute he hath; and much the reason Why we ascribe it to him: yet all his virtues,- Not virtuously on his own part beheld,- Achil. Derive this; come. Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss; Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; and Patroclus is a fool positive. Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool. Patr. Why am I a fool? Ther. Make that demand of the prover.-It suf- ficeth me, thou art. Look you, who comes here? Enter Agamem on, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, and Ajax. We come to speak with him: And you shall not sin. If you do say-we think him over-proud, And under honest; in self-assumption greater, Than in the note of judgment; and worthier ther himself Here tend10 the savage strangeness he puts 01: Disguise the holy strength of their command, And underwrite 12 in a deserving kind Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody;- His humorous predominance; yea, watch Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit. His pettish lunes, 13 his ebbs, his flows, as it 1 The wand of Mercury, which is wreathed with serpents. 2 Passions, natural propensities. 8 Leprous persons. 4 Envious. 5 Tetter, scab. 6 Rebuked, rated. 7 Appendage of rank or dignity. 8 Subject. 10 Attend. 12 Subscribe, obev. 9 Exercise. 11 Shyness. is F'ts of lunacy. SCENE III. 619 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. The passage and whole carriage of this action Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this; and add, That, if he over-hold his price so much, We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine Not portable, lie under this report- Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: A stirring dwarf we do allowance' give Before a sleeping giant:-Tell him so. Patr. I shall; and bring his answer presently. [Exit. Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied, We come to speak with him.-Ulysses, enter. [Exit Ulysses. That were to enlard his fat-already pride, And add more coals to Cancer," when he burns. With entertaining great Hyperion.3 This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid; And say in thunder-Achilles, go to him. Nest. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him. [Aside. Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause! Aside. Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him Over the face. Agam. O, no, you shall not go. Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze' his pride: Ajax. What is he more than another? Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. Ajax. Is he so much? Do you not think, he Let me go to him. thinks himself a better man than I am? Agam. No question. Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say- he is? Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable. Ajax. Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I know not what pride is. Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praiseth itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise. Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en- gendering of toads. Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange? [Aside. Re-enter Ulysses. Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. Agam. What's his excuse? Ulyss. He doth rely on none; But carries on the stream of his dispose, Without observance or respect of any, In will peculiar and in self-admission. Agam. Why will he not, upon our fair request, Untent his person, and share the air with us? Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only, He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness; And speaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse, That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself: What should I say? He is so plaguy proud, that the death tokens of it Cry-No recovery. Agam. Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent: Tis said, he holds you well; and will be led At your request, a little from himself. Let Ajax go to him.- Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so! We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord, That hastes his arrogance with his own seam;2 And never suffers matter of the world Enter his thoughts,-save such as do revolve And ruminate himself,-shall he be worshipp'd Of that we hold an idol more than he? No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd; Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, As amely titled as Achilles is, By going to Achilles : 1 Approbation. Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon tour Nest. Himself! quarrel. Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, How he describes [Aside. Ajax. Can he not be sociable? Ulyss. Chides blackness. The raven [Aside. I will let his humours blood. [Aside. Ajax. Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the patient. Ajax. An all men Were o'my mind,- Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. Ajax. He should not bear it so, He should eat swords first: Shall pride carry it? Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. Ulyss. He'd have ten shares. [Aside. Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple :-- Nest. He's not yet thorough warm: forces him with praises : Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. [Aside. Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dis- like. [To Agamemnon. Nest. O noble general, do not do so. Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm. Here is a man-But 'tis before his face I will be silent. Nest. Wherefore should you so? He is not emulous," as Achilles is. Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with us! I would, he were a Trojan ! Nest. Were it in Ajax now- Ulyss. What a vice If he were proud? Ay, or surly borne ? Dio. Or covetous of praise? Ulyss. Dio. Or strange, or sell affected? Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art cf sweet composure; Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck. Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice-fam'd, bevond all erudition: But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight, Let Mars divide eternity in twain, And give him half: and, for thy vigour, 3 The sign in the zodiac into which the sun enters June 21. And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze.' THOMSON. 2 Fat. 4 Strike. 6 Stuff. 5 Comb or curry. 7 Envious. 8 Trifle. 620 ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Bull-bearing Milo his addition' yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn,2 a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor, Instructed by the antiquary times, He must, he is, he cannot but be wise:- But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax', and your brain so temper'd, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax. Ajax. Shall I call you father? Nest. Ay, my good son. Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. Ulyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles Keeps thicket. Please it our great general To call together all his state of war; Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow, We must with all our main of power stand fast: And here's a lord,-come knights from east to west, And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1.-Troy. A room in Priam's palace. Enter Pandarus and a Servant. Pan. Friend! you! pray you, a word: you follow the young lord Paris? Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean. Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. Do not Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs praise him. Serv. The ford be prais'd! Pan. You know me, do you not? Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord Pandarus. Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better. Pan. I do desire it. Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within. Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles:-What Lausic is this? Serv. I do but partiy know, sir; it is music in parts. Pan. Know you the musicians? Serv. Wholly, sir. Pan. Who play they to? Serv. To the hearers, sir. Pan. At whose pleasure, lend? Serv. At mine, sir, and t. eirs that love music. Pan. Command, I mean, friend. Serv. Who shall I command, sir? Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose request do these men play? Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him, the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul, Pan. Who, my cousin, Cressida ? Serv. No, sir, Helen; Could you not find out that by her attributes? Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with 1 Titles. 2 Stream, rivulet. 3 Boils. Paris from the prince Troilus: I will make a com plimental assault upon him, for my business seeths. Serv. Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed! Enter Paris and Helen, attended. Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fai thoughts be to your fair pillow! Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen.- Fair prince, here is good broken music. Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by m life, you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out with a piece of your performance :-Nell, hu is full of harmony. Pan. Truly, lady, no. Helen. O, sir, Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. Par. Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits. Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen :- My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word? Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you sing, certainly. Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me.-But (marry) thus, my lord,-my dear lord, and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus- Helen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,-- himself most affectionately to you. Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to ;-commends Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody; If you do, our melancholy upon your head! Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i'faith. Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sou offence. Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, 1 care not for such words, no, no.-And, my lord, he desires you, that, if the king call for him at supper, you will make his excuse. Helen. My lord Pandarus, Pan. What says my sweet queen,-my very very sweet queen. Par. What exploit's in hand? where sups he to- night. Helen. Nay, but my lord, Pan. What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with you. You must not know where he sups. Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, your disposer is sick. Par. Well, I'll make excuse. Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say-- Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick. Par. I spy. Pan. You spy! what do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen. Helen. Why, this is kindly done. Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen. Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris. Pan. He! twain. no, she'll none of him; they two are Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them three. Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this, I'll sing you a song now. 4 Parts of a song. 5 Wide of your mark. SCENE II. 621 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. Pan. Ay, you may, you may. By my troth, By my troth, Pan. Have you seen my cousin? Tro. No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door, Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will un- Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charen, do us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, i'faith And give me swift transportance to those fields, Where I may wallow in the lily beds Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus, Pan. In good troth, it begins so: Love, love, nothing but love, still more! For, oh, love's bow Shoots buck and doe; The shaft confounds, Not that it wounds But tickles still the sore. These lovers cry-Oh! oh! they die! Yel that which seems the wound to kill, Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he! So dying love lives still: Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha! Oh! oh! groans cut for ha! ha! hu! Hey ho! Helen. In love, P'fain, to the very tip of the nose. Par. He eats not ing but doves, love; and that breeds hot bled, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, And fly with me to Cressid! Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring her straight. Exit Pandarus. Tro. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense; What will it be, When that the watry palate tastes indeed Love's thri e-reputed nectar? death, I fear me; Swooning destruction: or some joy too fine, Too subtie-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, For the capacity of my ruder powers: I fear it much; and I do fear besides, That I shall lose distinction in my joy; As doth a battle, when they charge on heps The enemy flying. Re-enter Pandarus. Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straight: you must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain :-she fetches her breath as short as a new- [Exit Pandarus. Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom: Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds?-Why, they are vipers: Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's ta'en sparrow. a-field to-day? Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have arm'd My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How And all my powers do their bestowing lose, chance my brother Troilus went not? Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring Helen. He hangs the lip at something;-you The eye of majesty. know all, lord Pandarus. Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen--I long to hear how they sped to-day.-You'll remember your brother's excuse. Par. To a hair. Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. Helen. Commend me to your niece. Pan. I will, sweet queen.. [Exit. [A retreat sounded. Par. They are come from field: let us to Pri- am's hall, To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles, With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, Or force of Greekish sinews: you shall do more Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. Helen. "Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris: Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, Give us more palm in beauty than we have; Yea, overshines ourself. Hai. Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. SCENE II.-The same. Pandarus' orchard. Enter Pandarus and a Servant, meeting. Pan. How now? where's thy master? at my cousin Cressida's? Serv. No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither. Enter Troilus. Pan. O, here he comes.-How now, how now. Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant. 1 Shafts of a carriage. 2 The allusion is to bowling; what is now Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? shame's a baby.-Here she is now: swear the oaths now to her, that you have sworn to me.-What, are you gone again? you must be watched ere you be made tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw backward, we'll put you i'the fills,Why do you not speak to her?-Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas, the day, how loath you are to offend day-light! an 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now? a kiss in fee- farm ? build there, carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i'the river go to, go to. Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your activity in question. What billing again? Here s -In witness whereof the parties interchangeably- Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire. [Exit Pan. Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus. Cres. Wished, my lord ?-The gods grant!-0 my lord! Tro. What should they grant? what makes this pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. Tro. Fears make devils cherubims; they never see truly. 3 The tercel is the male and the falcon the fe- called the jack was formerly termed the mistress. male hawk. 622 ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds I am asham'd;-O heavens: what have I done?- safer footing than blind reason stumbling without For this time will I take my leave, my lord. fear: To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid? Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither? Pan. Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morning, Cres. Pray you, content you. Tro. What offends you, lady? Cres. Sir, mine own company. Tro. Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings; when we Tow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposi- tion enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty Yourself. imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady,- that the will is infinite, and the execution confined; that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. Cres. They say, all lovers swear more perform ance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the per- fection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions, and the act of hares, are they not monsters? Cres. Let me go and try: You cannot shun I have a kind of self resides with you; But an unkind self, that itself will leave, To be another's fool. I would be gone: Where is my wit? I know not what I speak. Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak so wisely. Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love; And fell so roundly to a large confession, To angle for your thoughts: But you are wise; Or else you love not; For to be wise, and love, Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) To feed for aye2 her lamp and flames of love; To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Tro. Are they such? such are not we: Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go bare, till merit crown it: no perfection in reversion shall have a praise in present: we will not name desert, before his birth; and, being born, his addition' shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth; and what Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus. Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? Re-enter Pandarus. Pan. What, blushing still? have you not done talking yet? Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi- cate to you. Pan. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy of you, you'll give him me: Be true to my lord: if he flinch, chide me for it. Tro. You know now your hostages; your uncle's word, and my firm faith. Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too; our kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, they are constant, being won: they are burs, I can tell you: they stick where they are thrown. Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me hen.:- Prince Troilus, i have lov'd you night and day For many weary months. Tro. Why was my Crescid then so hard to win? Cres. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord, With the first glance that ever-Pardon me ;- If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. I love you now; but not, till now, so much But I might master it :-in faith, I lie; My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown Too headstrong for their mother: See, we fools! Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us, When we are so unsecret to ourselves? But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man; Or that we women had men's privilege Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue; For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws My very soul of counsel: Stop my mouth. Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. l'an. Pretty, i'faith. Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; 'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss: 1 Titles. 2 Ever. 3 Met with and equalled. That doth renew swifter than blood decays! Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me,-- That my integrity and truth to you Might be affronted with the match and weight Of such a winnow'd purity in love; How were I then uplifted! but, alas, I am as true as truth's simplicity, And simpler than the infancy of truth. Cres. In that I'll war with you. Tro. O virtuous fight, When right with right wars who shall be most right! True swains in love shall, in the world to come, Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes, Full of protest, of oath, and big compare," Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration,- As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, Yet, after all comparisons of truth, As truth's authentic author to be cited, As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, And sanctify the numbers. Cres. Prophet may you be! If I Le false or swerve a hair from truth, When time is old and hath forgot itself, When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, f And mighty states characterless are grated To dusty nothing; yet let memory, From false to false, among false maids in love, Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said-as false As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son; Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, As false as Cressid. Pan. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll be the witness.-Here I hold your hand; here, my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, since I have taken such pains to bring you to- gether, let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end after my name, call them all-Pan- dars; let all inconstant men be Troiluses, all false 4 Comparison. 5 Conclude it. SCENE III. 623 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. women Cressids, and all brokers-between Pan- So do each lord; and either greet him not, dars! say, Amen. Tro. Amen. Cres. Amen. Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death: away. And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, Bed, chamber, Pandar, to provide this geer! [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Grecian camp. Enter Aga- memnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, Ajax, Men- elaus, and Calchas. Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, The advantage of the time prompts me aloud To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind, That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove I have abandoned Troy, left my possession, Incurr'd a traitor's name; expos'd myself, From certain and possess'd conveniences, To doubtful fortunes; séquest'ring from me all That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, Made tame and most familiar to my nature; And here, to do you service, am become As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: I do beseech you, as in way of taste, To give me now a little benefit, Out of those many register'd in promise, Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. Agam. What would'st thou of us, Trojan? make demand. Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore,) Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange, Whom Troy hath still denied: But this Antenor, I know, is such a wrest' in their affairs, That their negociations all must slack, Wanting his manage; and they will almost Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, In change of him: let him be sent, great princes, And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence Shall quite strike off all service I have done, In most accepted pain. Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have What he requests of us.-Good Diomed, Furnish you fairly for this interchange: Withal, bring word-if Hector will to-morrow Be answer'd in his challenge: Ajax is ready. Dio. This shall I undertake; and, 'tis a burden Which I am proud to bear. (Exe. Dio. and Cal. Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their tent. Ulyss. Achilles stands i'the entrance of his tent:- Please it our general to pass strangely by him, As if he were forgot; and, princes all, Lay negligent and loose regard upon him: I will come last: Tis like, he'll question me, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me? You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with us? Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general? Achil. Nest. Nothing, my lord. Agam. Achil. The better. No. [Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor Good day, good day. Men. How do you? how do you? Exit Men Achil. What, does the cuckold sc- rn me? Ajax. How now, Patroclus? Achil. Ajax. Achil. Good morrow. Ajax. Good morrow, Ajax. Ha? Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles? Patr. They pass by strangely: they were us'a to bend, To send their smiles before them to Achilles; To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep To holy altars. Achil. What, am I poor of late? 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, Must fall out with men too: What the deelin'd is, Show not their mealy wings, but to the summer; As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies, And not a man, for being simply man, Hath any honour; but honour for those honours That are without him, as place, riches, favour, Prizes of accident as oft as merit: Which when they fall, as being slippery standers The love that lean'd on them, as slippery too. Do one pluck down another, and together Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me: At ample point all that I do possess, Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find ou Something not worth in me such rich beholding As they have often given. Here is Ulysses; I'll interrupt his reading.- How now, Ulysses? Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son? Achil. What are you reading? Writes me, That man-how dearly ever parted, Ulyss. A strange fellow here How much in having, or without, or in,- Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; As when his virtues shining upon others Heat them, and they retort that heat again To the first giver. Achil This is not strange, Ulysses The beauty that is borne here in the face Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on The bearer knows not, but commends itself him: If so, I have derision med'cinable, To use between your strangeness and his pride, Which his own will shall have desire to drink; It may do good: pride hath no other glass To show itself, but pride; for supple knees Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on A form of strangeness as we pass along;- 1 An instrument for tuning harps, &c. To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself (That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself, Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd Salutes each other with each other's form. For speculation turns not to itself, Till it hath travell'd, and is married there Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all. Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, It is familiar; but at the author's drift: 2 Shyly. 3 Excellently endowed. 624 ACT III. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves- That no man is the lord of any thing (Though in and of him there be much consisting,) Till he commuricate his parts to others: Nor doth he of himself know them for aught Till he behold them form'd in the applause The present eye praises the present object: Then marvel not, thou great and complete man That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; Since things in motion sooner catch the eye, Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, And still it might; and yet it may again, Where they are extended; which, like an arch, re- If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, verberates The voice again; or like a gate of steel Fronting the sun, receives and renders back His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this: And apprehended here immediately The unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse; That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are, Most abject in regard, and dear in use! What things again most dear in the esteem, And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow, An act that very chance doth throw upon him, Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do, While some men leave to do! How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, While others play the idiots in her eyes! How one man eats into another's pride, While pride is fasting in his wantonness! To see these Grecian lords!-Why, even already They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder; As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, And great Troy shrinking. Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me, As misers do by beggars: neither gave to me Good word, nor look: What, are my deeds forgot? Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : And case thy reputation in thy tent; Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods them selves, And drave great Mars to faction. Achil. I have strong reasons. Ulyss. Of this my privacy But 'gainst your privacy The reasons are more potent and heroical: 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love With one of Priam's daughters.4 Achil. Ulyss. Is that a wonder? Ha! known? The providence that's in a watchful state, Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps; Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery (with whom relation Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; Which hath an operation more divine, Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to: All the commérce that you have had with Troy, As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord; And better would it fit Achilles much, To throw down Hector, than Polyxena: But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, When fame shall in our islands sound her trump; And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,- Those scraps are good deeds past: which are de- Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; vour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done: Perseverance, dear my lord, Keeps honour bright: To have done, is to hang Quite out of fashion, like a trusty mail In monumental mockery. Take the instant way; For honour travels in a strait so narrow, Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; For emulation hath a thousand sons, That one by one pursue: If you give way, Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by, And leave you hindmost ;- Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, O'er-run and trampled on: Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: For time is like a fashionable host, That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek Remuneration for the thing it was; For beauty, wit, High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service, Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all To envious and calumniating time. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,- That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds, Though they are made and moulded of things past; And give to dust, that is a little gilt, More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 1 Detail of argument. 2 New-fashioned toys. But our great Ajax bravely beat down him. Farewell, my lord: I as your lovers speak; The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. [Exit Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; They think, my little stomach to the war, And your great love to me, restrains you thus: Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, Be shook to air. Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector? Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by him. Achil. I see my reputation is at stake; My fame is shrewdly gor'd. Patr. O, then beware; Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves. Omission to do what is necessary Seals a commission to a blank of danger; And danger, like an ague, subtly taints Even then when we sit idly in the sun. Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus; I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing An appetite that I am sick withal, To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; To talk with him, and to behold his visage, Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd! 3 The descent of the deities to combat on e ther side. 4 Polyxena. 5 Friend. SCENE I. 625 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Enter Thersites. Ther. A wonder! Achil. What? And I myself see not the bottom of it. [Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking clear again, that I might water an ass at it! I had for himself. rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. [Exit Achil. How so? Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hec- tor; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. Achil. How can that be? Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a pea- cock, a stride and a stand: ruminates, like a host- ess, that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning: bites his lip with a politic re- gard, as who should say-there were wit in this bead, an 'twould out; and so there is but it lies us coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i'the com- bat, he'll break it himself in vain-glory. He knows not me: I said, Good-morrow, Ajax; and he re- plies, Thanks, Agamemnon. What think you of this man, that takes me for the general? He is grown a very land-fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering; speaking is for beggars; he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. Achil. To him, Patroclus: Tell him,-I humbly desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to pro- cure safe conduct for his person, of the magnani- mous, and most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-hon- oured captain-general of the Grecian army, Aga- memnon. Do this. Patr. Jove bless great Ajax. Ther. Humph! Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, Ther. Ha! Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to Hector to his tent!- Ther. Humph! ACT IV. SCENE 1.-Troy. A street. Enter, at one side, Eneas and Servant, with a torch; at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Diomedes, and oth- ers, with torches. Par. See, ho! who's that there? Dei. 'Tis the lord Æneas. Ene. Is the prince there in person ?- Had I so go good occasion to lie long, As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business Should rob my bed-mate of my company. Dio. That's my mind too.-Good morrow, lord Eneas. Par. A valiant Greek, Æneas; take his hand: Witness the process of your speech, wherein You told-how Diomed, a whole week by days, Did haunt you in the field. Ene. Health to you, valiant sir, During all question³ of the gentle truce: But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, As heart can think, or courage execute. Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: But when contention and occasion meet, By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, With all my force, pursuit, and policy. Ene. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly With his face backward.-In humane gentleness, Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life, Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear, No man alive can love, in such a sort, The thing he means to kill, more excellently. Dio. We sympathize:-Jove, let Encas live, If to my sword his fate be not the glory, invite A thousand complete courses of the sun! But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, With every joint a wound; and that to-morrow! JEne. We know each other well. Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga- memnon. Ther. Agamemnon? Patr. Ay, my lord. Ther. Ha! Patr. What say you to't? Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will go one way or other; howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. Patr. Your answer, sir. Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. Achil. Why, but he is not in his tune, is he? Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What mu- sic will be in him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none; un- less the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make cat- lings' on. Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. Ther. Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more capable2 creature. Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; 1 Lute-strings made of catgut. 2 Intelligent. Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.- What business, lord, so early? Ene. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not. Par. His purpose meets you; 'Twas to ang this Greek To Calchas' house; and there to render him, For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid: Let's have your company; or, if you please Haste there before us: I constantly do think (Or rather call my thought a certain knowledge,) My brother Troilus lodges there to-night, Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, With the whole quality wherefore: I fear, We shall be much unwelcome. Ene. That I assure you Troilus bad rather Troy were borne to Greece, Than Cressid borne from Troy. There 's nc help Par. The bitter disposition of the time Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow ys. 3 Conversation. 626 ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Ene. Good morrow, all. Exit.-Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid? Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle ! Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; 'faith, tell me true, Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,- Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best, Myself, or Menelaus? Dio. Both alike: He merits well to have her, that doth seek her (Not making any scruple of her soilure,) With such a hell of pain, and world of charge; And you as well to keep her, that defend her (Not palating the taste of her dishonour,) With such a costly loss of wealth and friends: . He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors: Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; But he as he, the heavier for a whore. Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. Dio. She's bitter to her country: Hear me, Paris,- For every false drop in her bawdy veins A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple Of her contaminated carrion weight, A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak, She hath not given so many good words breath, As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy: But we in silence hold this virtue well,- We'll not commend what we intend to sell. Here lies our way. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Court before the house of Pandarus. Enter Troilus and Cressida. Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down; He shall unbolt the gates. Teo. Trouble him not; To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes, And give as soft attachment to thy senses, As infants' empty of all thought! Cres. Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed. Cres. Good morrow then. Are you a-weary of me? Tro. O Cressida! but that the busy day, Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald' crows, And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, I would not from thee. Cres. Night hath been too brief. Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays, As tediously as hell; but flies the grasps of love, With wings more momentary-swift than thought. You will catch cold, and curse me. Cres. You men will never tarry.- Pr'ythee, tarry ;- O foolish Cressid !-I might have still held off, And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up. Pan. [Within.] What, are all the doors open here? Tro. It is your uncle. Enter Pandarus. Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking: You bring me to do,2 and then you flout me too. Pan. To do what? to do what?-let her say what: what have I brought you to do? Cres. Come, come; beshrew³ your heart! you'll ne'er be good, Nor suffer others. Pan. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor ca- pocchia !4-hast not slept to-night? would he not, a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him! [Knocking. Cres. Did I not tell you?-'Would he were knock'd o'the head!- Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.- My lord, come you again into my chamber: You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. Tro. Ha, ha! Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing.- [Knocking. How earnestly they knock !-pray you, come in; I would not for half Troy have you seen here. [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat down the door? How now? what's the matter? Enter Eneas. Ene. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. Pan. Who's there? my lord Eneas? By my troth, I knew you not; what news with you so early? Ene. Is not prince Troilus here! Pan. Here! what should he do here? Ene. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him; It doth import him much, to speak with me. I'll be sworn :-For my own part, I came in late Pan. Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, What should he do here? Ene. Who!-nay, then :- Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware: You'll be so true to him, to be false to him: Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither; Go. As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. Tro. How now? what's the matter? Hne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, My matter is so rash: There is at hand Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith, Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, We must give up to Diomedes' hand The lady Cressida. Tro. Is it so concluded? Ene. By Priam, and the general state of Troy: They are at hand, and ready to effect it. I Tro. How my achievements mock me! will go meet them: and, my lord Æneas, We met by chance; you did not find me here. Ene. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of na- ture Have not more gift in taciturnity. mad [Exeunt Troilus and Æneas. Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The devil take Antenor! the young prince will go Pan. How now, how now? how go maiden- A plague upon Antenor: I would they had broke's I shall have such a life,- heads? 1 Lewd, noisy. neck. 3 Ill betide. 2 To do is here used in a wanton sense. 4 An Italian word for poor fool. 5 Hasty. SCENE III. 627 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Enter Cressida. Cres. O Troilus! Troilus. [Embracing him. Pan. What a pair of spectacies is here! Let Cres. How now? What is the matter? Who me embrace too: O heart!-as the goodly saying was here? Pan. Ah, ah' Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above! Cres. O the gods!-what's the matter? Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'Would thou hadst ne'er been born! I knew, thou would'st be his death:-O poor gentleman!-A plague upon An- enor? Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I beseech you, what's the matter? Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art changed for Antenor: thou must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it. Cres. O you immortal gods!-I will not go. Pan. Thou must. Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father; I know no touch' of consanguinity: No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me, As the sweet Troilus.-O you gods divine! Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, Do to this body what extremes you can; But the strong base and building of my love Is as the very centre of the earth, Drawing all things to it.-I'll go in, and weep ;- Pan. Do, do. Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Before Pandarus' house. Enter Paris, Troilus, Æneas, Deipho- bus, Antenor, and Diomedes. Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd Of her delivery to this valiant Greek Comes fast upon:-Good my brother Troilus, Tell you the lady what she is to do, And haste her to the purpose. Tro. is,- o heart, o heavy heart, Why sigh'st thou without breaking? where he answers again, Because thou canst not ease thy smart, By friendship, nor by speaking. There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse; we see it, we see it.-How now, lambs? That the blest gods-as angry with my fancy, Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd, a purity, More bright in zeal than the devotion which Cold lips blow to their deities,-take thee from me. Cres. Have the gods envy? Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case. Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? Tro. A hateful truth. Cres. What, and from Troilus too? Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. Cres. Is it possible? Tro. And suddenly; where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath: We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge of one. Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, As many farewells as be stars in heaven, He fumbles up into a loose adieu; And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken³ tears. Ene. [Within.] My lord! is the lady ready? Tro. Hark! you are call'd: Some say, the Genius so Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die.- Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, Walk in to her house; or my heart will be blown up by the root! I'll bring her to the Grecian presently: And to his hand when I deliver her, Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Exit. Par. I know what 'tis to love; And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help!- Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exit Pandarus. Cres. I must then to the Greeks? Tro. No remedy. When shall we see again? Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! Tro. Hear me, my love: Be thou but true of heart,- [Exeunt. Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem is SCENE IV.-The same. A room in Pandarus' house. Enter Pandarus and Cressida. Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. Cres. Why tell you me of moderation? The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, And violenteth in a sense as strong As that which causeth it: How can I moderate If I could temporize with my affection, O: brew it to a weak and colder palate, The like allayment could I give my grief: My love admits no qualifying dross: No more my grief, in such a precious less. Enter Troilus. this? Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, For it is parting from us : I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee; For I will throw my glove to keath himself, That there's no maculation' in thy heart: it? But be thon true, say I, to fashion in Fan. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks! Sense of feeling of relationship. 2 Sealed. My sequents protestation; be thou true, And I will see thee. Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true. Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you? Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels. E Spot. 3 Interrupted. 3 Following. 4 Surmise. 628 ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. To give thee nightly visitation. But ye, be true. Cres. O heavens !-be true again? Tro. Hear why I speak it, love; The Grecian youths are full of quality;1 I'll answer to my lust :5 And know you, lord. I'll nothing do on charge: To her own worth She shall be priz'd; but that you say-be't so, I'll speak it in my spirit and honour,-no. Tro. Come, to the port.-I'll tell thee, Diomed. They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of nature This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. flowing, And swelling o'er with arts and exercise; How novelty may move, and parts with person, Alas, a kind of godly jealously (Which I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) Makes me afeard. Cres. O heavens! you love me not. Tro. Die I a villain then! In this I do not call your faith in question, 3 So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing, Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, Nor play at subtle games; fair, virtues all, To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg- nant: But I can tell, that in each grace of these There lurl's a still and dumb-discoursive devil, That tempts most cunningly but be not tempted. Cres. Do you think I will? Tro. No. But something may be done, that we will not: And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency. Ene. [Within.] Nay, good my lord,- Come, kiss: and let us part. Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus! Tro. Good brother, come you hither: And bring Eneas, and the Grecian, with you. Cres. My lord, will you be true? Tro. Tro. Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault; While others fish with craft for great opinion, I with great truth catch mere simplicity; Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit Is-plain, and true,-there's all the reach of it. Enter Eneas, Paris, Antenor, Deophobus, and Diomedes. Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady, Which for Antenor we deliver you: At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand; And, by the way, possess thee what she is. Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe As Priam is in Ilion. Dio. Fair lady Cressid, So please you, save the thanks this prince expects: The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously, To shame the zeal of my petition to thee, In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece, She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises, As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge; For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, I'll cut thy throat. Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus: Let me be privileg'd by my place and message, To be a speaker free; when I am hence. 1 Highly accomplished. 2 A dance. 3 Gate. 4 Inform. Lady, give me your hand: and as we walk, To our own selves bend we our needful talk. [Exeunt Troilus, Cressida and Diomed. [Trumpets heard. Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. Ene. How have we spent this morning! The prince must think me tardy and remiss, That swore to ride before him to the field. Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come to field with him. Dei. Let us make ready straight. Ene. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. The glory of our Troy doth this day lie, On his fair worth and single chivalry. Lists set out. SCENE Y.-The Grecian camp. Enter Ajax armed; Agamemnon, Achilles, Pa- troclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and others. Agam. Here art thou in appointments fresh and fair, Anticipating time with starting courage. Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, Thou dreadful Ajax; that the apalled air May pierce the head of the great combatant, And hale him hither. Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe: Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon: Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood; Thou blow'st for Hector. Ulyss. No trumpet answers. Achil. [Trumpet sounds. "Tis but early days. Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter? He rises on the toe; that spirit of his Ulyss. "Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait; In aspiration lifts him from the earth. Enter Diomed with Cressida. Agam. Is this the lady Cressid? Dio. Even she. Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. Nest. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin. So much for Nestor. Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: Achilles bids you welcome. Men. I had good argument for kissing once. Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now: For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment; And parted thus you and your argument. Ulyss. O deadly gall and theme of all our scorns; For which we lose our beads, to gild his horns. Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss;-this mine; Patroclus kisses you. Men O, this is trim! Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. Men. I'll have my kiss, sir; Lady, by your leave 5 Pleasure, will. 6 Preparation. SCENE V. 629 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Cres. In kissing do you render or receive? Patr. Both take and give. Cres. I'll make my match to live, The kiss you take is better than you give; Therefore no kiss. Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one. Cres. You're an odd man; give even, or give none. Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd. Cres. No, Paris is not; for, you know, 'tis true, That you are odd, and he is even with you. Men. You fillip me o'er the head. Cres. No, I'll be sworn. Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his horn.- May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? Cres. You may. Ulyss. Cres. I do desire it. Why, beg then. Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, When Helen is a maid again, and his. Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. Dio. Lady, a word:-I'll bring you to your father. [Diomed leads out Cressida. Nest. A woman of quick sense. Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her! There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive' of her body. 0, these encounters, so glib of tongue, That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts To every ticklish reader! set them down For sluttish spoils of opportunity, And daughters of the game. All. The Trojans' trumpet. Agam. [Trumpet within. Yonder comes the troop. Enter Hector armed; Eneas, Troilus, and other Trojans, with Attendants. Ene. Hail, all the state of Greece! what shall be done To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose, A victor shall be known? will you, the knights Shall to the edge of all extremity Pursue each other; or shall they be divided By any voice or order of the field? Hector bade ask. Agam. Which way would Hector have it? Ene. He cares not, he'll obey conditions. Achil. "Tis done like Hector; but securely done, A little proudly, and great deal misprizing The knight oppos'd. Ene. What is your name? If not Achilles, sir, If not Achilles, nothing. Achil Ene. Therefore Achilles: But, whate'er, know this;- In the extremity of great and little, Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector; The one almost as infinite as all, The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: In love whereof, half Hector stays at home; Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. Achil. A maiden battle then?-0, I perceive you. 1 Motion. 4 No boaster. 2 Breathing, exercise. 3 Stops. 5 Unsuitable to his character. 6 Yields, gives way. Re-enter Diom.ed. Stand by our Ajax: as you and lord Eneas Agam. Here is sir Diomed:-Go, gentle knight Consent upon the order of their figh', Or else a breath :2 the combatants being kin, So be it; either to the uttermost, Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. [Ajax and Hector enter the lists. Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks sa heavy? Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; Speaking in deeds, and deedless4 in his tongue; Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd. His heart and hand both open, and both free; For what he has, he gives, what thinks, he shows; Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath: Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, They call him Troilus; and on him erect Is more vindictive than jealous love: A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. Thus says Æneas; one that knows the youth Even to his inches, and with private soul, Did in great Ilion thus translate" him to me. [Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight. Agam. They are in action. Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own! Tro. Awake thee! Hector, thou sleep'st; Agam. His blows are well dispos'd:-there, Ajax! Dio. You must no more. ne. [Trumpets cease. Princes, enough, so please you. Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. Dio. As Hector pleases. Hect. Why then, will I no more :- Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, The obligation of our blood forbids A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan so, A gorys emulation 'twixt us twain: That thou could'st say-This hand is Grecian all, And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister10 Bounds-in my father's; by Jove's multipotent, Thou should'st not bear from me a Greekish member Of our rank feud: But the just gods gainsay, Wherein my sword had not impressure made That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother, My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; Cousin, all honour to thee! Hector would have them fall upon him thus: Ajax. I thank thee, Flector Thou art too gentle, and too free a man: I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence A great addition11 earned in thy death. Hect. Not Neoptolemus¹ so mirable (On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st O yes Cries, This is he,) could promise to himself A thought of added honour torn from Hector. Ene. There is experience here from both the sides, What further you will do: 7 Explain his character. 9 Right. 11 Title. 8 Bloody 10 Left. 12 Achilles. 630 ACT IV. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Hect We'll answer it; The issue is embracement:-Ajax, farewell. Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, (As seld' I have the chance,) I would desire My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish: and great Achilles Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. Hect. Eneas, call my brother Troilus to me: And signify this loving interview To the expecters of our Trojan part; Desire them home.-Give me thy hand, my cousin; I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here. Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by name, But for Achilles, my own searching eyes Shall find him by his large and portly size. Agam. Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one That would be rid of such an enemy; But that's no welcome: Understand more clear, What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with husks, And formless ruin of oblivion; But in this extant moment, faith and troth, Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, Bids thee, with most divine integrity, From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. Hect. I thank thee, most imperious2 Agamemnon. Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. [To Troilus. Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting;- You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. Hect. Whom must we answer? Men. The noble Menelaus. Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks! Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme. Hect. O, pardon; I offend. Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, Nest. Ha! By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow, Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time- Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, When we have here her base and pillar by us. Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well. Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, Since first I saw yourself and Diomed In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue My prophecy is but half his journey yet; For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, Must kiss their own feet. Hect. I must not believe you: There they stand yet; and modestly I think, The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, time, Will one day end it. Ulyss. So to him we leave it. Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome: After the general, I beseech you next To feast with me, and see me at my tent. Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou!- Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, And quoted" joint by joint. Hect. Is this Achilles? Achil. I am Achilles. Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. Achil. Behold thy fill. Hect. Nay, I have done already. Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time, As I could buy thee, view thee limb by limb. Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er; But there's more in me than thou understand'st. Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eve? Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him; whether there, there, or there? That I may give the local wound a name; And make distinct the very breach whereout Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens! Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud man, To answer such a question: Stand again: Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, As to prenominate in nice conjecture, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i'the air, Where thou wilt hit me dead? Not letting it decline on the declin'd;5 That I have said to some my standers-by, Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life! And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen; But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, And once fought with him: he was a soldier good; But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee: And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. ne. 'Tis the old Nestor. Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time :- Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in contention, As they contend with thee in courtesy. Hect. I would they could. 1 Seldom. 2 Imperial. 3 Singular, not common. 4 Fieretofore. 5 Fallen. 6 Laomedon. 7 Observed. Achil. I tell thee, yea. Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.- You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, His insolence draws folly from my lips; But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, Or may I never- Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ;- And you, Achilles, let these threats alone Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't: You may have every day enough of Hector, If you have stomach; 10 the general state, I fear, Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field; We have had pelting" wars, since you refus'd The Grecians' cause. Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; 8 Forename. 9 Stithy is a smith's shop. 10 Inclination. 11 Petty. SCENE I. 631 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. To-night, all friends. Hect. Thy hand upon that match. Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convive' we: afterwards, As Hectors' leisure and your bounties shall Concur together, severally entreat him.- Beat loud the taborines,2 let the trumpets blow, That this great soldier may his welcome know. [Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses. Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus: There Diomed doth feast with him to-night; Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth, But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view On the fair Cressid. Ther. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleive4 silk, thou green sar- eenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies; diminutives of nature! Patr. Out, gall! Ther. Finch-egg! Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. Here is a letter from queen Hecuba; A token from her daughter, my fair love; Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: Fall, Greeks; fail, fame; honour, or go, or stay; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent: This night in banqueting must all be spent. Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so Away, Patroclus. much, After we part from Agamemnon's tent, To bring me thither? Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. As gentle tell me, of what honour was This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there That wails her absence? Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth: But still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE I-The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.- Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. Patr. Here comes Thersites. Enter Thersites. Achil. How now, thou core of envy? Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. Achil. From whence, fragment? Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. Patr. Who keeps the tent now? Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. Patr. Well said, Adversity!" and what need these tricks? Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. Patr. Male varlet, you rogue! what's that? Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rot- ten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, rup- tures, catarrhs, loads o'gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime- kilns i'the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivel- led fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries! Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus ? Ther. Do I curse thee? Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson andistinguishable cur, no. 1 Feast. 2 Small drums. 4 Coarse, unwrought. [Exeunt Achil. and Patr Ther. With too much blood, and too little brair, these two may run mad; but if with too much brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon,-an honest fel- low enough, and one that loves quails; but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; And the goodly transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull,-the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain. hanging at his brother's leg,-to what form, but that he is, should wit larded with malice, and ma lice forced' with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would not care: but to be Menelaus,-I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar,? so I were not Menelaus.-Hey day! spirits and fires! Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diorned, with lights. Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. Ajax. There, where we see the lights. Hect. Ajax. No, not a whit Ulyss. No, yonder 'tis ; I trouble you. Here comes himself to guide you. Enter Achilles. Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, prit - ces all. Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, i bia good night. Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' general. Men. Good night, my lord. Hect. Good night, sweet Mers&rs. Ther. Sweet draught: Sweet, quoth 'a! weck sink, sweet sewer. Achil. Good night, And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry, Agam. Good night. [Exe. Agam. and i.en. Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, Keep Hector company an hour or two. Dio. I cannot, ford; I have important business, The tide whereof is ncw.--Good night, great Hector. Hect. Give me your hand. Ulyss. Follow his torch, he gues 3 Contrariety. 5 Harlots. 6 Menelaus. 7 Stuffed. 8 Polecat. 9 A diseased beggar. 10 Privy. 632 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. To Calchas' tent: I'll keep you company. [Aside to Troilus. Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. Hect. And so good night. [Exit Diomed, Ulyss. and Tro following. Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. [Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, and Nestor. Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most unjust knave I will no more trust him when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the hound; but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun borrows of the moon, when Dio- med keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to dog him: they say, he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll after.-Nothing but lechery! all incontinent varlets! SCENE II.-The same. Before Calchas' tent. Enter Diomedes. Dio. What, are you up here, ho? speak. Cal. [Within.] Who calls? [Exit. Dio. Diomed.-Calchas, I think.-Where's your daughter? Cal. [Within.] She comes to you. Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them Thersites. Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. Enter Cressida. Tro. Cressid come forth to him! Dio. How now, my charge? Cres. Now, my sweet guardian!-Hark! a word with you. Tro. Yea, so familiar. [Whispers. Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff;2 she's noted. Dio. Will you remember? Cres. Dio. Remember? yes. Nay, but do then; And let your mind be coupled with your words. Tro. What should she remember? Ulyss. List! Cres, Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. Ther. Roguery! Dio. Nay, then,- Cres. I'll tell you what: Dio. Pho! pho! come, tell a pin: You are for- sworn.- Cres. In faith, I cannot : What would you have me do? Ther. A juggling trick, to be-secretly open. Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me? Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath; Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. Dio. Good night. Tro. Ulyss. Cres. Hold, patience! How now, Trojan? Diomed, Dio. No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more. Tre. Thy better must. Cres. Hark! one word in your ear. Tro. O plague and madness! Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince; let us depart, I Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous; The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. Tro. Behold, I pray you! Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off You How to great destruction; come, my lord. Tro. I pr'ythee stay. Ulyss. I You have not patience; come. Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell, and all hell' torments, will not speak a word. Dio. Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. Tro. O wither'd truth! Ulyss. I And so, good night. Doth that griev? "ee, Why, how now, lord? Tro. By Jove, will be patient. Guardian!-why, Greek! Cres. Dio. Pho, pho! adieu; you palter.3 Cres. In faith, I do not; come hither once again. Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go? You will break out. Tro. Ulyss. She strokes his cheek! Come, come. Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: There is between my will and all offences, A guard of patience:-stay a little while. Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potatoe finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry! Dio. But will you then? Cres. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else. Dio. Give me sore token for the surety of it. Cres. I'll fetch you one. Ulyss. You have sworn patience. Tro. [Exil Fear me not, my lord; I will not be myself, nor have cognition* Of what I feel; I am all patience. I Re-enter Cressida. Ther. Now the pledge; now, now, now! Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. Tro. O beauty! where's thy faith? Ulyss. My lord,- Tro. I will be patient; outwardly I will. Cres. You look upon that sleeve; Behold it well.- He loved me-O false wench!-Give't me again. Dio. Who was't? Cres. No matter, now I have't again. I will not meet with you to-morrow night: pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. Ther. Now she sharpens ;-Well said, whetstone Dio. I shall have it. Cres. Dio. What, this? Ay, that. Cres. O, all you gods !-O pretty, pretty pledge! Thy master now lies thinking in his bed Of thee, and me; and sighs, and takes my glove, And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, As I kiss thee.-Nay, do not snatch it from me; He, that takes that, must take my heart withal. Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. Tro. I did swear patience. Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed; 'faith you shall not; I'll give you something else. Dio. I will have this; Whose was it? pray you, 1 Portentous, ominous. 2 Key. Cres. 'Tis no matter 3 Shuffle. 4 Knowledge. SCENE III. 633 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, Cres. "Twas one's that loved me better than you If sanctimony be the god's delight, will. But, now you have it, take it. Dio. Whose was it? Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder,' And by herself, I will not tell you whose. Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm; And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, It should be challeng'd. If there be rule in unity itself, This was not she. O madness of discourse, That cause sets up with and against itself! Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt Without perdition, and loss assume all reason Without revolt; this is, and is not, Cressid! Within my soul there doth commence a fight Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Divides more wider than the sky and earth; And yet the spacious breadth of this division Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past ;--And yet Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle it is not; I will not keep my word. Dio. Why then, farewell; Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates; Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven: Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself; Cres. You shall not go:-One cannot speak a The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and word, But it straight starts you. Dio. I do not like this fooling. Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you, pleases me best. Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? Cres. Ay, come :-O Jove! Do come:-I shall be plagu'd. Dio. Farewell till then. Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come.- [Exit Diomedes. Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee; But with my heart the other eye doth see. Ah! poor our sex! this fault in us I find, The error of our eye directs our mind: What error leads, must err; O then conclude, Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. [Exit Cressida. Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish more, Unless she said, My mind is now turn'd whore. Ulyss. All's done, my lord. It is. Tro. Ulyss. Why stay we then? Tro. To make a recordation2 to my soul Of every syllable that here was spoke. But, if I tell how these two did co-act, Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? Sith yet there is a credence4 in my heart, As esperance so obstinately strong, That doth invert the attests of eyes and ears; As if those organs had deceptious functions, Created only to calumniate. Was Cressid here? Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. Tro. She was not, sure. Ulyss. Most sure she was. Tro. Why, my negation' hath no taste of mad- ness. Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but now. Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood! Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage To stubborn critics-apt, without a theme, For depravation,-to square the general sex By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil our mothers? Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. Ther. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes? Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida : If beauty have a soul, this is not she; 3 Since. 1 The stars 2 Remembrance. 4 Belief. 5 Hope. 6 Testimony. 7 Denial. 8 For the sake of. 9 Cynics. loos'd; And with another knot, five-finger-tied, The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Dicmed. Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd With that which here his passion doth express? Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well, In characters as red as Mars his heart Inflam'd with Venus: never did young man fancy 10 With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. Hark, Greek ;-As much as I do Cressid love, So much by weight hate I her Diomed: That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm, Were it a casque¹¹ compos'd by Vulcan's skill, My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout, Which shipmen do the hurricano call, Constring'd12 in mass by the almighty sun, Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear In his descent, than shall my prompted sword Falling on Diomed. Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy.13 Tro. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! Let all untruths stand by thy stain'd name, And they'll seem glorious. Ulyss. O, contain yourself; Your passion draws ears hither. Enter Eneas. Ene. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. Tro. Have with you, prince:-My courteous lord, adieu : Farewell, revolted fair!-and, Diomed, Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head! Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates. Tro. Accept distracted thanks. [Exeunt Troilus, Æneas, and Ulysses. Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I wou'd bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the intelligence of this whore: the parrot will nct de more for an almond, than he for a commodiou. drab. Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing else holds fashion: A burning devil take [Exit. them! SCENE III.-Troy. Before Priam's palace. Enter Hector and Andromache. And. When was my lord so much ungently tem per'd, 1 Love. 12 Compressed. 11 Helmet, 13 Concupiscence. 634 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. To stop his ears against admonishment? Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. Hect. You train me to offend you; get you in: By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. Hect. No more, I say. Cas, Enter Cassandra. Where is my brother Hector? And. Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent: Consort with me in loud and dear petition, Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn. Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, But by my ruin. Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: He is thy crutch; now, if thou lose thy stay, Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, Fall all together. Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back; Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had visions; Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of To tell thee-that this day is ominous: slaughter. Cas. O, it is true. Hect. Ho! bid my trumpet sound! Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother. Hect. Begone, I say: the gods have heard me swear. Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish' vows; They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd Than spotted liver in the sacrifice. And. O! be persuaded: Do not count it holy To hurt by being just: it is as lawful, For we would give much, to use violent thefts, And rob in the behalf of charity. Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; But vows, to every purpose, must not hold : Unarm, sweet Hector. Hect. Hold you still, I say; Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate: Life every man holds dear: but the dear man Holds honour far more precious dears than life.- Enter Troilus. How now, young man? mean'st thou to fight to- day? And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. [Exit Cassandra. Hect. No, faith, young Troilus; doff's thy har- ness, youth, I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry: Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion, than a man. Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me for it. Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, You bid them rise, and live. Hect. O, 'tis fair play. Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. Hect. How now? how now? Tro. For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords; Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. Hect. Fie, savage, fie! Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. Tro. Who should withhold me? Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; 1 Foolish. 2 Valiable. 3 Put off. Therefore, come back. Hect. Eneas is afield; And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Even in the faith of valour, to appear This morning to them. Pri. But thou shalt not go. Hect. I must not break my faith. You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, Let me not shame respect; but give me leave To take that course by your consent and voice, Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. And. Do not, dear father. Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you: Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit Andromache. Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious, girl, Makes all these bodements. Cas. O farewell, dear Hector.. Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale! Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out! How poor Andromache shrills her colours forth! Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement, Like witless antics, one another meet, And all cry-Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector! Tro. Away!-Away! [Ex. Cas. Farewell.-Yet, soft:-Hector, I take my leave; Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim: Go in, and chéer the town: we'll forth, and fight; Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand about thee! [Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, be- lieve, I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side. Pandarus. Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? Tro. What now? Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl. Tro. Let me read. Pan. A whoreson ptisic, a whoreson rascally ptisic so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl; and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o'these days: And I have a rheum in mine eyes too; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on't.-What says she there! Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; [Tearing the lett. The effect doth operate another way.- 4 Rueful, woful. 5 Mercy. SCENE IV, V, VI. 635 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to- Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed, To reinforcement, or we perish all. gether.- Enter Nestor. My love with words and errors still she feeds; But edifies another with her deeds. [Exe. severally. Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles; SCENE IV.-Between Troy and the Grecian And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame.- camp. Alarums: Excursions. Enter Thersites. There is a thousand Hectors in the field: Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- And there lacks work; anon, he's there afoot,- let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doating fool- And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls ish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm: Before the belching whale; then is he yonder, I would fain see them meet; that that same young And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send Fall down before him, like the mower's swath: that Greekish whoremaster villain, with the sleeve, Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- Dexterity so obeying appetite, Enter Ulysses. Ulyss. O courage, courage, princes! great Achilles less errand. O'the other side, The policy of those That what he will, he does; and does so much, crafty swearing rascals,-that stale old mouse-eaten That proof is call'd impossibility. dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulys- ses,-is not proved worth a blackberry:-They set me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance: will not arm to-day: whereupon the Grecians begin Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill Together with his mangled Myrmidons, opinion. Soft! here come sleeve, and t'other. That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, came to him, Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, Tro. Fly not; for, should'st thou take the river And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, Styx, I would swim after. Dio. Thou dost miscall retire: I do not fly; but advantageous care Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: Have at thee! Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian!-now for thy whore, Trojan !-now the sleeve, now the sleeve! [Exeunt Troilus and Diomedes, fighting. Enter Hector. Hec. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hec- tor's match? Art thou of blood, and honour? Ther. No, no:-I am rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue. [Exit. Hect. I do believe thee;-live. Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I think, they have swallowed one another: I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. [Exit. SCENE V.-The same. Enter Diomedes and a Servant. Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid: Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, And am her knight by proof. Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Servant. Enter Agamemnon. Agam. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon Hath Doreus prisoner; And stands colussus-wise, waving his beam,' Upon the pashed2 corses of the kings Epistrophus and Cedius: Polixenes is slain; Amphimachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt; Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadful Sagittary 2 Bruised, crushed. 4 Kilier. 1 Lance. 3 Shoal of fish. Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day Mad and fantastic execution; Engaging and redeeming of himself, With such a careless force, and forceless care, As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, Bade him win all. Enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus! thou coward Troilus! Dio. Nest. So, so, we draw together. Enter Achilles. Exrt. Ay, there, there. Achil. Where is this Hector? Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Another part of the field. Enter Ajax. Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head! Enter Diomedes. Dio. Troilus, I say! where's Troilus! Ajax. What would'st thou ? Dio. I would correct him. Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my office, Ere that correction:-Troilus, I say! what, Troilus! Enter Troilus. Tro. O traitor Diomed!-turn thy false face, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse! Dio. Ha! art thou there? Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed. Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon." Tro. Come both, you cogging Greeks; have at you both. [Exeunt, fighing. Enter Hector. Hec. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother. 5 Not be a looker-on. 6 Lying. 636 ACT V. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Enter Achilles. Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. Achil. Now do I see thee: Ha!-Have at thee, Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set Hector. Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. Be happy, that my arms are out of use: My rest and negligence befriend thee now, But thou anon shalt hear of me again; Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. Hect. Fare thee well:- I would have been much more a fresher man, Had I expected thee.-How now, my brother? Re-enter Troilus. Tro. Ajax hath ta'en Æneas; Shall it be? No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, He shall not carry¹ him; I'll be taken too, Or bring him off:-Fate, hear me what I say! I reck2 not though I end my life to-day. Enter one in sumptuous armour. [Exit. Hect. Stand, stand, thcu Greek: thou art a goodly mark:- No? wilt thou not?-I like thy armour well; I'll frush it, and unlock the rivets all, But I'll be master of it:-Wilt thou not, beast, abide? Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-The same. Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; Mark what I say.-Attend me where I wheel: Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; And when I have the bloody Hector found, Empale him with your weapons round about; In fellest manner execute your arms. Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye; It is decreed-Hector the great must die. SCENE VIII.-The same. Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting: then Thersites. [Exe. How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: Even with the veil and dark'ning of the sun, To close the day up, Hector's life is done. Hect. I am unarm'd: forego this vantage, Greek. Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I [Hector falls. So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down; Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.- On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain, Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. seek. [A retreat sounded Hark! a retreat upon our Grecian part. Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth, And, sticklers like, the armies separate. My half-supp'd sword, that frankly' would have fed, Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. [Sheaths his sword. Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail. SCENE X.-The same. Enter Agamemnon Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomedes, and others, marching. Shouts within. [Exeunt. Agam. Hark! hark! what shout is that? Nest. [Within.] Peace, drums Achilles! Dio. The bruits is-Hector's slain, and by Achilles. Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles ! Great Hector was as good a man as he. Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; Agam. March patiently along:-Let one be sent To pray Achilles see us at our tent.- If in his death the gods have us befriended, Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. [Exeunt, marching. SCENE XI.-Another part of the field. Enter Eneas and Trojans. Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are Ene. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field: at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! Never go home; here starve we out the night. now my double-henned sparrow! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! Enter Troilus. The bull has the game :-'ware horns, ho! [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. Enter Margarelon. Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. Ther. What art thou? Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. Ther. I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, and wherefore Tro. Hector is slain. All. Hector?-the gods forbid Tro. He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail, In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.- Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy! Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, And linger not our sure destructions on! I Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the host should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so: omin us to us: if the son of a whore fight for a I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death; whore, he tempts judgment: Farewell, bastard. But dare all imminence, that gods and men Mar. The devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt. Address their dangers in. Hector is gone! SENE IX.-Another part of the field. Hector. Enter Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? Go in to Troy, and say there-Hector's dead: There is a word will Priam turn to stone; Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, Scare Troy out of itself. But march, away: Hector is dead; there is no more to say. Stay yet;-You vile abominable tents, Thus proudly pight10 upon our Phrygian plains, Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without, Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath: Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death! [Puts off his helmet, and hangs his shield behind him. 1 Prevail over. 2 Care. 3 Burst. 4 Employ. 5 Take not this advantage. 6 An arbitrator at athletic games. 7 Fattening. 9 Ever. 8 Noise, rumour. 10 Pitched, fixed. SCENE XI. 637 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. Let Titan rise as early as he dare, I'll through and through you!-And thou, siz'd coward! As many as be here of panders' hall, great-Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall: Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, Some two months hence my will shall here be made. It should be now, but that my fear is this,- Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss: Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases ; And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts. Strike a free march to Troy!-with comfort go: Hope of revenge shall hide our inward wo. [Exeunt Eneas and Trojans. As Troilus is going out, enter from the other side, Pandarus. Pan. But hear you, hear you! Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy' and shame Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name! [Exit Troilus. [Exit. This play is more correctly written than most of Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones!-Shakspeare's compositions, but it is not one of those O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent in which either the extent of his views or elevation despised! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are of his fancy is fully displayed. As the story abound- you set a' work, and how ill requited! Why should ed with materials, he has exerted little invention; our endeavour be so loved, and the performance so but he has diversified his characters with great loathed? what verse for it? what instance for it?-variety, and preserved them with great exactness. Let me see:- Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting: And being once subdued in armed tail, Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.- Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths.3 1 Ignominy. 2 Ever. His vicious characters disgust, but cannot corrupt, for both Cressida and Pandarus are detested and contemned. The comic characters seem to have been the favourites of the writer: they are of the superficial kind, and exhibit more of manners, than nature; but they are copiously filled, and power- fully impressed. Shakspeare has in his story fol- lowed, for the greater part, the old book of Caxton, which was then very popular; but the character of Thersites, of which it makes no mention, is a proof Ilished his version of Homer. 3 Canvass hangings for rooms, painted with that this play was written after Chapman had pub- emblems and mottoes. JOHNSON. TIMON OF ATHENS. Timon, a noble Athenian. Lucius, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Lacullus, lords, and flatterers of Timon. Sempronius, Ventidius, one of Timon's false friends. Apemantus, a churlish philosopher. Alcibiades, an Athenian general. Flavius, steward to Timon. Flaminius, Timon's servants. Luculius, Servilius, Caphis, Philotus, Titus, servants to Timon's creditors. Lucius, Hortensius, Two servants of Varro, and the servant of Isade two of Timon's creditors. Cupid, and Maskers. Three Strangers. Poet. Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. An old Athenian. A Page. A Fool. Phrynia, Timandra, } mistresses to Alcibiades. Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Thieves and Attendants. Scene, Athens; and the Woods adjoining ACT I. SCENE I-Athens. A hall in Timons's house. Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller Merchant, and others, at several doors. Good day, sir. OD Pain. Poet. I am glad you are well. Poet. I have not seen you long; How goes the world? Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. Poet. Ay, that's well known: But what particular rarity? what strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. Pain. I know them both; 'tother's a jeweller. Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord! Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd,' as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness: He passes. Jew. Mer. O, pray let's see't: For the lord Timon,sir? Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for that-- Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, I have a jewel here. It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good. Mer. "Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel. Tew. And rich: here is a water, look you. Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some ded- ication To the great lord. Poet. I Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourished: The fire i'the flint Show not. till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself, and, like the current. flies Each bound it chafes. What have you there? Pain. A picture. sir.--And when comes your book forth? Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let's see your piece. Pain. "Tis a good piece. Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellen:. Pain. Indifferent. Poet. Admirable: How this grace Speaks his own standing! what a mental power This eye shoots forth! how big imagination Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture One might interpret. Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. Here is a touch; Is't good? Poct. I'll say of it, It tutors nature: artificial strife Lives in these touches, livelier than life. Enter certain Senators, and pass over. Pain. How this lord's follow'd! Poet. The senators of Athens :--Happy men' Pain. Look, more. Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man, Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug With amplest entertainment: My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice Infests one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 4 As soon as my book has been presented to A thing slipp'd idly from me. Timon. 1 Inured by constant practice. 2 For continual. 8 5 i. e. The contest of art with nature. 6 My design does not stop at any particula e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. character. SCENE 1. 639 TIMON OF ATHENS Leaving no track behind. Pain. How shall I understand you? Poet. 1 Tim. Commend me to him. I will send his ran- som; I'll unbolt' to you. And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me: 'Tis not enongh to help the feeble up, But to support nim after.-Fare you well. Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour! [Ex. Enter an old Athenian. You see how all conditions, how all minds (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as Of grave and austere quality,) tender down Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune, Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, Subdues and properties to his love and tendance All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flat- terer, 2 To Apemantus, that few things loves better Than to abhor himself: even he drops down The knee before him, and returns in peace Most rich in Timon's nod. Pain. I saw them speak together. Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the mount Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, That labour on the bosom of this sphere To propagate their states:3 amongst them all, Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd, One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; Whose present grace to present slaves and servants Translates his rivals. Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, With one man beckon'd from the rest below, Bowing his head against the steepy mount To climb his happiness, would be well express'd In our condition. Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: All those which were his fellows but of late (Some better than his value,) on the moment Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, Rain sacrificial whisperings4 in his ear, Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him Drinks the free air. Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? Poet. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, Spurns down her late-belov'd, all his dependants, Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top, Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, Not one accompanying his declining foot. Pain. 'Tis common: A thousand moral paintings I can show That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well To show lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen The foot above the head. Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the Servant of Ventidius talking with him. Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you? Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt; His means most short, his creditors most strait: Your honourable letter he desires To those have shut him up; which failing to him, Periods his comfort. Tim. Noble Ventidius! Well; I am not of that feather, to shake off My friend when he must need me. I do know him A gentleman, that well deserves a help, Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 1 Open, explain. 2 One who shows by reflection the looks of his Patron Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. Tim. Freely, good father. Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. Tim. I have so: what of him? Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. Tim. Attends he here, or no?-Lucilius! Enter Lucilius. Luc. Here, at your lordship's service. Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my house. I am a man That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift: And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd, Than one which holds a trencher. Tim. Well; what further? Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else, On whom I may confer what I have got: The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride, And I have bred her at my dearest cost, In qualities of the best. This man of thine Attempts her love: I pr'ythee, noble lord, Join with me to forbid him her resort; Myself have spoke in vain. Tim. The man is honest. Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: His honesty rewards him in itself, It must not bear my daughter. Tim. Does she love him? Old Ath. She is young, and apt: Our own precedent passions do instruct us What levity's in youth. Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?. Luc. Ay, my good ford, and she accepts of it. Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, I call the gods to witness, I will choose Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, And dispossess her all. Tim. How shall she be endow'd, If she be mated with an equal husband? Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in fu- ture, all. Tim. This gentlenian of mine hath served me long; To build his fortune, I will strain a little, For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter. What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, And make him weigh with her. Old Ath. Most noble lord, Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on ry promise. Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may That state of fortune fall into my keeping, Which is not ow'd to you! [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship! Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon Go not away.-What have you there, my friend? 3 To advance their conditions of life. 4 Whisperings of officious servility. 5 Inhale. 6 i. e. Inferior spectators. 640 ACT I.. TIMON OF ATHENS. Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech Your lordship to accept. Tim. Painting is welcome. The painting is almost the natural man; For since dishonour traffics with man's nature, He is but outside: These pencil'd figures are Even such as they give out.' I like your work; And you shall find, I like it: wait attendance Till you hear further from me. Pain. The gods preserve you! Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Give me your hand; We must needs dine together.-Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. Jew. What, my lord? dispraise? Tim. A mere satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew2 me quite. Jew. As those, which sell, would give: But you well know, My lord, 'tis rated Things of like value, differing in the owners, Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by wearing it. Tim. Well mock'd. Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid. Enter Apemantus. Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. Mer. He'll spare none. Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. Apem. Are they not Athenians? Tim. Yes. Apem. Then I repent not. Jew. You know me, Apemantus. Apem. Thou knowest, I do; I call'd thee by thy name. Tim. Thou art proud Apemantus. Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon. Tim. Whither art going? Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. 7m. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? Apem. The best, for the innocence. Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? Apem. He wrought better, that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. You are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation; What's she, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me. Apemantus ? Apem. No; I eat not 1ords. Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. Apem. O, they eat lords; so they come by great ellies. Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy labour. 1 Pictures have no hypocrisy; they are what they profess to be. 2 To unclew a man, is to draw out the whole mass of his fortunes. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth? Apem. Not worth my thinking.-How now, poet? Poet. How now, philosopher? Apem. Thou liest. Poet. Art not one? Apem. Yes. Poet. Then I lie not. Apem. Art not a poet? Poet. Yes. Apem, Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so. Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: He, that loves to be flattered, is worthy o'the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart. Tim. What, thyself? Apem. Ay. Tim. Wherefore? Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a merchant? Mer. Ay, Apemantus. Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee! Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. Tim. What trumpet's that? Serv. us.- 'Tis Alcibiades, and Some twenty horse, all of companionship. Tim. Pray, entertain them; give them guide to [Exeunt some attendants You must needs dine with me :-Go not you hence Till I have thank'd you; and, when dinner's done, Show me this piece.-I am joyful of your sights.- Enter Alcibiades, with his company. Most welcome, sir! [They salute. Apem. So, so; there!-- Aches contract and starve your supple joints!- That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet knaves, And all this court'sy! The strain of man's bred out Into baboon and monkey." Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed Most hungrily on your sight. Tim. Right welcome, sir: Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. [Exeunt all but Apemantus. Enter two Lords. 1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus? Apem. Time to be honest. 1 Lord. That time serves still. Apem. The more accursed thou, that still omit'st it. 2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast. Apem. Ay; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat fools. 2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 3 Alluding to the proverb: Plain dealing is a jewel, but they who use it beggars. 4 Man is degenerated; his strain or lineage is worn down into a monkey. SCENE II. 641 TIMON OF ATHENS. 2 Lord. Why, Apemantus? Go, let him have a table by himself, Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I For he does neither affect company, mean to give thee none. 1 Lord. Hang thyself. Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests to thy friend. 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heels of the ass. [Exit. 1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in. And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes The very heart of kindness. 2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, s but his steward: no meed,' but he repays Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, But breeds the giver a return exceeding All use of quittance.2 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, That ever govern'd man. 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes! we in? Shall I Nor is he fit for it, indeed. Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, Timon; came to observe; I give thee warning on't. Tim. I take no heed of thee; thou art an Athe- nian; therefore welcome: I myself would have no power: pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'twould choke me, for I should Ne'er flatter thee.-O you gods! what a number Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not! It grieves me, to see so many dip their meat In one man's blood; and all the madness is, He cheers them up too.4 I wonder, men dare trust themselves with men: Methinks they should invite them without knives; Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. There's much example for't; the fellow, that Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges The breath of him in a divided draught, Is the readiest man to kill him: it has been prov'd. If I [Exeunt. Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals; Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous Great men should drink with harness on their 1 Lord. I'll keep you company. SCENE II.-The same. A room of state in Timon's house. Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet served in; Flavius and others attending; then enter Timon, Alcibiades, Lu- cius, Lucullus, Sempronius, and other Athenian Senators, with Ventidius, and attendants. Then comes, dropping after all, Apemantus, discon- entedly. en. Most honour'd Timon, 't hath pleas'd the gods remember My father's age, and call him to long peace. He's gone happy, and has left me rich: The 9 as in grateful virtue I am bound To your free heart, I do return those talents, Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help I de 'd liberty. irm. O, by no means, Honest Ventidius: you mistake my love; 1 gave it freely ever; and there's none Can truly say he gives, if he receives. If our betters play at that game, we must not dare To imitate them; Faults that are rich, are fair. Ven. A noble spirit. Tim. [They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timon. Nay, my lords, ceremony Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss On faint deeds, hollow welcomes, Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; But where there is true friendship, there needs none. Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes, Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it. Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it? hang'd it, have you not? Tim. O, Apemantus !-you are welcome. Apem. You shall not make me welcome: I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. Tim. Fie, thou art a churl; you have got a mour there Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame: They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est,3 But yond' man's ever angry. 1 Meed here means desert. notes: throats. Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health go round. 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. Flow this way! Apem. A brave fellow!-he keeps his tides well. Timon, Those healths will make thee, and thy state look ill. Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner, Honest water, which ne'er left man i'the mire: This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds, Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. APEMANTUS'S GRACE. Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man, but myself; Grant I may never prove so fond," To trust man on his oath or bond; Or a harlot, for her weeping; Or a dog, that seems a sleeping; Or a keeper with my freedom; Or my friends, if I should need 'em. Amen. So fall to't. Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks. Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of friends. Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there's no meat like them; I could wish my best friend at No, such a feast. Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine ene- mies then; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and bid hu-me to 'em. 1 Lora. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 4 The allusion is to a pack of hounds trained to pursuit, by being gratified with the blood of an animal which they kill: and the wonder is, that the 2 i. e. All the customary returns made in dis- animal, on which they are feeding, cheers them to charge of obligations. 3 Anger is a short inadness. the chase. 5 Armour. 6 With sincerity. 7 Foolish. 642 ACT I. TIMON OF ATHENS. we might express some part of our zeals, we should | Not one spurn to thei graves of their friends' gift think ourselves for ever perfect.' I should fear, those that dance before me now Would one day stamp upon me: It has been done; Men shut their doors against a setting sun. The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Timon; and, to show their loves, each singles out an Amazon, and all dance, men with women; a lofty strain or two to the hautboys, and cease. Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall have much help from you: How had you been my friends else? why have you that charitable2 title from thousands, did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if we should never have need of them? they were the most needless creatures living, should we Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, ne'er have use for them: and would most resemble Which was not half so beautiful and kind; sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their You have added worth unto't, and lively lustre, sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished And entertain'd me with mine own device; myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you.-I am to thank you for it. We are born to do benefits: and what better or properer can we call our own, than the riches of our friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, commanding one another's fortunes! O joy, e'en make away ere it can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out water, methinks: to for- get their faults, I drink to you. Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. Apem. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe bastard. a 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. Apem. Much !3 [Tucket sounded. Tim. What means that trump ?-How now? Enter a Servant. Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain la- dies most desirous of admittance. Tim. Ladies? what are their wills? Serv.. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office, to signify their plea- sures. Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. Enter Cupid. Cupid Hail to thee, worthy Timon;-and to all That of his bounties taste!-The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: The ear, Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. Tim. They are welcome all; let them have kind admittance: Music, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are belov'd. Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a masque of Ladies as Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing. Apem. Hey-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance! they are mad women. Like madness is the glory of this life, As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root. We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, Upon whose age we void it up again, With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's not Depraved, or depraves? who dies, that bears 1 i. e. Arrived at the perfection of happiness. 2 Endearing. 1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best. Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would not hold taking, I doubt me. Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet Attends you: Please you to dispose yourselves. All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. [Exeunt Cupid, and Ladies. Tim. Flavius, Flav. My lord. Tim. The little casket bring me hither. There is no crossing him in his humour; Flav. Yes, my lord.-More jewels yet! Aside. Else I should tell him,-Well,-I'faith, I should, When all's spent, he'd be cross'd' then, an he could. 'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind; That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind." [Exit, and returns with the casket 1 Lord. Where be our men? Serv. 2 Lord. Our horses. Tim. Here, my lord, in readiness. O my friends, I have one word To say to you:-Look you, my good lord, I must Entreat you, honour me so much, as to Advance this jewel; Accept, and wear it, kind my lord. 1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts,- All. So are we all. Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate Newly alighted, and come to visit you. Tim. They are fairly welcome. Flav. I beseech your honour Vouchsafe me a word; it does concern you near. Tim. Near? why then another time. I'll hear thee: I pr'ythee, let us be provided To show them entertainment. Flav. I scarce know how. [Aside. Enter another Servant. 2 Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius, Out of his free love, hath presented to you Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. Tim. I shall accept them fairly: let the presents Enter a third Servant. Be worthily entertain'd.-How now, what news? 3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company to-morrow to hunt with him; and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds. 4 Shakspeare plays on the word crossed: allu 8 Much, was formerly an expression of con- ding to the piece of silver money called a cross emptuous admiration. 5 For his nobleness of soul. SCENE II. 643 TIMON OF ATHENS. Tim. I'll hunt with him; And let them be re- ceiv'd, Not without fair reward. Flav. [Aside.] What will this come to? He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, And all out of an empty coffer.- Nor will he know his purse; or yield me this, To show him what a beggar his heart is, Being of no power to make his wishes good; His promises fly so beyond his state, That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes For every word; he is so kind, that he now Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. Well, 'would I were gently put out of office, Before I were forc'd out! Happier is he that has no friend to feed, Than such as do even enemies exceed. I bleed inwardly for my lord. Tim. [Exit. You do yourselves Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: Here, my lord, a trifle of our love." 2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will receive it. 3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty! Tim. An you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn, not to give regard to you. Farewell; and come with better music. Apem. Nay [Exit. So;- Thou'lt not hear me now,-thou shalt not then, I'll lock Thy heaven from thee. O. that men'ears could be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery. ACT II. [Exit. SCENE I-The same A room in a Senator's house. Enter a Senator, with papers in his hand. Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro; and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum, Which makes it five and twenty.-Still in motion Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold: Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more Good words the other day of a bay courser I rode on: it is yours, because you lik'd it. 3 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that. Tim. You may take my word, my lord; I know, no man Can justly praise, but what he does affect: I weigh my friend's affection with mine own; I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. All Lords. None so welcome. Tim. I take all and your several visitationa So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; Methinks, I could deal' kingdoms to my friends, And ne'er be weary.-Alcibiades, Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich, It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living Is 'mongst the dead; and all the lands thou hast Lie in a pitch'd field. Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord. 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, Tim. Am I to you. 2 Lord. And so So infinitely endear'd,- Tim. All to you.2-Lights, more lights. 1 Lord. The Jest of happiness, Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon! Tim. Ready for his friends. [Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, &c. Apem. What a coil's here! Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums! I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, I'd be good to thee. No, I'll nothing: for, Apem. If I should be brib'd too, there would be none left To rail upon thee; and then thou would'st sin the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: What need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories? 1 i. e. Could dispense them on every side with an ungrudging distribution, like that with which I could deal out cards. 2 i. e. All happiness to you. 3 Offering salutations. Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, And able horses: No porter at his gate; But rather one that smiles, and still invites All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho Caphis, I say! Caph. Enter Caphis. Here, sir; What is your pleasure? Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord Timon; Impórtune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd With slight denial; nor then silenc'd, when- Commend me to your master-and the cap Plays in the right hand, thus:--but, tell him, sirrah, My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn Out of mine own; his days and times are past, And my reliances on his fracted dates Have smit my credit: I love, and honour him; But must not break my back, to heal his finger: Immediate are my needs; and my relief Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, But find supply immediate. Get you gone: Put on a most importunate aspect, A visage of demand; for, I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. Caph. I go, sir. And have the dates in compt. Sen. I go, sir?-Take the bonds along with you, Caph. Sen. I will sir. Go. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter Flav'us, with many bills in his hand. Flav. No care, no stop. so senseless of expens, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot: Takes no account How things go from him; nor resumes no ca.e Of what is to continue; Never mind 4 i. e. Be ruined by his securities entered ntc. 5 By his heaven he means good adv.ce; the only thing by which he could be saved. 6 Stop, 4. 644 TIMON OF ATHENS. Аст II. Apm. No; 'tis to thyselt,-Come away. Was to be so unwise, to be so kind What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel: I must be round with him now he comes from hunt- ing. Fie, fie, fie, fie! [To the Fool. Isia. Serv. [To Var. Serv.]There's the fool hangs en your back already. Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore and him yet. Caph. Varro. Good even,' Varro: What, You come for money? Var. Serv. Is't not your business too? Caph. It is ;-And yours too, Isidore? Isid. Serv. Caph. 'Would we were all discharg'd! Var. Serv. Caph. Here comes the lord. It is so. I fear it. Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, &c. Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again, My Alcibiades.-With me? What's your will? Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. Tim. Dues? Whence are you? Caph. Tim. Go to my steward. Of Athens here, my lord. Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off To the succession of new days this month: My master is awak'd by great occasion, To call upon his own; and humbly prays you, That with your other noble parts you'll suit, In giving him his right. Tim. Mine honest friend, I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. Caph. Nay, good my lord. Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. Caph. Where's the fool now? Apem. He last asked the question.-Poor rogues, and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want. All Serv. What are we, Apemantus? Apem. Asses. All Serv. Why? Apem. That thou ask me what you are, and to not know yourselves.-Speak to 'em, fool. Fool. How do you, gentlemen? All Serv. Gramercies, good fool: How does your mistress? Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. 'Would, we could see you at Corinth. Apem. Good! gramercy. Enter Page. Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page. [To the Fool.] Why, how now. captain? what do you in this wise company?-How dost thou, Apemantus? Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably. Page. Pr'ythee. Apemantus, read me the super- scription of these letters; I know not which is which. Apem. Canst not read? Page. No. Apem. There will little learning die then, that Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord,-day thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon; this From Isidore; to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and Isid. Serv. He humbly prays your speedy payment,- Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's wants,- Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks, And past,- Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord; And I am sent expressly to your lordship. Tim. Give me breath I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; [Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords. I'll wait upon you instantly.-Come hither, pray you [To Flavius. How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, And the detention of long-since-due debts, Against my honour? Flav. Please you, gentlemen, The time is unagreeable to this business: Your importunacy cease, till after dinner; That I may make his lordship understand Wherefore you are not paid.") Tim. See them well entertain'd. Flav. Do so, my friends: [Exit Timon. I pray, draw near. [Exit Flavius. Enter Apemantus and a Fool. Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with mantus; let's have some sport with 'em. Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog! Var. Serv. How dost, fool? Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. thou'lt die a bawd. Page. Thou wast whelped a dog; and thou shalt famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. [Exit Page. Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I will go with you to lord Timon's. Fool. Will you leave me there? Apem. If Timon stay at home.-You three serve three usurers. All Serv. Ay; 'would they served us! Apem. So would I,-as good a trick as ever hang man served thief. Fool. Are you three usurers' men? All Serv. Ay, fool. Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser- vant: My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- tress' house merrily, and go away sadly: The rea- son of this? Var. Serv. I could render one. Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster, and a knave which notwithstanding thou shalt be no less esteemed. Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. "Tis a spirit: sometime, it appears like a lord; sometime, like a lawyer; sometime, like a philoso- Ape-pher, with two stones more than his artificity in al He is very often like a knight; and, generally in all shapes, that man goes up and down in, from four- score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much 2 i. e. To hunting; in our author's time it was 1 Good even was the usual salutation from the custom to hunt as well after dinner as before. noon. SCENE: II. 645 TIMON OF ATHENS. foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. Apem. That answer might have become Ape- mantus. All Serv. Aside, aside; here comes lord Timon. Re-enter Timon and Flavius. Apem Come with me, fool, come. Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime, the philosopher. [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. Flav. 'Pray you, walk near; I'll speak with you [Exeunt Serv. anon. this time, What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter-showers, These flies are couch'd. Tim. Come, sermon me no further: No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Unwiscly, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, Tim. You make me marvel: Wherefore, ere To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; If I would broach the vessels of my love, And try the arguments of hearts by borrowing, Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, As I can bid thee speak. Had you not fully laid my state before me; that I might so have rated my expense, As I had leave of means? Flav. You would not hear me, Go to: At many leisures I propos'd. Tim. Perchance, some single vantages you took, When my indisposition put you back; And that unaptness made your minister, Thus to excuse yourself. Flav. O, my good lord! at many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you? you would throw them off, And say, you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much,' I have shook my head, and wept; Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close: I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight checks; when I have Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lord, Though you hear now (too late!) yet now's a time, The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. Tim. Let all my land be sold. Flav. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace: What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? Tim. To Lacedæmon did my land extend. Flav. O, my good lord, the world is but a word;2 Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone? Tim. You tell me true. Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts! Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings; for by these Shall I try friends: You shall perceive, how you Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. Within there, ho!-Flaminius! Servilius! Enter Flaminius, Servilius, and other Servants. Serv. My lord, my lord.- Tim. I will despatch you severally.-You, to lord Lucius,- Honour to-day;-You to Sempronius; To lord Lucullus you; I hunted with his Commend me to their loves; and, I am proud, say, That my occasions have found time to use them Toward a supply of money: let the request Be fifty talents. Flam. As you have said, my lord. Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus? humph! [Aside. Tim. Go you,sir, [to another Serv.]to the senators (Of whom, even to the state's best health. I have Deserv'd this hearing.) bid 'em send o'the instant A thousand talents to me. Flav. I have been bold, (For that I knew it the most general way.) To them to use your signet, and your name; But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. Tim. Is't true? can it be? Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood, Call me before the exactest auditors, And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine; when every room Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with min-Something hath been amiss--a noble nature That now they are at fall," want treasure, cannot Do what they would; are sorry-you are honour- able,- strelsy; I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow. Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. Flav Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord: How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? 1 He does not mean, so great a sum, but a cer- tain sum. 2 i. e. As the world itself may be comprised in a word, you might give it away in a breath. 3 The apartments allotted to culinary offices, &c. 4 A pipe with a turning stopple running to waste. But yet they could have wish'd-they know not— but May catch a wrench-would all were well--'tis pity- And so, intendings other serious matters, After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps, 10 and cold-moving nods, They froze me into silence. Tim. You gods! reward them!-- 5 If I would (says Timon) by borrowing, try have in them, &c. of what men's hearts are composed, what they 6 Dignified, made respectable. 7 i. e. At an ebb. 8 Intending, had anciently the same meaning as attending. 10 A half-cap is a cap slightly moved, not put off. 9 Broken hints, abrupt remarks. 646 ACT III. TIMON OF ATHENS. Lucul, Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly; These old fellows Have their ingratitude in them hereditary: Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; "Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind; And nature, as it grows again toward earth, Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy.-- Go to Ventidius.--[To a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee [ To Flavin be not sad, Thou art true, and honest; ingeniously I speak, No blame belongs to thee:--[To Serv.] Ventidius lately Buried his father; by whose death, he's stepp'd Into a great estate: when he was poor, Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 1 clear'd him with five talents; Greet him from me; Bid him suppose, some good necessity Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd With those five talents:--that had,-[To Flav.] give it these fellows, To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. Flav. I would I could not think it; That thought is bounty's foe; Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I-The same. A room in Lucullus's house. Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. Lucul. I have observed thee always for a to- wardly prompt spirit,--give thee thy due,-and one that knows what belongs to reason and canst use thee.-Get you gone, sirrah.-[To the Servant, the time well, if the time use thee well; good parts Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art who goes out.-Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. wise; and thou knowest well enough, although thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend money; especially upon bare friendship, without security. Here's three solidares for thee; good boy, wink a me, and say, thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much differ; And we alive, that liv'd?' Fly, damned baseness, To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money away. Lucul. Ha! Now I see, thou art a fool, and fit for thy master. [Exit Lucullus. Flam. May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let molten coin be thy damnation, Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, It turns in less than two nights? O you gods. I feel my master's passion! This slave Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment, When he is turn'd to poison? O, may diseases only work upon't! Serv. I have told my lord of you, he is coming And when he is sick to death, let not that part of down to you. Flam. I thank you, sir. Enter Lucullus. Serv. Here's my lord. nature Which my lord paid for, be of any power To expel sickness, but prolong his hour!" [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. A public place. En- ter Lucius, with three Strangers. Lucul. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men? a gift, I warrant. Why this hits right; I dreamt of a silver bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest. Luc. Who, the lord Timon? he is my very good Flaminius; you are very respectively welcome, friend, and an honourable gentleman. sir.-Fill me some wine.-[Exit Servant.] And 1 Stran. We knows him for no less, though we how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord thing, my lord, and which I hear from common ru mours; now ford Timon's happy hours are done³ and past, and his estate shrinks from him. and master? Flam. His health is well, sir. Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir; And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty Flaminius? Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir: which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord- ship to furnish him; nothing doubting your present assistance therein. for money. Luc. Fie, no, do not believe it; he cannot want 2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lucul lus, to borrow so many talents; nay, urged ex- tremely for't, and showed what necessity belonged to't, and yet was denied. Luc. How? 2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. Lucul. La, la, la, la,-nothing doubting, says he? Luc. What a strange case was that? now, be- alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would fore the gods, I am asham'd on't. Denied th not keep so good a house. Many a time and often honourable man? there was very little honou I have dined with him, and told him on't; and showed in't. For my own part, I must needs con- come again to supper to him, of purpose to have fess, I have received some small kindnesses from him spend less: and yet he would embrace no coun- him, as money, plate, jewels, and such like trifles, sel, take no warning by my coming. Every man nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him, has his fault and honesty is his: I have told him and sent to me, I should' ne'er have denied his oc- on't, but I could never get him from it. casion so many talents. Re-enter Servant, with wine. Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 1 For ingenuously. 2 Liberal, not parsimonious. 3 For respectfully. 4 Honesty here means liberality. 5 i. e. And we who were alive then, alive now. Enter Servilius. Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have 6 Suffering; By his bloody cross and passion Liturgy. 7 i. e. His life. 9 Consumed. 8 Acknowledge. SCENE III, IV. 647 TIMON OF ATHENS. sweat to see his honour.-My honoured lord,- [To Lucius. Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well:-Commend me to thy honourable-vir- tuous lord, my very exquisite friend. Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent- Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much en- deared to that lord; he's e er sending: How shall I thank him, thinkest thou? And what has he sent now? Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, my lord; requesting your lordship to supply his in- stant use with so many talents. Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me; He cannot want fifty-five nundred talents. Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. If his occasion were not virtuous, I should not urge it half so faithfully. Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. Men must learn now with pity to dispense: For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt SCENE III-The same. A room in Sempro Enter Sempronius, and a Ser- nius' house. vant of Timon's. Sem. Must he needs trouble me in't? Humph! 'Bove all others? He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus; And now Ventidius is wealthy too, Whom he redeem'd from prison: All these three Owe their estates unto him. Serv. O my lord, They have all been touch'd³ and found base metal, for They have all denied him! Sem. How! have they denied him? Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him? And does he send to me? Three? humph!- It shows but little love or judgment in him. Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physi- cians, Thrive, give him over; Must I take the cure upon me? for't, Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I might have shown myself honourable! how unluckily it hap- pened, that I shou.d purchase the day before for a He has much disgrac'd me in't; I am angry at him. little part, and undo a great deal of honour!-Ser- That might have known my place: I see no sense vilius, low before the gods, I am not able to do't; the more beast, I say:-I was sending to use lord But his occasions might have woo'd me first; Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness; but I For, in my conscience, I was the first man would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done it That e'er receiv'd gift from him: now. Commend me bountifully to his good lord- And does he think so backwardly of me now, ship; and I hope, his honour will conceive the That I'll requíte it last? No: so it may prove fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind: An argument of laughter to the rest, And tell him this from me, I count it one of my And I amongst the lords be thought a fool. greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius, will you He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; befriend me so far as to use mine own words to I had such a courage to do him good. But now him? Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius,- [Exit Servilius. True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed; And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed. Exit Lucius. 1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 1 Stran. Why this Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him His friend, that dips in the same dish? for, in My knowing, Timon hath been this lord's father, And kept his credit with his purse; Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money has paid his men their wages; He ne'er drinks, But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; And yet, (0 see the monstrousness of man When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!) He does deny him, in respect of his, What charitable men afford to beggars. 3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 1 Stran. For mine own part, I never tasted Timon in my life, Nor came any of his bounties over me, To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, And honourable carriage, Had his necessity made use of me, I would have put my wealth into donation,? And the best half should have return'd to him, So much I love his heart: But, I, perceive, 1 'If he did not want it for a good use.' 2 This means, to out his wealth down in ac- count as a donation. return, And with their faint reply this answer join; Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. [Exit. Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly vil- lain. The devil knew not what he did, when he made man politic; he cross'd himself by't: and I cannot think, but, in the end, the villanies of man will set him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul? takes virtuous copies to be wicked; like those that, under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms on fire. Of such a nature is his politic love. This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled, Save the gods only: Now his friends are dead, Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd Now to guard sure their master, And this is all a liberal course allows; Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. 5. [Exit SCENE IV.-The same. A hall in Timon's house. Enter two servants of Varro, and the servant of Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and other servants to Timon's creditors, waiting his coming out. Var. Serv. Well met; good-morrow, Titus and Hortensius. Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. Hor. What, do we meet together? Luc. Serv. Lucius! Ay, and I think, One business does command us all; for mine 3 Tried. 4 Ardour, eager desire. 5 i. e. Keep within doors for fear of duns 648 ACT III. TIMON OF ATHENS. Enter Philotus. Is money. Tit. So is theirs and ours. Luc. Serv. And sir Good day at once. Philotus too! Phi. Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother. What do you think the hour? Phi. Labouring for nine. Is not my lord seen yet? Not yet. Phi. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at Luc. Serv. So much? Phi. Luc. Serv. seven. Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him: You must consider, that a prodigal course Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. I fear, 'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse; That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet Find little. Phi. I am of your fear for that. Tit. I'll show you how to observe a strange event. Your lord sends now for money. Hor. Most true, he does. Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for money. Hor. It is against my heart. Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows, Timon in this should pay more than he owes: And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, And send for money for 'em. 2 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can witness: I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: What's yours? Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sum, Your master's confidence was above mine; Else, surely, his had equall'd. Enter Flaminius. Tit. One of lord Timon's men. Luc. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word: 'Pray, is my lord ready to come forth? Flam. No, indeed, he is not. Tit. We attend his lordship; 'pray, signify so much. Flam. I need not tell him that; he knows, you are te o diligent. Exit Flaminius. Enter Flavius in a cloak, muffled. Luc. Serv. Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. Tit. Do you hear, sir? 1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir,- Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend? Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. Flav. Ay, If money were as certain as your waiting, Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat Of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn Upon his debts, and take down th' interest Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong, 1 i. e. Like him in blaze and splendour. 2 Commission, employment. To stir me up; let me pass quietly: Believ't, my lord and I have made an end; I have no more to reckon, he to spend. Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. Flav. If 'twill not, 'Tis not so base as you; for you serve knaves. [Exit. 1 Var. Serv. How! what does his cashier'd wor- ship mutter? 2 Var. Serv. No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings. Enter Servilius. Tit. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know Some answer. Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, To repair some other hour, 1 should much Derive from it: for, take it on my soul, My lord leans wond'rously to discontent. His comfortable temper has forsook him; He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are not sick: And, if it be so far beyond his health, Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the gods. Ser. Good gods Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. Flam. [Within.] Servilius, help!-my lord! my lord!- Enter Timon, in a rage; Flaminius following. Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage? Have I been ever free, and must my house Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? The place, which I have feasted, does it now, Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. Tit. My lord, here is my bill. Laic. Serv. Here's mine. Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. Phi. All our bills. Tim. Knock me down with 'em :3 cleave me to the girdle. Luc. Serv. Alas! my lord- Tim. Cut my heart in sums. Tit. Mine, fifty talents. Tim. Tell out my blood. Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. Tim. Five thousand drops pays that.- What's yours?-and yours? 1 Var. Serv. My lord, 2 Var. Serv. My lord, Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! [Exit. Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money; these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. [Exeunt. Re-enter Timon and Flavius. Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me the slaves: Creditors!-devils. Flav. My dear lord,- Tim. What, if it should be so? 3 Timon quibbles. They present their written bills; he catches at the word, and alludes to bills battle-axes. SCENE V. 645 TIMON OF ATHENS. Flar. My lord,- Such valour in the bearing, what make we Tim. I'll have it so.--My steward! Flav. Here, my lord. Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius; ali: I'll once more feast the rascals. Flax. O my lord, You only speak from your distracted soul; There is not so much left, to furnish out A moderate table. Tim. Be't not in thy care; go, I charge thee; invite them all: let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-The same. The Senate-House. The senate sitting. Enter Alciabades, attended. i Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die : Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 2 Sen. Most true; the law shall bruise him. Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the senate ! 1 Sen. Now, captain? Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth. To those that, without heed, do plunge into it. He is a man, setting his fate aside," Of comely virtues : Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice; (An honour in him which buys out his fault,) But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, He did oppose his foe: And with such sober and annoted passion2 He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, As if he had but prov'd an argument. 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling Upon the head of valour; which, indeed, Is valour misbegot, and came into the world When sects and factions were newly born: He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe; and make his wrongs His outsides; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill? Alcib. My lord,- 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear; To revenge is no valour, but to bear. Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me, If I speak like a captain.- Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, And not endure all threat'nings? sleep upon it, And let the foes quietly cut their throats, Without repugnancy? but if there be 1. e. Putting this action of his, which was predetermined by fate, out of the question. 2. e. Passion so subdued, that no spectator could note its operation. Manage, govern. 4 You undertake a paradox too hard. 6 What have we to do in the field. Abroad? why then, women are more valiant, That stay at home, if bearing carry it; And th' ass, more captain than the lion; the felon, Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge, If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, As you are great, be pitifully good: Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just." To be in anger, is impiety; But who is man, that is not angry? Weigh but the crime with this. 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. Alcib. In vain? his service done At Lacedæmon, and Byzantium, Were a sufficient briber for his life. 1 Sen. What's that? Alcib. done fair service, Why I say, my lords, h'as And slain in fight many of your enemies: How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds? 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, he Is a sworn rioter: h'as a sin that often Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: If there were no foes, that were enough alone To overcome him: in that beastly fury He has been known to commit outrages, And cherish factions: 'Tis inferr'd to us, His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 1 Sen. He dies. Alcib. Hard fate! he might have died in war. My lords, if not for any parts in him (Though his right arm might purchase his own time, And be in debt to none,) yet, more to move you, Take my deserts to his, and join them both: And, for I know, your reverend ages love Security, I'll pawn my victories, all My honour to you, upon his good returns. If by this crime he owes the law his life, Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies; urge it no more, On height of our displeasure: Friend, or brother, He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords I do beseech you, know me. 2 Sen. How? Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 3 Sen. What? Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me; It could not else be. I should prove so base,8 To sue, and be denied such common grace: My wounds ache at you. 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger? "Tis in few words, but spacious in effect; We banish thee for ever. Alcib. Banish me? Banish your dotage; banish usury, That makes the senate ugly. 1 Sen. If after two days shine, Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell our spirit,9 He shall be executed presently. 6 For aggravation. 7 [Exeunt Sen. Homicide in our own defence, by a merci ful interpretation of the law, is considered justifia- ble.' 8 For dishonoured. 9 i. e. Not to put ourselves in any tumor of rage 650 ACT III. TIMON OF ATHENS. Tim. Think not on't, sir. Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough; that you may live Only in bone, that none may look on you! I am worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, While they have told their money, and let out Their coin upon large interest; I myself, Rich only in large hurts;-All those, for this? Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? ha! banishment? It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up My discontented troops, and lay for hearts,' Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds; Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. [Exit. SCENE VI-A magnificent room in Timon's house. Music. Tables set out: Servants at- tending. Enter divers Lords, at several doors. 1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this hon- ourable lord did but try us this other day. 1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered: I hope, it is not so low with him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 2 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting. 1 Lord. I should think so: He hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me be- yond them, and I must needs appear. 2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before,- Tim. Let it not cumber your better remem brarce.-Come, bring in all together. 2 Lord. All covered dishes! 1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money and the sea- son, can yield it. 1 Lord. How do you? What's the news? 3 Lord. Alcibiades is banished: Hear you fit: 1 & 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished! 3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 1 Lord. How? how? 2 Lord. I pray you, upon what? Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. 2 Lord. This is the old man still. 3 Lord. Will't hold? will't hold? 2 Lord. It does: but time will-and so- 3 Lord. I do conceive. Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest that one need not lend to another: for, were your your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough, godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake 2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty the gods. Make the meat be beloved, more than importunate business, but he would not hear my be without a score of villains: If there sit twelve excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out. women at the table, let a dozen of them be-as they 1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I under-are.-The rest of your fees, O gods,-the sena stand how all things go. tors of Athens, together with he common lag of 2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he people,-what is amiss in them, you gods, make have borrowed of you? 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 2 Lord. A thousand pieces! 1 Lord. What of you? 3 Lord. He sent to me, sir,-Here he comes. Enter Timon, and attendants. Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both :-And now fare you? 1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship. 2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more willing, than we your lordship. Tim. [Aside.] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men.-Gentlemen, our din- ner will not recompense this long stay: feast your ears with the music awhile; if they will fare so harshly on the trumpet's sound: we shall to't pre- sently. 1 Lord. I hope, it remains not unkindly with your lordship, that I returned you an empty mes- senger. Tim. O sir, let it not trouble you. 2 Lord. My noble lord, Tim. Ah, my good friend! what cheer? [The banquet brought in. 2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame, that when your lordship this other day sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. 1 We should now say-to lay out for hearts; i. e. the affections of the people. 2 To tire on a thing meant, to be idly employed on it. suitable for destruction. For these my present friends,-as they are to me nothing, so in rothing bless them, and to nothing they are welcome. Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes uncovered are full of warm water. Some speak. What does his lordship mean? Some ther. I know not. Tim. May you a better feast never behold, You knot of mouth-friends! smoke, and luke've m water Is your perfecan. This is Timon's last; Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces Throwing water in their face Your reeking villany. Live loath'd, and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks 16 Of man, and beast, the infinite malady Crust you quite o'er!-What, dost thou go? Soft, take thy physic first-thou too,-and thou; [Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out. Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.-- What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. Burn, house; sink, Athers! henceforth hated be [Exit. Of Timon, man, and all humanity! 3 i. e. Your good memory. 4 The lowest. 5 Flies of a season. 6 Jacks of the clock; like those at St. Dun Istan's church, in Fleet-street. SCENE III. 651 TIMON OF ATHENS Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. | SCENE II.-Athens. room in Timon's house. 1 Lord. How now, my lords? 2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's fury? 3 Lord. Pish! did you see my cap? 4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but aumour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat:-Did you see my jewel? 4 Lord. Did you see my cap? 2 Lord. Here 'tis. 4 Lord. Here lies my gown. 1 Lord. Let's make no stay. 2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE 1.-Without the walls of Athens. En- ter Timon. Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall, That girdlest in those wolves! Dive in the earth, And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent; Obedience fail in children! slaves, and fools, Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, And minister in their steads! to general filths¹ Convert o'the instant, green virginity! Do't in your parents' eyes! bankrupts, hold fast; Rather than render back, out with your knives, And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants, steal! Large handed robbers your grave masters are, And pill by law! maid, to thy master's bed; Thy mistress is o'the brothrel! son of sixteen, Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire, With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear, Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, Domestic awe, night-rest and neighbourhood, Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Degrees, observances, customs and laws, Decline to your confounding contraries, And yet confusion live!-Plagues, incident to men, Your potent and infectious fevers heap On Athens, ripe for stroke! thou cold sciatica, Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt As lamely as their manners! lust and liberty3 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth; That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains, Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their cróp Be general leprosy! breath infect breath; That their society, as their friendship, may Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, But nakedness, thou détestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying banns !4 Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound (near me, ye good gods all,) The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen. 1 Common sewers. [Exit. 2 i. e. Contrarieties. whose nature it is to waste ur destroy each other. 3 For libertinism. 4 Accumulated curses. Enter Flavius, with two or three Servants. 1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say tc you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, am as poor as you. 1 Serv. I Such a house broke! So noble a master fallen! All gone! and not One friend, to take his fortune by the arm, And go along with him! 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs From our companion, thrown into his grave; So his familiars to his buried fortunes Slink all away; leave their false vows with him, Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self, A dedicated beggar to the air, With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, Walks, like contempt, alone,-More of our fellows, Enter other Servants. Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery That see I by our faces; we are fellows still, Serving alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our bark; And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, Hearing the surges threat: we must all part Into this sea of air. Flav. Good fellows all, The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads, and say As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, We have seen better days. Let each take some; [Giving them money. Not one word more: parting poor. Nay, put out all your hands. Thus part we rich in sorrow, [Exeunt Servants. O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, Since riches point to misery and contempt? Who'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live But in a dream of friendship? To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart; Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood," When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who then dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that make gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord,-bless'd, to be most aceurs'd, Rich, only to be wretched;-thy great fortunes Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord. He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat Of monstrous friends: nor has he with him to Supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow, and inquire him out: I'll serve his mind with my best will; Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit. SCENE III.--The woods. Enter Timon. Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth Rotten humidity: below thy sisters' orb Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,- Whose procreation, residence. and birth, Scarce is dividant,-touch them with several for tunes; 5 Hasty, precipitate. 6 Propensity, disposition. 7 i e. The moon's, this sublunary world. 652 ACT IV. TIMON OF ATHENS. The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature, To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, But by' contempt of nature. Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, The beggar native honour. It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares, n purity of manhood stand upright, And say, This man's a flatterer? if one be, So are they all; for every grize of fortune s smooth'd by that below: the learned pate, Ducks to the golden fool; All is oblique; There's nothing level in our cursed natures, But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: Destruction fang2 mankind!-Earth, yield me roots! [Digging. Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate With thy most operant posion! What is here? Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this, will make black, white; foul, fair; Wrong, right; base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why this Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench: this is it, That makes the wappen'd' widow wed again; She, whom the spital house, and ulcerous sores Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices To the April day again. Come, damned earth, Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Do thy right nature. [March afar off.]-Ha! drum ?-Thou'rt quick, But yet I'll bury thee: Thou'lt go, strong thief, When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: Nay, stay thou out for earnest. a [Keeping some gold. Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike manner; Phrynia and Timandra. Alcib. Speak. What art thou there? Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, For all her cherubin look. Phr. Thy lips rot off! Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns To thine own lips again. Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not, like the moon, There were no suns to borrow of. Alcib. What friendship may I do thee? Tim. Maintain my opinion. Noble Timon, None, but to Alcib. What is it, Timon? Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none: If Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for Thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound thee, For thou'rt a man! Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the world Voic'd so regardfully? Tim. Timan. Art thou Timandra? Yes. Tim. Be a whore still! they love thee not, that use thee; Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves For tubs, and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth To the tub-fast, and the diet. Timan. Hang thee, monster! Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.- I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof doth daily make revolt In my penurious band: I have heard, and griev'd, How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,- Tim. I pr'ythee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost trouble? Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw I had rather be alone. thy heart, For showing me again the eyes of man! Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a man? Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. Alcib. I know thee well; But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. Tim. I know thee too; and more, than that I know thee, I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: 1 But by is here used for without. 2 Seize, gripe. 3 No insincere or inconstant supplicant. vill not serve me instead of roots. 4 Sorrowful. Alcib. Why, fare thee well: Here's some gold for thee. Keep't, I cannot eat it. Tim. Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap,- - Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest; and Why me, Timon? Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! Alcib. Tim. That, By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer My country. Put up thy gold; Go on,-here's gold,-go on; 5 i. e. Gold restores her to all the sweetness Gold and freshness of youth. 6 Alluding to the cure of the lues venerea, ther in practice SCENE III 653 TIMON OF ATHENS. Be as a planetary plague, when Jove Will o'er some high-vi 'd city hang his poison In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard, He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek Make soft thy trenchant' sword; for those milk- paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, Set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard,2 whom the oracle Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans rimorse: Swear against ob- jects;5 Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. The source of all erection.-There's more gold :- Do you damn others, and let this damn you, And ditches grave" you all! Phr. & Timan. More counsel with more money bounteous Timon. Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare- well, Timon: If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more, Alcib. I never did thee harm. Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. Call'st thou that harm! Alcib. Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away, And take thy beagles with thee. Alcib. Strike. We but offend him.- [Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrygia, and Timandra. Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind- ness, Should yet be hungry!-Common mother, thou, [Digging. Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, thou giv'st me, Not all thy counsel. Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! Phr. & Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: Hast thou more? Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable,- Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, The immortal gods that hear you,-spare your oaths, I'll trust to your conditions; Be whores still; And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And be no turn-coats: Yet may your pains, six months, Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs With burdens of the dead;-some that were hang'd. No matter:-wear them, betray with them: whore still; Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: A pox of wrinkles! Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm,9 With all the abhorred births below crisp10 heaven Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root! Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face Hath to the marbled mansion all above Never presented!-0, a root,-Dear thanks! Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, That from it all consideration slips! Enter Apemantus. More man? Plague! plague! Apem. I was directed hither: Men report, Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected; poor unmanly melancholy, sprung Phr. & Timan. Well, more gold;-What then?-A Believ't, that we'll do any thing for gold. Tim. Consumptions sow In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, That he may never more false title plead, Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen, That scolds against the quality of flesh, And not believes himself: down with the nose, Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away Of him, that his particular to foresee, Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald; And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war Derive some pain from you: Plague all; That your activity may defeat and quell 1 Cutting. 2 An allusion to the tale of Edipus. 3 Without pity. 4 i. e. Against objects of charity and compas- sion. 5 Vocations. 6 Subtilties. 7 Entomb. From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place? This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; Hug their diseas'd perfumes,¹¹ and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, By putting on the cunning of a carper. 12 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus; Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that did w come, To knaves, and all approachers: 'Tis most just. That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again 8 Boundless surface. 9 The serpent called the blind worm. 1C Bent. 11 i. e. Their disease. perfumed mistresses. 12 i. e. Shame not these woods by finding fault 654 ACT IV. TIMON OF ATHENS. Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself. A cm. Thou hast cast away tnyseli, being like thyself; A ma iman so long, now a fool: What, think'st That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, WI put thy shirt on warm? Will these mos 'd trees, If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. Apem. Art thou proud esi Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. Арет. No prodigal. Tim. 1, that I was. I, that I am one now; Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee, I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.- And skip when thou point'st out? Will the coid That the whole life of Athens were in this! That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, brook, Car died with ice, caudle thy morning taste, To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? call the creatures,- Whose naked natures live in all the spite If wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks, To the conflicting elements expos'd, Answer mere nature,-bid them flatter thee; O! thou shalt find- Tim. Apem. I love thee better Tim. I hate thee worse. Apem. Tim. A fool of thee: Depart. now than e'er I did. Why? Thou flatter'st misery. Apem. I flatter not; but say, thou art a caitiff. Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? Apem. To vex thee. Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. Dost please thyself in't? Apem. Tim. Ay. What! a knave too? Apem. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on To castigate thy pride, 'twere well: but thou Dost it enforcedly; thou'dst courtier be again, Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before:¹ The one is filling still, never complete; The other, at high wish: Best state, contentless, Hath a distracted and most wretched being, Worse than the worst, content. Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. Tim. Not by his breath,2 that is more miserable. Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath,3 pro- ceeded The sweet degrees that this brief world affords To such as may the passive drugs of it Freely command, thou would'st have plunged thy- self In general riot; melted down thy youth In different beds of lust; and never learn'd The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, Who had the world as my confectionary; The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men At duty, more than I could frame employment; That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare For every storm that blows;-I, to bear this, That never knew but better, is some burden: Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time Hath made thee hard in't. Why should'st thou hate men? They never flatter'd thee: What hast thou given? If thou wilt curse,-thy fatner, that poor rag, Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff To some she beggar, and compounded thee- Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone!- 1 i. e. Arrives sooner at the completion of its wishes. 2 By his voice, sentence. 3 From infancy. Thus would I eat it. Apem. Tim. First mend my [Eating a root. Here; I will mend thy feast. [Offering him something. company, take away thyself. Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of thine. Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd; If not, I would it were. Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens? Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. Apem. Here is no use for gold. Tim. The best, and truest. For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. Apem. Where li'st o'nights, Timon? Tim. Under that's above me. Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus? Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, where I eat it. Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my mind! Apem. Where would'st thou send it? Tim. To sauce thy dishes. Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knew- est, but the extremity of both ends: When thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too much curiosity; in thy rags thou know- est none, but art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee, eat it. Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. Apem. Dost hate a medlar. Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou should'st have loved thyself better now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was be- loved after his means? Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of didst thou ever know beloved. Apem. Myself. Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some means to keep a dog. Apem. What things in the world canst thou near- est compare to thy flatterers? Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What would'st thou do with the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the con fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? Apem. Ay, Timon. Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass: if thou wert the ass, thy dul- ness would torment thee: and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, 4 The cold admonitions of cautious prudence. 5 For too much finical delicacy. SCENE III. 655 TIMON OF ATHENS. Apem. Tim. Long live so, and so die!-I am quit.- Exit Apemantus. Live, and love thy misery and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury: wert thou a bear, thou would'st be killed by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou would'st be seized by the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert More things like men?-Eat, Timon, and abhor them. Enter Thieves. german to the lion, and the spots of thy kin- dred were jurors on thy life: all thy safety were remotion; and thy defence, absence. What beast could'st thou be, that wert not subject to a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that seest not some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re- thy loss in transformation? Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou might'st have hit upon it here: The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city. Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter: The plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to catch it, and give way: When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee again. Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, than Apemantus. Apem. Thou art the cap² of all the fools alive. Tim. 'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. Tim. If I name thee.- I'll beat thee,-but I should infect my hands. Apem. I would, my. tongue could rot them off! Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! Choler does kill me, that thou art alive; I swoon to see thee. Apem. Tim. "Would thou would'st burst! Away, [Throws a stone at him. Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry, I shall lose A stone by thee! Beast! Slave! Apem. Tim. Apem. Toad! Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue! [Apemantus retreats backward, as going. 1 am sick of this false world; and will love nought But even the mere necessities upon it. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, That death in me at others' lives may laugh. ()thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce [Looking on the gold. 'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, That solder'st close impossibilities, And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, To every purpose! O thou touch of heart! Think, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire! Apem. 'Would 'twere so:- But not till I am dead!-I'll say, thou hast gold: Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. Tim. Throng'd to? Apem. Ay. Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. rom the lion. 2 The top, the principal. 1 Remoteness, the being placed at a distance 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold? It is mainder; The mere want of gold, and the falling- from of his friends, drove him into nis melancholy. 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't, he will supply us easily; If he covet- ously reserve it, how shall's get it? 2 Thief. True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. 1 Thief. Is not this he? Thieves. Where? 2 Thief. "Tis his description. 3 Thief. He; I know him. Thieves. Save thee, Timon. Tim. Now, thieves. Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. Tim. Both too; and women's sons. Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much do want. Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat. Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; Within this mile break forth a hundred springs: The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush Lays her full mess before you. Want? why want? 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts, and birds, and fishes. Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft In limited professions. Rascal thieves, Here's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape, Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth, And so 'scape hanging: trust not the physician; His antidotes are poison, and he slays More than you rob: take wealth and lives together; Do villany, do, since you profess to do't, Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery : The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a compostures stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws. your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves: away; Rob one another. There's more gold: Cut throats; All that you meet are thieves: To Athens, go, Break open shops; nothing can you steal, But thieves do lose it: Steal not less, for this I give you, and gold confound you howsoever. Amen. [Timon retires to his cave. 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it. 1 Thief. "Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mys tery. 3 For touchstone. 5 Compost, manure. 4 For legal. 656 ACT V. TIMON OF ATHENS 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give | Suspect still comes wnere an estate is least. over my trade. 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There is no time so miserable, but a man may be true. [Exeunt Thieves. Enter Flavius. Flav. O you gods! Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord? Full of decay and failing? O monument And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! What an alteration of honour' has Desperate want made! What viler thing upon the earth, than friends, Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, When man was wish'd³ to love his enemies: Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind, Care of your food and living: and, believe it, My most honour'd lord, For any benefit that points to ine, Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange For this one wish, That you had power and wealth To requite me, by making rich yourself. Tim. Look thee, 'tis so!-Thou singly honest man, Here take:-the gods out of my misery Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy: But thus condition'd; Thou shalt build from men ;4 Hate all, curse all: show charity to none; But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them, Debts wither them: Be men like blasted woods, And so, farewell, and thrive. Flav. O, let me stay, And comfort you, my master. Tim. Those that would mischief me, than those that do! And may diseases lick up their false bloods! He has caught me in his eye: I will present My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, Still serve him with my life.-My dearest master! Timon comes forward from his cave. Tim. Away! what art thou? Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; Then, if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. Tim. Then I know thee not: I ne'er had honest man About me, I; all that I kept were knaves, To serve in meat to villains. Flav. The gods are witness, Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. Tim. What, dost thou weep?-Come nearer ;- then I love thee, Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give, But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping: Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, To accept my grief, and while this poor wealth lasts, To entertain me as your steward still. Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now So comfortable? It almost turns If thou hat'st Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free: Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. [Exeunt severally. ACT V. SCENE I.-The same. Before Timon's cave. Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen. Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides. Poet. What's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold? Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise en rich'd poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends. Pain. Nothing else; you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There- fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us; and is very likely to load our purposes with Thy face.-Surely, this man was born of woman.-what they travel for, if it be a just and true report My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, Perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim One honest man,-mistake me not,-but one; No more, I pray,-and he is a steward.- How fain would I have hated all mankind, And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee, I fell with curses. Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise; For, by oppressing and betraying me, Thou might'st have sooner got another service: For many so arrive at second masters, Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true (For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, If not a usuring kindness; and as rich men deal gifts, Expecting in return twenty for one? Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late: You should have fear'd' false times, when you did feast: 1 An alteration of honour is an alteration of an honourable state to a state of disgrace. 2 How happily. 3 Recommended. that goes of his having. Poet. What have you now to present unto him? Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only I will promise him an excellent piece. Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him. Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o'the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of sayings is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will and testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have pro- vided for him: It must be a personating of himself a satire against the softness of prosperity; with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. 4 Away from human habitation. 5 The doing of that we said we would do. SCENE II. 657 TIMON OF ATHENS. Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. Poet. Nay, let's seek him: Then do we sin against our own estate, When we may profit meet and come too late. Pain. True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple. Than where swine feed! Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, That mightily deceives you. Both. Do we my lord? Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis- semble, Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd, That he's a made-up villain.2 Pain. I know none such, my lord. Poet. Nor I. Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, Rid me these villains from your companies: Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught, 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the Confound them by some course, and come to me, foam; Settlest admired reverence in a slave: To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 'Fit I do meet them. Poet. Hail, worthy Timon! Pain. [Advancing. Our late noble master. Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? Poet. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures-O abhorred spirits! Not all the whips of heaven are large enough- What! to you! Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I'm rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better: You, that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. Pain. Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. He, and myself, Tim. Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I re- Ay, you are honest men. quite you! Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. Tim. You are honest men: You have heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth: you are honest men. Pain. So it is said, my noble lord: but therefore Came not my friend, nor I. Tim. Good honest men:-Thou draw'st a coun- terfeit¹ Best in all Athens: thou art, indeed, the best! Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Pain. So, so, my lord. Tim. Even so, sir, as I say :-And for thy fiction, [To the Poet. Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, That thou art even natural in thine art.- But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, I must needs say, you have a little fault: Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I, You take much pains to mend. Both. To make it known to us. Tim. Beseech your honour, You'll take it ill. Both. Most thankfully, my lord. Will you, Tim. Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 1 A portrait was so called. 2 A complete, a finished villain. I'll give you gold enough. Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in company:- Each man apart, all single and alone, Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. If, where thou art, two villains shall not be, [To the Painter. Come not near him.-If thou would'st not reside [To the Poet. But where one villain is, then him abandon. Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye slaves: You have done work for me, there's payment: Hence! You are an alchymist, make gold of that:- Out, rascal dogs! [Exit, beating and driving them out. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Flavius, and two Senators. Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon; For he is set so only to himself, That nothing but himself, which looks like man, Is friendly with him. 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave: It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, To speak with Timon. 2 Sen. At all times alike Men are not still the same: 'Twas time, and griefs, That fram'd him thus: time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him: Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. Flav. Here is his cave.- Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! Look out, and speak to friends: The Athenians, By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: Speak to them, noble Timon. Enter Timon. Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn!-Speak, and be hang'd: For each true word, a blister! and each false Be as a caut'rizing to the root o'the tongue, Consuming it with speaking! 1 Sen. Worthy Timon- Tim. Of none but such as you,and you of Timon. 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. Tim. I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them. O forget 1 Sen. indeed? What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. The senators, with one consent of love,* 3 In a jakes. 4 With one united voice of affection. 658 ACT V. TIMON OF ATHENS. Entreat tnee back to Athens; who have thought On special dignities, which vacant lie For thy best use and wearing. 2 Sen. They confess, Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross: Which now the public body,-Which doth seldom Play the recanter,-feeling in itself A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon; And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render Together with a recompense more fruitful Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs, And write in thee the figures of their love, Ever to read them thine. Tim. You witch me in it; Suprise me to the very brink of tears: Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes, And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, And of our Athens (thine, and ours,) to take The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name Live with authority:-so soon we shall drive back Of Alcibiades the approaches wild; Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up His country's peace. 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword Against the walls of Athens. 1 Sen. Therefore, Timon,- Tim. Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; Thus,- If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, That-Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, And take our goodly aged men by the beards, Giving our holy virgins to the stain Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, Their pangs of love, with other incident throes That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do them: I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, That mine own use invites me to cut down, And shortly must I. fell it; Tell my friends, Tell Athens, in the sequence of degrees," From high to low throughout, that whoso please To stop affliction, let him take his haste, Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, And hang himself:-I pray you, do my greeting. Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall find him. Tim. Come not to me again: but say to Athens, Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; Which once a day with his emboss'd froth The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come, And let my grave-stone be your oracle.--- Lips, let sour words go by, and language end; What is amiss, plague and infection mend! Graves only be men's works; and death, their gain! Sun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. [Exit Timon. 1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably Coupled to nature. 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead: let us return, And strain what other means is left unto us In our dear peril. 1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt SCENE III.-The walls of Athens. Enter two Senators, and a Messenger. 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files As full as thy report? Mess. I have spoke the least; Then, let him know,-and tell him Timon speaks it, Besides, his expedition promises In pity of our aged, and our youth, I cannot choose but tell him, that-I care not, And let him take at worst; for their knives care not, While you have threats to answer: for myself, There's not a whittle in the unruly camp, But I do prize it at ray love, before Present approach. 2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not Timon. Mess. I met a courier, once mine ancient friend ;- Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, Yet our old love made a particular force, The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you And made us speak like friends:-this man was To the protection of the prosperous gods,4 As thieves to keepers. Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, It will be seen to-morrow; My long sickness Of health, and living, now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, And last so long enough! 1 Sen. We speak in vain. Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not One that rejoices in the common wreck, As common bruit dotu put it. 1 Sen. That's well spoke. Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen,- 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass through them. riding From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, With letters of entreaty, which imported His fellowship i'the cause against your city, In part for his sake mov'd. Enter Senators from Timon. 1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 3 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.-- The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring Doth choke the air with dust: in and prepare; Ours is the fall, I fear, our foes the snare. [Exeunt SCENE IV-The woods. Timon's cave, ana a tomb-stone seen. Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. Sol. By all description this should be the place: 2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great triumphers Who's here? speak, ho!-No answer?-What is In their applauding gates. Tim. this? Commend me to them: Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span: And tell them, that to ease them of their griefs, Some beast rear'd this; there does not live a man Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 1 Confession. 3 A clasp-knife. 2 Licensed, uncontrolled. 4 i. e. The gods who are the authors of the prosperity of mankind. 5 He means-the disease of life begins to pro mise me a period. 6 Report, rumour. 7 Methodically, from highest to lowest. 8 Swollen froth. 9 Dreadful. SCENE V. 659 TIMON OF ATHENS. Dead, sure; and this his grave.- What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax. Our captain hath in every figure skill; An ag'd interpreter, though young in days: Before proud Athens he's set down by this, Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. Trum- SCENE V.-Before the walls of Athens. pets sound. Enter Alcibiades and forces. Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. Enter Senators on the walls. Till now you have gone on, and filled the time With all licentious measure, making your wills The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such As slept within the shadow of your power, Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd Our sufferance vainly: Now the time is flush,2 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, Cries, of itself No more; now breathless wrong Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease; And pursy insolence shall break his wind, With fear and horrid flight. 1 Sen. Noble and young, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause to fear, We sent to thee; to give thy rages balm, To wipe out our ingratitude with loves Above their quantity. 2 Sen. So did we woo Transformed Timon to our city's love, By humble message, and by promis'd means ;3 We were not all unkind, nor all deserve The common stroke of war. 1 Sen. These walls of ours Were not erected by their hands, from whom You have receiv'd your griefs: nor are they such, That these great towers, trophies, and schools, should fall For private faults in them. 2 Sen. Nor are they living, Who were the motives that you first went out; Shame, that they wanted cunning in excess Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, Into our city with thy banners spread: By decimation, and a tithed death, (If thy revenges hunger for that food, So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before. To say, thoul't enter friendly. 2 Sen. Throw thy glove: Or any token of thine honour else, That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, And not as our confusion; all thy powers Shall make their harbour in our town, till we Have seal'd thy full desire. Alcib. Then there's my glove; Descend, and open your uncharged ports;" Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, Fall, and no more; and,-to atone your fears With my more noble meaning,-not a man Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream Of regular justice in your city's bounds, But shall be remedied, to your public laws, At heaviest answer. Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. The Senators descend, and open the gates. Enter a Soldier. Sold. My noble general, Timon is dead; Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea: And on his grave-stone, this insculpture; which With wax I brought away, whose soft impression Interprets for my poor ignorance. Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft: Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked cailiff's left! Here lie I Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate: Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait. These well express in thee thy latter spirits: Though thou abhor'dst in us our human griefs, Scorn'dst our brain's flow," and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Is noble Timon; of whose memory Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, And I will use the olive with my sword: Make war breed peace; make peace stint war; make each Prescribe to other, as each other's leech." Which nature loaths,) take thou the destined tenth; Let our drums strike. And by the hazard of the spotted die, Let die the spotted. 1 Sen. All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square, to take, On those that are, revenges: crimes, like lands, Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall With those that have offended: like a shepherd, Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, But kill not all together. 2 Sen. What thou wilt, Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, Than hew to't with thy sword. 1 Sen. Set but thy foot Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope; 1 Arms across. 2 Mature. 3 i. e. By promising him a competent subsis- tence. [Exeunt. The play of Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the plan there is not much art, but the incidents are natural, and the characters various and exact. The catastrophe affords a very pow- erful warning against that ostentatious liberality, which scatters bounty, but confers no benefits, and buys flattery, but not friendship. In this tragedy, are many passages perplexed, obscure, and probably corrupt, which I have en- deavoured to rectify, or explain with due diligence but having only one copy, cannot promise myself that my endeavours shall be much applauded. 4 Not regular, not equitable. 5 Unattacked gates. JOHNSON 6 Reconcile. 7 i. e. Our tears. 8 Stop. 9 Physician CORIOLANUS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Caius Marcie Coriolanus, a noble Roman. Titus Lartius, generals against the Volscians. Menenius Agrippa, friend to Coriolanus. Sicinius Velutus, tribunes of the people. Junius Brutus, Young Marcius, son to Coriolanus. A Roman Herald. Tullus Aufidius, general of the Volscians. Lieutenant to Aufidius. Conspirators with Aufidius. A Citizen of Antium. Two Volscian guards. Volumnia, mother to Coriolanus. Virgilia, wife to Coriolanus. Valeria, friend to Virgilia. Gentlewoman attending Virgilia. Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Edales Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servant to Aufidius, and other Attendants. Scene, partly in Rome; and partly in the territories of the Volscians and Antiates. ACT I. SCENE 1.-Rome. A street. Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons. 1 Citizen. BEFORE we proceed any further, hear me speak. Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. 1 Cit. You are all resolved rather to die, than to famish? Cit. Resolved, resolved. 1 Cit. First you know, Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. Cit. We know't, we know't. 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. I'st a verdict? Cit. No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away. 2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens: the pa- tricians, good: What authority surfeits on, would relieve us; If they would yield us but the super- fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess, they relieved us humanely; but they think, we are too dear: the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularize their abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know, I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? Cit. Against him first; he's a very dog to the commonalty. 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for his country? 1 Cit. Very well; and could be content to give him good report for't, but that he pays himself with being proud. 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done fa- mously, he did it to that end: though soft-con- 1 Rich. 2 Thin as rakes. scienc'd men can be content to say, it was for his country, he did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud; which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him: You must in no way say, he is covetous. 1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these? The other side o'the city is risen: Why stay we prating here? to the Capitol. Cit. Come, come. 1 Cit. Soft; who comes here? Enter Menenius Agrippa. 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people. 1 Cit. He's one honest enough; 'Would all the rest were so! Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you With bats and clubs ? the matter? Speak, I pray you. 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the sen- ate; they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say, poor suitors have strong breaths; they shall know we have strong arms too. Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, Will you undo yourselves? 1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care Have the patricians of you. For your wants, Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them Against the Roman state; whose course will on The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs Of more strong link asunder, than can ever Appear in your impediment: For the dearth, The gods, not the patricians. make it; and Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack You are transported by calamity Thither where more attends you; and you slander SCENE 1. 661 ORIOLANUS. The helms o'the state, who care for you like fathers, Whereby they ve And though that all at once, When you curse them as enemies. You, my good friends, (this says the belly,) mark me,- 1 Cit. Care for us!-True, indeed!-They ne'er cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their 1 Cit. Ay, sir, well, well. store-houses crammed with grain; make edicts for Men. Though all at once cannot usury, to support usurers: repeal daily and whole- See what I do deliver out to each; some act established against the rich; and provide Yet I can make my audit up, that all more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and re- From me do back receive the flower of ali, strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they And leave me but the bran. What say you to't? will; and there's all the love they bear us. Men. Either you must Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you A pretty tale; it may be, you have heard it; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To scale't' a little more 1 Cit. It was an answer: How apply you this? Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members: For examine Their counsels, and their cares; digest things rightly, Touching the weal o'the common; you shall find, No public benefit which you receive, 1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, think to fob off your disgrace2 with a tale: but, an't And no way from yourselves.-What do you think? please you, deliver. Men. There was a time, when all the body's members Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it :- That only like a gulf it did remain I'the midst o'the body, idle and inactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest; where the other ments You the great toe of this assembly? 1 Cit. I the great toe? Why the great toe? Men. For that being one o'the lowest basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: Thou rascal, that are worst in blood, to run Lead'st first to win some vantage- instru-But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs; Rome and her rats are at the point of battle, The one side must have bale. Hail, noble Marcius! Enter Caius Marcius. Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And, mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answered,- 1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? Men. Sir, I shall tell you.-With a kind of smile, Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus (For, look you, I may make the belly smile, As well as speak) it tauntingly replied To the discontented members, the mutinous parts That envied his receipt: even so most fitly* As you malign our senators, for that They are not such as you. 1 Cit. Your belly's answer. What! The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye, The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, With other muniments and pretty helps In this our fabric, if that they-- Men. What then?- 'Fore me, this fellow speaks!-what then? what then? 1 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd Who is the sink o'the body- Men. Well, what then? 1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain, What could the belly answer? Men. I will tell you; If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little), Patience a while, you'll hear the belly's answer. 2 Cit. You are long about it. Men. Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: True is it, my incorporate friend. quoth he, That I receive the general food at first. Which you do live upon: and fit it is; Because I am the store-house and the shop Of the whole body: But if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood, Mar. Thanks.-What's the matter, you dissen- That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, tious rogues, Make yourselves scabs? 1 Cit. We have ever your good word. Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will flatter Beneath abhorring.-What would you have, you curs, That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no Than is the coal fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is To make him worthy, whose offence subdues hin, And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great- ness, Deserves your hate: and your affections are Which would increase his evil. He that depends A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead," And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye? Trust ye? With every minute you do change a mind; And call him noble, that was now your hate, Him vile, that was your garland. What's the matter, That in these several places of the city You cry against the noble senate, who, Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else Would feed on one another?-What's their seeking? Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof, they say, The city is well stor'd. Mar. Hang 'em! They say? They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o'the What's done i'the Capitol: who's like to rise, brain; And, through the cranks and offices of man, The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, From me receive that natural competency 1 Spread it. 2 Hardship. 3 Whereas. Who thrives, and who declines: side factions, and give out Conjectural marriages; making parties strong, And feebling such as stand not in their liking, 4 Exactly. 5 Windings. 6 Bane. 662 ACT I. CORIOLANUS Below their cobbled shoes. They say, there's grain it. enough? Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,¹ And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry2 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high As I could pick³ my lance. Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- suaded; For though abundantly they lack discretion, Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, What say the other troop? Mar. They are dissolved: Hang em! They said, they were hungry; sigh'd forth pro- verbs;- No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, Ere stay behind this business. Men. 1 Sen. Your company to the know, O, true bred! Capitol; where I Our greatest friends attend us. Tit. Follow, Cominius; we must follow you; Right worthy your priority. Com. Lead you on: Noble Lartius! 1 Sen. Hence! To your homes, be gone. Mar. [To the Citizens. Nay, let them follow. That hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat, The Volces have much corn; take these rats thither, That meat was made for mouths; that, the gods To gnaw their garners :-Worshipful mutineers, Your valour puts well forth: pray follow. sent not Corn for the rich men only:-With these shreds They vented their complainings; which being an- swer'd, And a petition granted them, a strange one (To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale,) they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon, Shouting their emulation.* Men. What is granted them? Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- doms, Of their own choice: One's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not-'Sdeath! The rabble should have first unroof'd the city; Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing." Men. This is strange. Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments! Enter a Messenger. Mess. Where's Caius Marcius? Mar. Here: What's the matter? Mess. The news is, sir, the Volces are in arms. Mar. I am glad on't; then we shall have means to vent [Exeunt Senators, Com. Mar. Tit. and Menen. Citizens steal away. Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? Bru. He has no equal. Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes? Sic. Nay, but his taunts. Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird⁹ the gods. Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. Bru. The present wars devour him: he is grown Too proud to be so valiant. Sic. Such a nature, Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow Which he treads on at noon: But I do wonder, His insolence can brook to be commanded Under Cominius. Bru. Fame, at the which he aims,- In whom already he is well graced,-cannot Better be held, nor more attain'd, than by A place below the first; for what miscarries To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure Shall be the general's fault, though he perform Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he Had borne the business! Sic. Besides, if things go well, Our musty superfluity:-See, our best elders. Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall Erier Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other Senators; Of his demerits10 rob Cominius. Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Velutus. Bru. 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us; The Volces are in arms. Mar. They have a leader, Tullius Aufidius, that will put you to't. I sin in envying his nobility: And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. Com You have fought together. Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, and he Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. 1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. Com. It is your former promise. Mar. And I am constant.-Titus Lartius, thou Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face: What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? 1 Pity, compassion. 3 Pitch. Sir, it is; 2 Heap of dead. 4 Faction. 5 For insurgents to debate upon. 6 Right worthy of precedence. 7 Granaries Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, In aught he merit not. Sic. Let's hence, and hear How the despatch is made; and in what fashion, More than in singularity, he goes Upon his present action. Let's along. [Exeur Bru. SCENE II.-Corioli. The Senate-House. Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators. 1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels, And know how we proceed. Auf. Is it not yours? What ever hath been thought on in this state, That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome Had circumvention 11 'Tis not four days gone, Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think, I have the letter here; yes, here it is: [Reads. They have press'd a power, but it is not known 8 Shows itself 9 Sneer. 10 Demerits and merits had anciently the samo meaning. 11 Pre-occupation SCENE III. 663 CORIOLANUS. Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great; The people mutinous: and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, (Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, These three lead on this preparation Whither 'tis bent: most likely, 'tis for you: Consider of it. 1 Sen. Our army's in the field: We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready To answer us. Auf. Nor did you think it folly, To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when 'I hey needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, We shall be shorten'd in our aim; which was To take in many towns, ere, almost, Rome Should know we were afoot. 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, Take your commission; hie you to your bands: Let us alone to guard Corioli: If they set down before us, for the remove Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find They have not prepared for us. Auf. O, doubt not that; I speak from certainties. Nay, more. Some parcels of their powers are forth already, And only hitherward. I leave your honours. If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike Till one can do more. All. The gods assist you! Auf. And keep your honours safe! 1 Sen. 2 Sen. Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. Vol. Indeed, you shall not. Methinks, I hear hither your husband's trum; See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair; As children from a bear, the Volces shunning him Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus,- Come on, you cowards, you were got in fear, Though you were born in Rome: His bloody brow With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes; Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow Or all, or lose his hire. Vir. His bloody brow! O, Jupiter, no blood! Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man, Than gilt his trophy: The breasts of Hecuba, When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood At Grecian swords' contending.-Tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent, Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee, And tread upon his neck. Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and Usher. Val. My ladies both, good day to you. Vol. Sweet madam,- Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship er Val. How do you both? you are manifest nouse- keepers. What, are you sewing here? A fine spot," in good faith.-How does your little son? Vir. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, that look upon his school-master. Farewell. Val. O'my word, the father's son: I'll swear, 'tis Farewell. a very pretty boy. O'my troth, I look'd upon him All. Farewell. [Exeunt. o'Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a SCENE III.-Rome. An apartment in Marcius' gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it house. Enter Volumnia, and Virgilia: They go again; and after it again; and over and over sit down on two low stools, and sew. he comes, and up again; catched it again: cr Vol. One of his father's moods. Val. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. Vir. A crack, madam. 6 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your-whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did self in a more comfortable sort: If my son were so set his teeth, and tear it; O, I warrant, how he my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that ab- mammocked' it! sence wherein he won honour, that in the embrace- ments of his bed, where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth with comeliness Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must plucked all gaze his way;2 when, for a day of king's have you play the idle huswife with me this after- entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour noon. from her beholding; I,-considering how honour would become such a person; that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir,-was pleased to let him seek dan- ger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows Bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter,-I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. Vir. But had he died in the business, madam? how then? Vir. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. Val. Not out of doors? Vol. She shall, she shall. Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will not over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. Val. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasona- bly; come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither Vol. Why, I pray you? Vir. "Tis not to save labor, nor that I want love. Vol. Then his good report should have been my Val. You would be another Penelope : yet, they son? I therein would have found issue. Hear me say, all the yarn she spun. in Ulysses' absence, did profess sincerely: Had I a dozen sons,-each in my but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your love alike, and none less dear than thine and my cambric were sensible as your finger, that you good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall for their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out go with us. of action. Enter a Gentlewoman. Gent. Madam the lady Valeria is come to visit you. 1 To subdue. 3 Withdraw. 2 Attracted attention. 4 Of work. Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. Val. In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. 5 Tore. 6 Boy. 664 ACT 1. CORIOLANUS. Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. Val. Verily I do not jest with you! there came news from him last night. Vir. Indeed, madam. Val. In earnest, its true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is:-The Volces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord, and Titus Lartius, are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief' wars. This is true on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. Val. In troth, I think she would:-Fare vou well then.-Come, good sweet lady.-Pr'ythee, Vir- gilia, turn thy solemnness out o'door and go along with us. Vir. No: at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth. Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt. They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: He that retires, I'll take him for a Volce, And he shall feel mine edge. Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Volces, fighting The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. Re-enter Marcius. Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues Ilaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen, and one infect another Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell! All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe, And make my wars on you; look to't: Come on; If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, SCENE IV-Before Corioli. Enter, with drum As they us to our trenches followed. and colours, Marcius, Titus Lartius, Officers and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. Mar. Yonder comes news:-A wager, they have met. Lart. My horse to yours, no. Mar. Lart. 'Tis done. Agreed. Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy? Mess. They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet. Lart. So, the good horse is mine. Mar. I'll buy him of you. Lart No, I'll not sell, nor give him; lend you him, I will. For half a hundred years.-Summon the town. Mar. How far off lie the armies? Mess. Within this mile and half. Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work; That we with smoking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded2 friends!-Come, blow thy blast. They sound a parley. Enter, on the walls, some Senators, and others. Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums [Alarums far of Are bringing forth our youth: We'll break our walls, Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you, far off; [Other alarums. There is Aufidius; list what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. Mar. O, they are at it! Lart Their noise be our instruction-Ladders, ho! The Volces enter, and pass over the stage. Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than shields.-Advance, brave Titus: 1 Short. 2 In the field of battle. 3 Having sensation, feeling. Another Alarum. The Volces and Romans re- enter, and the fight is renewed. The Volces re- tire into Corioli, and Marcius follows them to the gates. So, now the gates are ope:-Now prove good sec- onds: "Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. [He enters the gates, and is shut in. 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I. 2 Sol. 3 Sol. Have shut him in. All. Nor I. See, they [Alarum continues. To the pot, I warrant him. Enter Titus Lartius. Lart. What is become of Marcius? All. Slain, sir. doubtless 1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters: who, upon the sudden. Clapp'd to their gates; he is himself alone, To answer all the city. Lart. O noble fellow! Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up! Thou art left, Marcius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks, and The thunder-like percussions of thy sounds, Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. Re-enter Marcius bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. Look sir. 1 Sol Lart. 'Tis Marcius: Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. [They fight, and all enter the city. SCENE V-Within the town. A street. En- ter certain Romans, with spoils. 1 Rom. This I will carry to Rome. 2 Rom. And I this. 3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for silver. [Alarum continues still afar off. 4 When it is bent. SCENE VI 665 CORIOLANUS. Enter Marcius, and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet. | Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm!' Cushions, leaden spoons, Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up :-Down with them.- And hark, what noise the general makes!-To him:- There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste To help Cominius. Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight. Mar. Sir, praise me not: My work hath yet not warm'd me: Fare you well. The blood I drop is rather physical Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight. Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, Prosperity be thy page! Mar. Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius!- [Ex. Mar. Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers of the town, Where they shall know our mind. Away. [Exe. SCENE VI-Near the camp of Cominius. En- ter Cominius and forces, retreating. Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought, we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs, We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard The charges of our friends:-The Roman gods Lead their successes as we wish our own; That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun- tering Enter a Messenger. May give you thankful sacrifice!-Thy news? Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then i came away. Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't Com. since? Mess. Above an hour, my lord. Com. "Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: How could'st thou in a 'mile confound an hour, And bring thy news so late? Mess. Spies of the Volces feld me in chace. that I was forced to wheel ree or four miles about; else had I, sir, half an hour since brought my report. Com. Erter Marcius. Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods! He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. 1 A Roman coin. 3 Front. 2 Expend. 4 Soldiers of Antium. Mar. Come I too late? Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from 8 tabor, Come I too late? More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue, From every meaner man's. Mar. But mantled in your own. Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others. In arms as sound, as when I woo'd; in heart O! let me clip you As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward. Mar. Com. How is't with Titus Lartius? Flower of warriors Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'ning the other; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, To let him slip at will. Where is that slave, Com. Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Where is he? Call him hither. Mar. Let him alone, He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen, The common file, (A plague!-Tribunes for them!) The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge From rascals worse than they. Com. But how prevail'd you? Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think- Where is the enemy? Are you lords of the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? Com. Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought, and did Retire to win our purpose. Mar How lies their battle? Know you on which side They have plac'd their men of trust? Com. As I guess, Marcius, Their bands in the vaward' are the Antiates,4 Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. Mar. I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the vows We have made to endure friends, that you directly Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates: And that you not delay the present; but, Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts, We prove this very hour. Com. Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath, And balms applied to you, yet dare I never Deny your asking; take your choice of those That best can aid your action. Mar. Those are they That most are willing:-If any such be here (As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear Lesser his person than an ill report; If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, And that his country's dearer than himself; Let him, alone, or so many, so minded, Wave thus. [ Waving his hand,] to express his dis- position. And follow Marcius. [They all shout, and wave their swords; take him up in their arms,and cast up their rape. O me, alone! Make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volces? None of you but is 5 Present time. 666 ACT I. CORIOLANUS. Able to bear against the great Aufidius A shield as hard as his. A certain number, Though thanks to all, must I select: the rest Shall bear the business in some other fight, As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; And four shall quickly draw out my command, Which men are best inclin'd. Com. March on, my fellows; Make good this ostentation, and you shall Divide in all with us. Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Having fully dined before. Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from the pursuit. Lart. O general, Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld- Mar. Pray now, no more: ray mother, [Exeunt. Who has a charters to extol her blood, When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done, SCENE VII.-The gates of Corioli. Titus Lar- As you have done; that's what I can; induc'd tius, having set a guard upon Corioli, going As you have been; that's for my country: with a drum and trumpet toward Cominius and He, that has but effected his good will, Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, a party Hath overta'en mine act. of Soldiers, and a Scout. Com. You shall not be The grave of your deserving; Rome must know The value of her own: "Twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Would seem but modest: Therefore, I beseech yo (In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done,) before our army hear me. Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they Lart. So, let the ports' be guarded: keep your duties, As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch Those centuries2 to our aid; the rest will serve For a short holding: If we lose the field, We cannot keep the town. Lieu. - Fear not our care, sir. Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us.- Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII-A field of battle between the Koman and the Volscian camps. Alarum. En- ter Marcius and Aufidius. Mar. I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. Auf. We hate alike; Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor More than thy fame and envy: Fix thy foot. Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after ! Auf. Halloo me like a hare. Mar. If I fly, Marcius, Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleas'd; 'Tis not my blood, Wherein thou see'st me mask'd; for thy revenge, Wrench up thy power to the highest. Auf. Wert thou the Hector, That was the whip' of your bragg'd progeny, Thou should'st not scape me here.- [They fight, and certain Volces come to the aid of Aufidius. Officious, and not valiant-you have sham'd me In your condemned seconds. smart To hear themselves remember'd. Com. Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store, of all The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth, Before the common distribution, at Your only choice. Mar. I thank you, general; But cannot make my heart consent to take A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it; And stand upon my common part with those That have beheld the doing. [A long flourish. They all cry, Marcius! Mar- cius! cast up their caps and lances: Co- minius and Lartius stand bare. Mar. May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall I'the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing: When steel grows Soft as the parasite's silk. let him be made An overture for the wars! No more, I say; For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, Or foil'd some debile wretch,-which, without note, SCENE IX.-The Roman camp. Alarum. A Here's many else have done,-you shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical: retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter at one As if I lov'd my little should be dieted side, Cominius and Romans; at the other side, In praises sauc'd with lies. Marcius, with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans. [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it, Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug. I'the end admire; where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes, Com. Too modest are you, More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper10 harm,) in man acles, Then reason safely with you.-Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius, Wears this war's garland: in token of the which That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours My noble steed, known to the camp. I give him. Shall say, against their hearts- We thank the gods, With all his trim belonging; and, from this time, Our Rome hath such a soldier!- For what he did before Corioli, call him, 1 Gates. 2 Companies of a hundred men, 3 Stirrer. 4 Boast, crack. 5 In sending such help. 6 Thrown into grateful trepidation. 7 Forces. 8 Privilege. 9 Weak, feeble 10 Own. SCENE I. 667 CORIOLANUS. With all the applause and clamour of the host, Caius Marcius Coriolanus.- Bear the addition nobly ever! Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city: 1 Sol. [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. Be hostages for Rome. All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus! Cor. I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush, or no; Howbeit, I thank you I mean to stride your steed; and at all times, To undercrest your good addition, To the fairness of my power. Com. So, to our tent: Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success.-You, Titus Lartius, Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good and ours. Lart. I shall, my lord. Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. Com. Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must Will not you go? Auf. I am attended' at the cypress grove, I pray you :-(Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither, How the world goes; that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. 1 Sol. Take it: 'tis yours.-What is't? Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly : He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. Com. O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. Lart. Marcius, his name? Cor. By Jupiter, forgot :- I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.- Have we no wine here? Com. Go we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries: 'tis time It should be look'd to: come. [Exeunt. SCENE X.-The camp of the Volces. A flour- ish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with two or three Soldiers. Auf. The town is ta'en! 1 Sol. "Twill be delivered back on good condition. Auf. Condition?- I would, I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volce, be that I am.-Condition! What good condition can a treaty find the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me; And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat.-By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation Hath not that honour in't, it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force (True sword to sword,) I'll potch' at him some way; Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 1 Sol. He's the devil. Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My val- our's poison'd, With only suffering stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick: nor fane, nor Capitol, The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, Emaarquements all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it A. Lome, upon my brother's guard, even there Against the hospitable canon, would I 1 Add more by doing his best. 2 Chief men. 4 Whereas. 3 Enter into articles. 5 Poke, push. I shall, sır. ACT II. [Excunt. SCENE I.-Rome. A public place. Enter Menenius. Sicinius, and Brutus Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news to-night. Bru. Good, or bad? Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love? Sic. The lamb. Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. Brú. He's a lamb, indeed, that baes like a bear. Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell me 'one thing that I shall ask you. Both Trib. Well, sir. Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you two have not in abundance? Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sic. Especially, in pride. Bru. And topping all others in boasting. how you are censured here in the city, I mean of Men. This is strange now: Do you two know us o'the right hand file? Do you? Both Trib. Why, how are we censured? Men. Because you talk of pride now,-Will you not be angry? Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. Men. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your disposition the reins, and be angry at your pleasure; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Mar- cius for being proud? Bru. We do it not alone, sir. Men. I know, you can do very little alone; for your helps are many; or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too in- fant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: 0, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes" of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! Bru. What then, sir? Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates (alias, fools,) as any in Rome. Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tyber' in't; said to be something im- perfect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion; one that con- verses more with the buttock of the night, than 6 My brother posted to protect him. 8 Back. 7 Waited for. 9 Water of the Tyber. 668 ACT II. CORIOLANUS. Vir. O, no, no, no, Vol. 0, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. Men. So do I too, if it be not too much:-Brings victory in his pocket?-The wounds become him. with the forehead of the morning. What I think, tion in Galen is but empiricutic, and to this pre- I utter; and spend my malice in my breath: Meet-servative, of no better report than a horse-drench ing two such weals'-men as you are (I cannot call Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home you Lycurguses) if the drink you gave me, touch wounded. my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I'a must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men; yet they lie deadly, that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm,2 follows it, that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson³ con- spectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? Vol. On's brows, Menenius: he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? Vol. Titus Lartius writes,-they fought together, but Aufidius got off. Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: an he had staid by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate pos- sessed of this? Bru. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a Vol. Good ladies, let's go :-yes, yes, yes: the fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives three-pence to a second day of audience.-When my son the whole name of the war: he hath in you are hearing a matter between party and party, this action outdone his former deeds doubly. if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber- pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more en- tangled by your hearing; all the peace you make in their cause, is calling both the parties knaves: You are a pair of strange ones. Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Mar- cius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors, since Deucalion; though, Deradventure, some of the best of them were he- editary hangmen. Good e'en to your worships; more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will De bold to take my leave of you. [Bru. and Sic. retire to the back of the scene. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria, &c. How now, my fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you fol- ow your eyes so fast? Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- proaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. Men. Ha! Marcius coming home! Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros- perous approbation. Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee:- Hoo! Marcius coming home? Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. Vol. Look, here's a letter from him; the state bath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. Men. I will make my very house reel to-night :- A letter for me? Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw it. Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of even years' health; in which time I will make a ip at the physician: the most sovereign prescrip- 1 States. 3 Blind. 2 Whole man. 4 Obeisar.ce. him. Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. Vir. The gods grant them true! Vol. True? pow, wow. Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true :- Where is he wounded?-God save your good wor ships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud.-Where is he wounded? Vol. I'the shoulder, and i'the left arm: There will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i'the body. Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,- there's nine that I know. Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- five wounds upon him. Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave: [A shout, and flourish.] Hark! the trumpets. Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears; Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanc'd, declines; and then men die. A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and Titus Lartius; between them, Coriolanus, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli's gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows, Coriolanus: Welcome to Rome, renown'd Coriolanus! [Flourish. All. Welcome to Rome, renown'd Coriolanus! Cor. No more of this, i. does offend my heart; Pray now, no more. Com. Cor. Look, sir, your mother,- You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity. Vol. 0! [Kn els Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly nam'd, What is it? Coriolanus, m. ca...e? 5 Fully informed. 6 Flourish on Cornets. SCENE II. 669 CORIOLANUS. But O, thy wife. Cor. My gracious' silence, hail! Would'st thou have laugh'd, had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. Men. don. Lose those that he hath won. Bru. In that there's comfort. Sic. Doubt not the commoners, for whom we stand, But they, upon their ancient malice, will Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours. Now the gods crown thee! Which that he'll give them, make us little question Cor. And live you yet?-O my sweet lady, par- As he is proud to do't. Bru. [To Valeria. I heard him swear, Vol. I know not where to turn:-0 welcome Were he to stand for consul, never would he home; Appear i'the market-place, nor on him put The napless 10 vesture of humility; Nor, showing (as the manner is,) his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. Sic. And welcome, general;-And you are welcome all. Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep, And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy: Wel- come. A curse begin at very root of his heart, That is not glad to see thee!-You are three, That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men, We have some old crab-trees here at home, that will not Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors: We call a nettle, but a nettle; and The faults of fools, but folly, Com. Ever right. Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. Her. Give way there, and go on. Cor. Your hand, and yours: [To his wife and mother. Ere in our own house I do shade my head, The good patricians must be visited; From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, But with them change of honours. Vol. l'o see inherited my very wishes, I have lived And the buildings of my fancy: only there Is one thing wanting, which I doubt not, but Our Rome will cast upon thee. Cor. Know, good mother, I had rather be their servant in my way, Than sway with them in theirs. Com. On, to the Capitol. 'Tis right. Bru. It was his word : O, he would miss it, rather Than carry it, but by the suit o'the gentry to him, And the desire of the nobles. Sic. I wish no better, Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it In execution. Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; A sure destruction. Bru. So it must fall out To him, or our authorities. For an end, We must suggest¹¹ the people, in what hatred He still hath held them; that to his power he would Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders, and Dispropertied their freedoms: holding them, In human action and capacity, Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world, Than camels in their war; who have their provand¹2 Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows For sinking under them. Sic. This, as you say, suggested At some time when his soaring insolence Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want, If he be put upon't; and that's as easy, As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze, [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. Shall darken him for ever. The Tribunes remain. Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him: Your prattling nurse Into a rapture2 lets her baby cry, While she chats him: the kitchen malkin3 pins Her richest lockram' 'bout her reechy neck, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd, With variable complexions, all agreeing In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens" Do press among the popular throngs, and puff To win a vulgar station: our veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask, in Their nicely-gawded cheeks, to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother, As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, Were slily crept into his human powers, And gave him graceful posture. Sic. I warrant him consul. Bru. On the sudden, Then our office may, During his power, go sleep. Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin, and end; but will 1 Graceful. 3 Maid. Enter a Messenger. Bru. What's the matter? Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought That Marcius shall be consul: I have seen The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind To hear him speak: The matrons flung their gloves Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, Upon him as he passed: the nobles bended, As to Jove's statue; and the commons made A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts I never saw the like. Bru. Let's to the Capitol; And carry with us ears and eyes, for the time, But hearts for the event. Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. The Capitol. Enter two Officers, to lay cushions. SCENE II.-The same. 1 Of Come, come; they are almost here: How many stand for consulships? 2 Off Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one, Coriolanus will carry it. 1 Off. That s a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people. 2 Off 'Faith, there have been many great men that have flatter'd the people, who ne'er lov'd them. 8 Common standsng place. 7 Priests. 2 Fit. 9 Adorn'd. 10 Threadbare. 4 Best linen. 11 Inform. 12 Proven ler. 6 Seldom. 43 5 Soiled with sweat and smoke. 670 ACT II. CORIOLANUS. and there be many that they have loved, they know But tie him not to be their bedfellow.- not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not Worthy Cominius, speak. Nay, keep your place why, they hate upon no better a ground: Therefore, [Coriolanus rises and offers to go away for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or 1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus: never shame to hear hate him, manifests the true knowledge he has in What you have nobly done. their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness, Cor. Your honours' pardon; let's them plainly see't. I had rather have my wounds to heal again, Sir, I hope, 1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their Than hear say how I got them. love, or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them Bru. neither good, nor harm; but he seeks their hate My words disbench'd you not. with greater devotion than they can render it him; Cor. No sir; yet oft, and leaves nothing undone, that may fully discover When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the mal-You sooth'd not, therefore ice and displeasure of the people, is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. 2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country: And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those, who, having been supple and courteous to the peo- ple, bonnetted, without any further deed to heave them at all into their estimation and report: but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues, to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of in- grateful injury; to report otherwise were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. 1 Off. No more of him; he is a worthy man Make way, they are coming. : people, hurt not: But, your I love them as they weigh. Men. Pray now, sit down. Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head i'the sun, When the alarum were struck,4 than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. [Exit Coriolanus. Men. Masters o'the people, Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter (That's thousand to one good one,) when you now see, He had rather venture all his limbs for honour, Than one of his ears to hear it?-Proceed, Cominius. Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus Should not be utter'd feebly.-It is held, A sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, Co-Most dignifies the haver: if it be, That valour is the chiefest virtue, and minius, the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, many The man I speak of cannot in the world other Senators, Sicinius, and Brutus. The Sena- Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, tors take their places; the Tribunes take theirs When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought also by themselves. Men. Having determin'd of the Volces, and To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service, that Hath thus stood for his country: Therefore, please you, Most reverend and grave elders, to desire The present consul, and last general In our well-found successes, to report A little of that worthy work perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom We meet here, both to thank, and to remember With honours like himself. 1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius: Leave nothing out for length, and make us think, Rather our state's defective for requital, Then do we stretch it out. Masters o'the people. We do request your kindest ears: and, after, Your loving motion toward the common body, To yield what passes here. Sic. We are convented Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance The theme of our assembly. Bru. Which the rather We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember A kinder value of the people, than He hath hereto priz'd them at. Men. That's off, that's off," I would you rather had been silent: Please you To hear Cominius speak? Bru. Most willingly: But yet my caution was more pertinent, Than the rebuke you give it. Men. 1 Adversary. He loves your people; 2 Took off caps. 3 Nothing to the purpose. 4 Summons to battle. 8 Without a beard. 5 Possessor. 7 Bearded Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator, Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, When with his Amazonian chine he drove The bristled" lips before him: he bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman, and i'the consul's view Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats, When he might act the woman in the scene, He prov'd best man i'the field, and for his meed' Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea; And in the brunt of seventeen battles since, He lurch'd10 all swords o'the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: He stopp'd the fliers; And, by his rare example, made the coward Turn terror into sport: as waves before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion!! Was timed12 with dying cries: alone he enter'd The mortal gate o'the city, which he painted With shunless destiny, aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli, like a planet; now, all's his: When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled ke-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate,13 And to the battle came he; where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if "Twere a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd Botl. field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breath with panting. Men. Worthy mar.! 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honour Which we devise him. 8 Smooth-faced enough to act a woman's pat 9 Reward. 10 Won. 11 Stroke. 12 Followed. 13 Wearied. SCENE III. 671 CORIOLANUS. Com. Our spoils he kick'd at; And look'd upon things precious, as they were The common muck o'the world: he covets less Than misery' itself would give; rewards His deeds with doing them; and is content To spend the time, to end it. Men. Let him be call'd for. 1 Sen. He's right noble; Call for Coriolanus. Re-enter Coriolanus. Off. He doth appear. Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd To make thee consul. Cor. My life, and services. Men. I do owe them still It then remains, That you do speak to the people. Cor. I do beseech you, Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please you, That I may pass this doing. Sic. Sir, the people Must have their voices; neither will they bate One jot of ceremony. Men. Pray you, go fit you to the custom: and Take to you, as your predecessors have, Your honour with your form. Put them not to't:- It is a part Cor. That I shall blush in acting, and might well Be taken from the people. Bru. Mark you that? Cor. To brag unto them,-Thus I did, and thus:- Show them the unaching scars which I should hide, As if I had received them for the hire Of their breath only:- Men, Do not stand upon't.- We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, Our purpose to them;-and to our noble consul Wish we all joy and honour. Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! [Flourish. Then exeunt Senators. Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. Sic. May they perceive his intent! He that will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested Should be in them to give. about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude. 3 Cit. We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some au- burn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of one scull, they would fly east, west, north, south; and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o'the compass. 2 Cit. Think you so? Which way, do you judge, my wit would fly? 3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head: but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. 2 Cit. Why that way? 3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife. 2 Cit. You are never without may, you may. your tricks :-You 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. Enter Coriolanus and Menenius. Here he comes, and in the gown of humility; mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by par- ticulars: wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you shall go by him. All. Content, content. [Exeunt. Men. O sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done it? Cor. What must I say?- I pray, sir,-Plague upon't! I cannot bring My tongue to such a pace:-Look, sir;-my wounds;- I got them in my country's service, when Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran From the noise of our own drums. Men. O me, the god's! You must not speak of that; you must desire them To think upon you. Cor. Think upon me? hang 'em! Bru. Come, we'll inform them I would they would forget me, like the virtues Of our proceedings here: on the market-place, Which our divines lose by them. I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. Men. You'll mar all; I'll leave you: Pray you, speak to them, I pray you Enter In wholesome manner. [Exit. SCENE III.-The same. The Forum. several Citizens. 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. 2 Cit. We may, sir, if we will. Cor. Enter two Citizens. Bid them wash their faces, And keep their teeth clean.-So, here comes a brace. 3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do: for if You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we 1 Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you are to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. In- gratitude is monstrous: and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multi- tude; of the which, we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. a 1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, little help will serve: for once, when we stood up 1 Avarice. to't. Cor. Mine own desert. 2 Cit. Cor. Mine own desire. 1 Cit. Your own desert? Ay, not How! not your own desire? Cor. No, sir: 'Twas never my desire vet, To trouble the poor with begging. 1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, We hope to gain by you. 672 ACT II. CORIOLANUS. Cor. Well then I pray, your price o'the consul- give him joy, and make him good friend to the ship? 1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly. Cor. Kindly? Sir, I pray let me ha't: I have wounds to show you, Which shall be yours in private.-Your good voice, sir; What say you? 2 Cit You shall have it, worthy sir. Cor. A match, sir:- There is in all two worthy voices begg'd:- I have your alms; adieu. 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 2 Cit. An' twere to give again. But 'tis no matter. [Exeunt two Citizens. Enter two other Citizens. Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. 2 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly. Cor. Your enigma? 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends; you have not, indeed, loved the common people. people! All. Amen, Amen.- God save thee, noble consul! Cor. [Exeunt Citizens. Worthy voices! Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus, and Sicinius. Men. You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes Endue you with the people's voice: Remains, That, in the official marks invested, you Anon do meet the senate. Cor. Is this done? The people do admit you; and are summon'd Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd: To meet anon, upon your approbation. Cor. Where? at the senate-house? Sic. There, Coriolanus. Cor. May I then change these garments? Sic. You may, sir. Cor. That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself again, Repair to the senate-house. Men. I'll keep you company.-Will you along? Bru. We stay here for the people. Sic. Bru. With a proud heart he wore His humble weeds: Will you dismiss the people? Re-enter Citizens. Fare you well. Cor. You should account me the more virtuous [Exeunt Cor. and Menen. that I have not been common in my love. I will, He has it now; and by his looks, methinks, sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a 'Tis warm at his heart. dearer estimation of them; 'tis a condition they ac- count gentle and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will prac- tise the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the be- witchment of some popular man, and give it boun- tifully to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend; and there- fore give you our voices heartily. 3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your country. Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further. Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! Cor. Most sweet voices !- [Exeunt. Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire, which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish gown should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: What custom wills, in all things should we do't, The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd For truth to over-peer.'-Rather than fool it so, Let the high offices and the honour go To one that would do thus.-I am half through; The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. Enter three other Citizens. Here come more voices,- Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd for your voices; for your voices, bear Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six I have seen and heard of; for your voices, have Done many things, some less, some more: your voices: Indeed, I would be consul. 5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go with- out any honest man's voice. 6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul: The gods 1 Over-look. Sic. How now, my masters? have you chose this man? 1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves. 2 Cit. Amen, sir: To my poor unworthy notice, He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices. 3 Cit. He flouted us down-right. Certainly, 1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not mock us. 2 Cit. Not one amongst us save yourself, but says, He us'd us scornfully: he should have show'd us His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country. Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. Cit. No; no man saw 'em [Several speak. 3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could show in private; And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, I would be consul, says he: aged custom, But by your voices, will not so permit me; Your voices therefore: When we granted that, Here was,-I thank you for your voices, thank you, Your most sweet voices: now you have left your voices, I have no further with you;---Was not this mockery? Sic. Why, either, you were ignorant to see't? Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness To yield your voices? Bru. Could you not have told him As you were lesson'd,-When he had no power, He was your enemy; ever spake against But was a petty servant to the state, I'the body of the weal; and now, arriving Your liberties, and the charters that you bear A place of potency, and sway o'the state, If he should still malignantly remain SCENE 1. 673 CORIOLANUS. Fast foe to the plebeii,' your voices might Be curses to yourselves? You should have said, That, as his worthy deeds did claim no less Than what he stood for; so his gracious nature Would think upon you for your voices, and Translate his malice towards you into love, Standing your friendly lord. Sic. Thus to have said, As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit, And try'd his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler, And pass'd him unelected. Bru. Did you perceive, He did solicit you in free contempt, When he did need your loves; and do you think, That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies No heart among you? Or had you tongues, to cry Against the rectorship of judgment? Sic. Have you, Ere now, deny'd the asker? and now again, On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow Your su'd-for tongues? 3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet. 2 Cit. And will deny him: I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece 'em. Bru. Get you hence instantly; and tell those friends,- They have chose a consul, that will from them take Their liberties; make them of no more voice Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking, As therefore kept to do so. Sic. Let them assemble; And, on a safer judgment, all revoke Your ignorant election: Enforce² his pride, And his old hate unto you: besides, forget not With what contempt he wore the humble weed; How in his suit he scorn'd you: but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The apprehension of his present portance,3 Which gibingly, ungravely he did fashion After the inveterate hate he bears you. Bru. Lay A fault on us, your tribunes; that we labour'd (No impediment between) but that you must Cast your election on him. Sic. Say, you chose him More after our commandment, than as guided By your own true affections: and that, your minds Pre-occupy'd with what you rather must do Than what you should. made you against the grain To voice him const: Lay the fault on us. Bru.. Ay, speie us not, Say, we read lectures to you, How youngly he began to serve his country, How long continued: and what stock he springs of, The noble house o'the Marcians; from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Nuna's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king: Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our best water brought by conduits hither; And Censorinus, darling of the people 1 Plebeian, common people. 3 Carriage. 2 Object 4 Weighing. 5 Incitation. And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice, Was his great ancestor. Sic. One thus descended, That hath beside well in his person wrought To be set high in place, we did commend To your remembrances: but you have found, Scaling his present bearing with his past, That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke Your sudden approbation. Bru. Say, you ne'er had done't, (Harp on that still,) but by our putting on; And presently, when you have drawn your number, Repair to the Capitol. Cit. We will so: almost all Repent in their election. Bru. [Several speak. [Exeunt Citizens, Let them go on This mutiny were better put in hazard, Than stay, past doubt, for greater: If, as his nature is, he fall in rage With their refusal, both observe and answer The vantages of his anger. To the Capitol : Sic. Come; we'll be there before the stream o'the people; And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, Which we have goaded onward. ACT III. [Exeunt SCENE I.-The same. A street. Cornets. En- ter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Titus Lar- tius, Senators, and Patricians, Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? Lart. He had, my lord: and that it was which caus'd Our swifter composition. Cor. So then the Volces stand but as at first; Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road Upon us again. Com. They are worn, lord consul, so, That we shall hardly in our ages see Their banners wave again. Cor. Saw you Aufidius? Lart. On safe-guards he came to me; and did curse Against the Volces, for they had so vilcly Yielded the town: he is retir'd to Antium. Cor. Spoke he of me? Lart. Cor. He did, my lord. How? what? Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword: Your person most: that he would pawn his fortunes That, of all things upon the earth, he hated Be call'd your vanquisher. To hopeless restitution, so he might Cor. Lart. At Antium. At Antium lives he? Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, To oppose his hatred fully.-Welcome home. [To Lartius. Enter Sicinius and Brutus. Behold! these are the tribunes of the people, The tongues of the common mouth. I do despise them; For they do prank" them in authority. 6 Advantage. 8 With a guard. 7 Driven. 9 Plume, deck, 674 ACT III. CORIOLANUS. Against all noble sufferance. Sic. Cor. Ha! what is that? Bru. Pass no farther. It will be dangerous to What makes this change? Go on: no further. Cer. Men. The matter? Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the commons? Bru. Cominius, no. Cor. Have I had children's voices? 1 Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the mar- ket-place. Bru. The people are incens'd against him. Sic. Stop, Or all will fall in broil. Cor. Are these your herd ?- Must these have voices, that can yield them now, And straight disclaim their tongues ?-What are your offices? You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? Have you not set them on? Men. Be calm, be calm. Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, To curb the will of the nobility:- Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule, Nor ever will be rul'd. Bru. Call't not a plot: The people cry, you mock'd them; and, of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd;" Scandal'd the suppliants for the people; call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. Cor. Why, this was known before. Bru. Cor. Have you inform'd them since? Bru. Not to them all. How? I inform them? Cor. You are like to do such business. Bru. Not unlike, Each way to better yours. Cor. Why then should I be consul? clouds, Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me Your fellow-tribune. By yon Sic You show too much of that, For which the people stir: If you will pass To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit; Or never be so noble as a consul, Nor voke with him for tribune. Men. Let's be calm. Com. The people are abus'd:-Set on.-This palt'ring Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I'the plain way of his merit. Cor. Tell me of corn! This was my speech, and I will speak't again;- Men. Not now, not now. 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. Cor. Now, as I live, I will.-My nobler friends, I crave their pardons :- For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them Regard me as I do not flatter, and Therein behold themselves: I say again, In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd number; Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 1 Shuffling. 2 Treacherously. $ Populace. 4 Lepers. Which they have giver to beggars. Men. Well, no more. 1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. Cor. How! no more? As for my country I have shed my blood, Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs Coin words till their decay, against those meazels Which we disdain should tetters us, yet sought The very way to catch them. You speak of the people, Bru. As if you were a god to punish, not A man of their infirmity. Sic. We let the people know't. Men. Cor. Choler! 'Twere well, What, what? his choler? Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, By Jove, 'twould be my mind. Sic. It is a mind, That shall remain a poison where it is, Not poison any further. Cor. Shall remain !- Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you His absolute shall? Com. Cor. "Twas from the cannon." Shall! O good, but most unwise patricians, why, You grave but reckless senators, have you thus Given Hydra here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory shall, being but The horn and noise o'the monsters, wants not spirit To say, he'll turn your currrent in a ditch, And make your channel his? If he have power, Then vail your ignorance: if none, awake Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, Be not as common fools; if you are not, Let them have cushions by you. You are plebians If they be senators: and they are no less, When both your voices blended, the greatest taste Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate, And such a one as he, who puts his shall, His popular shall, against a graver bench Than ever frown'd in Greece! By Jove himself, It makes the consule base; and my soul aches, To know, when two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusion May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take The one by the other. Com. Well-on to the market-place. Cor. Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o'the storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd Sometime in Greece,- Men. Well, well, no more of that. Cor. (Though there the people had more abso lute power,) I say they nourish'd disobedience, fed The ruin of the state. Bru. Why, shall the people give One, that speaks thus, their voice? Cor. I'll give my reasons, More worthier than their voices They know the corn Was not our recompense; resting well assur'd They ne'er did service for it; Being press'd to the war Even when the navel of the state was touch'd They would not tread the gates: this kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis; being i'the war, Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valor, spoke not for them; The accusation 5 Scab. 6 Small ish. 7 According to law E Careless. 9 Pass through. SCENE I. 675 CORIOLANUS. Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the native' Of our so frank donation.. Well, what then? How shall this bosom multiplied digest The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express Seize him, ædiles Bru. Cit. Down with him, down with him! 2 Sen. Several speak. Weapons, weapons, weapons! [They all bustle about Coriolanus. What's like to be their words :-We did request it; Tribunes, patricians, citizens! -what, ho!- We are the greater poll,2 and in true fear They gave us our demands:-Thus we debase The nature of our seats, and make the rabble Call our cares, fears: which will in time break ope The locks o'the senate, and bring in the crows To peck the eagles.- Men. Come, enough. Bru. Enough, with over-measure. Cor. No, take more: What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal!-This double worship,- Where one part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wis- dom, Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no Of general ignorance,-it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd, it follows, Nothing is done to purpose: Therefore, beseech you,- You that will be less fearful than discreet; That love the fundamental part of state, More than you doubt the change of't; that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it,-at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become it; Not having the power to do the good it would, For the ill which doth control it. Bru. He has said enough. Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall an- swer As traitors do. Cor. Thou wretch! despite o'erwhelm thee!- What should the people do with these bald tribunes? On whom depending, their obedience fails To the greater bench: In a rebellion, When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, Then were they chosen; in a better hour, Let what is meet, be said it must be meet, And throw their power i'the dust. Bru. Manifest treason. Sic. This a consul? no. Bru. The ædiles, ho!-Let him be apprehended. Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit Brutus.] whose name, myself Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: Obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. Cor. Sen. & Pat. We'll surety him. Com. Hence, old goat! in Aged sir, hands off. Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. Sic. Help, ye citizens. Re-enter Brutus, with the Ediles, and a rabble of Citizens. Men. On both sides more respect. Sic. Take from you all your power. Here's he, that would 1 Motive, no doubt, was Shakspeare's word. 2 Number. 3 Fear. 4 Risk. Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! Cit. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace! Men What is about to be?-I am out of breath; Confusion's near: I cannot speak: You, tribunes To the people; Coriolanus, patience: Speak, good Sicinius. Sic. Hear me, people; Peace. Cit. Let's hear our tribune: Peace. Speak, speak, speak. Marcius would have all from you: Marcius, Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: Whom late you have nam'd for consul. Men. This is the way to kindle, not to quench. Fie, fie, fie! 1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. Sic. What is the city but the people? Cit. The people are the city. True, Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Cit. You so remain. Men. And so are like to do. Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat; To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruins. Sic. This deserves death Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, Or let us lose it: We do here pronounce Upon the part of the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. Bru. Adiles, seize him. Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. Men. Hear me one word. Beseech you tribunes, hear me but a word. Edi. Peace, peace. Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend, And temperately proceed to what you would Thus violently redress. Bru. Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent: Lay hands upon him And bear him to the rock. Cor. No; I'll die here. [Drawing his sword. There's some among you have beheld me fighting. Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. Men. Down with that sword;-Tribunes, with- draw awhile. Bru. Lay hands upon him. Men. Help! Marcius, help, You that be noble, help him, young and old! Cit. Down with him, down with him! [In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the Ediles, and the People are all beut in. Men. Go, get you to your house; be gone away, All will be naught else. 2 Sen. Cor. Get you gone. Stand fast, We have as many friends as enemies. 5 From whence criminals were thrown, and Idashed to pieces. 676 ACT III. CORIOLANUS. Men. Shall it be put to that? 1 Sen. The gods forbid! I pr'ythee noble friend, home to thy house; Leave us to cure this cause. Mcn. Consul? what consul? He a consul? Sic. Men. The consul Coriolanus. Bru. Cit. No, no, no, no, no. For 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you. Com. Come, sir, along with us. Men. If by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two; Cor. I would they were barbarians (as they are, The which shall turn to you no further harm, Though in Rome litter'd,) not Romans (as they are Than so much loss of time. not, Though calv'd i'the porch o'the Capitol,)- Men. Sic. Speak briefly, then. For we are peremptory to despatch Be gone; This viperous traitor; to eject him hence, Were but one danger; and, to keep him here, Our certain death: therefore it is decreed, He dies to-night. Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. Cor. I could bear forty of them. Mcn. On fair ground, I could myself Men. Now the good gods forbid, That our renown'd Rome, whose gratitude Take up a brace of the best of them; yea, the two Towards her deserved children is enroll'd tribunes. Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric.-Will you hence, Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear What they are us'd to bear. Men. Pray you, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little; this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. Com. Nay, come away. [Exeunt Cor. Com. and others. 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. Men. His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. Here's goodly work! [A noise within. 2 Pat. I would they were a-bed! Men. I would they were in Tyber?-What, the vengeance, Could he not speak them fair? Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the Rabble. Sic. Where is this viper, That would depopulate the city, and Be every man himself? Men. You worthy tribunes,- Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power, Which he so sets at nought. 1 Cit. He shall well know, The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Cit. Men. Sic. He shall sure on't," In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own! Sic. He's a disease that must be cut away. Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death? Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, (Which I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country; And, what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it, A brand to the end o'the world. Sic. This is clean kam. Bru. Merely awry; when he did love his country It honour'd him. Men. The service of the foot Being once gangren'd, is it not then respected For what before it was? Bru. We'll hear no more: Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence: Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further. Men. One word more, one word. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness," will, too late, Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out And sack great Rome with Romans. Bru. If 'twere so, Sic. What do ye talk? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our ædiles smote ? ourselves resisted?-Come: Men. Consider this: He has been bred i'the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In boulted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, (In peace) to his utmost peril. 1 Sen. Noble tribunes, [Several speak together. It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody: and the end of it Peace. Unknown to the beginning. Sic. Sir,-- Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant. Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you Have holp to make this rescue? Men. Hear me speak: As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults: 1 The lowest of the populace; tag, rag and bobtail. 3 The signal for slaughter. 2 Be sure on't. Noble Menenius, Go not home. Be you then as the people's officer: Masters, lay down your weapons. Bru. Sic. Meet on the market-place: We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. Men. 'll bring him to you: 4 Deserving. 5 Quite awry. 7 Inconsiderate taste. 4 Deserving. 5 Quite awry. 6 Absolutely. 8 Finely sifted. SCENE II. 677 CORIOLANUS. Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.] That they combine not there. He must come, Or what is worse will follow. 1 Sen. Pray you, let's to him. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in Coriolanus' house. Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians. Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears; present me Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels; Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them. 1 Pat. Enter Volumnia. You do the nobler. Cor. I muse, my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, When one but of my ordinance2 stood up To speak of peace or war. I talk of you; Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me [To Volumnia. False to my nature? Rather say, I play The man I am. Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out. Cor. Let go. Vol. You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so: Lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd, Fre they lack'd power to cross you. Cor. Vol. Ay, and burn too. Let them hang. Enter Menenius, and Senators. Cor. Men. Tush, tush! A good demand. Vol. If it be honour, in your wars, to seem The same you are not, (which for your best ends, That it shall hold companionship in peace You adopt your policy,) how is it less, or worse, With honour, as in war; since that to both It stands in like request? Cor. Why forces you this? Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you tc, But with such words that are but roted in Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. Now, this no more dishonours you at all, Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune, and The hazard of much blood. I would dissemble with my nature, where My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general lowts For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard How can you frown, than spend a fawn upon them, Of what that want might ruin. Men. Noble lady! Come, go with us; speak fair; you may salve so Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past. Vol. Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; I pr'ythee now, my son. And thus far having stretch'd it (here be with them,) Thy knee bussing the stones (for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, That humble as the ripest mulberry, Now will not hold the handling: Or, say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils, Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess, something too rough; Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, You must return and mend it. In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame 1 Sen. Unless, by not so doing, our good city There's no remedy; Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power, and person. Cleave in the midst, and perish. Vol. I have a heart as little apt as yours, Pray be counsell'd: But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger, To better vantage. Men Well said, noble woman: Before he should thus stoop to the heard, but that The violent fit o'the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear. Cor. What must I do? Men. Cor. What then? what then? Return to the tribunes. Well, Men. Repeat what you have spoke. Cor. For them ?-I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them? Vol. You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. I have heard you say Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I'the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me peace, what each of them by th' other lose, 2 Rank. 3 Urge. Common clowns. In 1 Wonder. 4 Subdue. 5 Men. This but done, Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours: For they have pardons, being ask'd as free As words to little purpose. Vol. Pr'ythee now, Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf, Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. Enter Cominius. Com. I have been i'the market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness, or by absence; all's in anger. Men. Only fair speech. Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit. Vol. He must and will:- Pr'ythee now, say, you will, and go about it. Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ?" Must I, With my base tongue, give to my noble heart A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't: Yet were there but this single plot to lose 6 Unshaven head. 678 ACT III. CORIOLANUS. This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, And throw it against the wind.-To the market- place:- I have Edi Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: And when they hear me say, It shall be so You have put me now to such a part, which never l'the right and strength o'the commons, be it I shall discharge to the life. Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you. Vol. Ipr'ythee now, sweet son; as thou hast said, My praises made thee first a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, perform a part, Thou has not done before. Cor. Well, I must do't: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd, Which quired with my drum, into a pipe Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves Tent' in my cheeks; and school-boys' tears take up The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue Make motion through my lips; and my arm'd knees, Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his That hath receiv'd an alms!-I will not do't: Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, And, by my body's action, teach my mind A most inherent baseness. Vol. At thy choice then : To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour, Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me; But owe thy pride thyself. Cor. Pray, be content; Mother, I am going to the market-place; Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul; Or never trust to what my tongue can do I'the way of flattery, further. Vol. Do your will. [Exit. Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd With accusations, as I hear, more strong Than are upon you yet. Cor. The word is, mildly :-Pray you, let us go; Let them accuse me by invention, I Will answer in mine honour. Men. Ay, but mildly. either For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them If I say fine, cry fine; if death, ery death; Insisting on the old prerogative And power i'the truth o'the cause. Edi. I shall inform them. Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry, Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd Enforce the present execution Of what we chance to sentence. Edi. Very well. When we shall hap to giv't them. Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, Bru. Go about it. [Exit Edile. Put him to choler straight: He hath been us'd Even to conquer, and to have his worth Of contradiction: Being once chaf'd, he cannot Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Senators, and Patricians. Sic. Well, here he comes. Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. Will bear the knave4 by the volume. The honour'd Cor. Ay, as the ostler, that for the poorest piece gods Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Supplied with worthy men! plant love among us! Throng our large temples with the shows of peace And not our streets with war! 1 Sen. Men. A noble wish. Amen! amen! Re-enter Edile with Citizens. Sic. Draw near, ye people. Edi. List to your tribunes; audience: Peace, I say. Cor. First, hear me speak. Both Tri. Well, say.-Peace, ho. Cor. Shall I be charged no further than this present? Must all determine here? Sic. I do demand, If you submit you to the people's voices, Allow their officers, and are content Enter To suffer lawful censure for such faults As shall be prov'd upon you? Cor. Well, mildly be it then; mildly. [Exeunt. SCENE III-The same. The Forum. Sicinius and Brutus. Bru. In this point charge him home, that he af- fects Tyrannical power: If he evade us there, Enforce him with his envy to the people; And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, Was ne'er distributed.- Enter an Edile. What, will he come? Edi. He's coming. Bru. How accompanied? Edi. With old Menenius, and those senators That always favored him. Sic. Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procur'd, Set down by the poll? Edi. I have; 'tis ready here. Sic. Have collected them by tribes? you 1 Dwell. 2 Own. 3 Object his hatred. Cor. I am content. Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content: The warlike service he has done, consider; Think on the wounds his body bears, which show Like graves i'the holy church-yard. Cor. Scars to move laughter only. Men. Scratches with briarz Consider further, That when he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier: Do not take His rougher accents for malicious sounds. But as I say, such as become a soldier, Rather than envy you.. Com. Well, well no more. Cor. What is the matter, That being pass'd for consul with full voice, hour I am so dishonour'd, that the very You take it off again? 4 Will bear being called a knave. 5 Injure SCENE I. 679 CORIOLANUS. Sic. Answer to us. Cor. Say then: 'tis true, I ought so. Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is ban- ish'd, Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to As enemy to the people, and his country: take From Rome all season'd' office, and to wind Yourself into a power tyrannical; For which, you are a traitor to the people. Cor. How! Traitor? Men. Nay; temperately: Your promise. Cor. The fires i'the lowest hell fold in the people! Call me their traitor ?-Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hands clutch'd2 as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free As I do pray the gods. Sic. Mark you this, people? Cit. 1o the rock with him; to the rock with him! Peace. Sic. We need not put new matter to his charge: What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying Those whose great power must try him; even this, So criminal, and in such capital kind, Deserves the extremest death. Bru. It shall be so. 1 Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so. Cor. You common cry of curs? whose breath I hate As reek o'the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair! Have the power still To banish your defenders; till, at length, Your ignorance (which finds not, till it feels,) Making not reservation of yourselves (Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most Abated captives, to some nation Teat won you without blows! Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back: There is a world elsewhere. [Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenius, Senators and Patricians. Edi The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Cit. Our enemy's banish'd! he is gone! Hoo, hoo! [The people shout and throw up their caps. Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, What do you prate of service? As he hath follow'd you, with all despite : Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the city. Serv'd well for Rome,- Cor. But since he hath Bru. I talk of that, that know it. You? Is this The promise that you made your mother? Cor. Men. Com. I pray you,- Cor. I'll know no further: Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates, come;- Know The gods preserve our noble tribunes :-Come. Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, flaying; Pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor check my courage for what they can give, To have't with saying, Good-morrow. Sic. For that he has (As much as in him lies) from time to time Envied against the people, seeking means To pluck away their power; as now at last Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers That do distribute it; In the name o'the people, And in the power of us the tribunes, we, Even from this instant, banish him our city; In peril of precipitation From off the rock Tarpeian, never more To enter our Rome gates: I'the people's name, I say, it shall be so. Cit. It shall be so. It shall be so; let him away: he's banish'd, And so it shall be. Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common friends; Sic. He's sentenc'd: no more hearing. Com. I have been consul, and can show from Rome, Let me speak: Her enemies' marks upon nie. I do love My country's good, with a respect more tender, More holy, and profound, than mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, And treasure of my loins; then if I would Speak that- Sic. We know your drift: Speak what? 1 Of long standing. 3 Shewed hatred. 5 For. 6 Value. 2 Grasped. 4 Not only. ACT IV. [Exeuni SCENE I.-The same. Before a gate of the city. Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Me nenius, Cominius, and several young Patricians. Cor. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. the beast10 With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd To say, extremity was the trier of the spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm, all boats alike Show'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows, When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves A noble cunning. you were us'd to load me With precepts, that would make invincible The heart that conn'd them. Vir. O heavens O heavens' Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman,- Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, And occupations perish! Cor. What, what, what. I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother, Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd Your husband so much sweat.-Cominius, Droop not; adieu :--Farewell, my wife! my mother! I'll do well yet.--Thou old and true Menenius, 7 Pack. 8 Vapour. 9 Subdued. 10 The government of the people. 680 ACT IV CORIOLANUS. Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venemous to thine eyes.-My sometime general, I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women 'Tis fond' to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at them.-My mother, you wot well, My hazards still have been your solace: and Believ't not lightly (though I go alone Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Nay, and you sha I hear some.-Will you be gone? [To Brutus. Vir. You shall stay too. [To Sicin.] I would, I. had the power To say so to my husband. Sic. Are you mankind? Vol. Ay, fool; is that a shame ?-Note but this, fool.- Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, son Will, or exceed the common, or be caught With cautelous2 baits and practice. Vol. My first son, Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius With thee a while: Determine on some course, More than a wild exposture to each chance That starts i'the way before thee. Cor. O the gods! Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, And we of thee: so, if the time thrust forth A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send O'er the vast world, to seek a single man; And lose advantage, which doth ever cool' I'the absence of the needer. Cor. Fare ye well:- Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one That's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate.- Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and My friends of noble touch," when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. While I remain above the ground, you shall Hear from me still; and never of me aught But what is like me formerly. Men. That's worthily As any ear can hear.-Come, let's not weep.- If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, I'd with thee every foot. Co. ..ome. Give me thy hand:- [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A street near the gate. Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an Edile. Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further.- The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided In his behalf. Bru. Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done, Than when it was a doing. Bid them home: Sic. Say, their great enemy is gone, and they Stand in their ancient strength. Bru. Dismiss them home. [Exit Edile. Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. Here comes his mother. Sic. Bru. Let's not meet her. Why? They have ta'en note of us: Sic. They say, she's mad. Bru. Keep on your way. Vol. 0, you're well met: The hoarded plague o'the gods Requte your love! Men. Peace, peace; be not so loud. Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear,- 1 Foolish. 2 Insidious. 3 Noblest. 4 Exposure. 5 True metal. Than thou hast spoken words? Sic. O blessed heavens! Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words; And for Rome's good.-I'll tell thee what;-Yet go:- Nay, but thou shalt stay too :-I would my son Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, His good sword in his hand. Sic. Vir. What then? What then? He'd make an end of thy posterity. Vol. Bastards, and all.- Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! Men. Come, come, peace. Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country, As he began; and not unknit himself The noblest knot he made. I would he had. Bru. Vol. I would he had? 'Twas you incens'd the rabble: Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, As I can of those mysteries which Heaven Will not have earth to know. Bru. Pray, let us go. Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone: You have done a brave deed. this: Ere you go, hear As far as doth the Capitol exceed The meanest house in Rome; so far, my son (This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. With one that wants her wits? Sic. Vol. Why stay we to be baited. I would the gods had nothing else to do, Take my prayers with you. [Exeunt Tribunes, But to confirm my curses! Could I meet them But once a day, it would unclog my heart Of what lies heavy to't. Men. You have told them home. And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? [Exeunt. Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding.-Come, let's go: Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. Men. Fie, fie, fie! SCENE III-A highway between Rome and Antium. Enter a Roman and a Volce, meeting. Rom. I know you well, and you know me; your name, I think, is Adrian. Vol. It is so, sir; truly, I have forgot you. Rom. I am a Roman; and my services are, a you are, against them: Know you me yet? Vol. Nicanor? No. Rom. The same, sir. Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you; but your favour" is well appeared by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the 6 Mean cunning. 7 Countenance SCENE IV, V. 681 CORIOLANUS. Volscian state, to find you out there: You have Are still together, who twin, as 'tw ere, in love well saved me a day's journey. Unseparable, shall within this heur, Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insur-On a dissension of a doit,2 break out rection: the people against the senators, patricians, To bitterest enmity: So, fellest foes, and nobles. Whose passions and whose plots have broke thei sleep Vol. Hath been! Is it ended then? Our state thinks not so; they are in a most warlike prepara- To take the one the other, by some chance, tion, and hope to come upon them in the heat of Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear their division. friends, Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small And interjoin their issues. So with me :- thing would make it flame again. For the nobles My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy This enemy town.-I'll enter: if he slay me, Coriolanus, that they are if a ripe aptness, to take He does fair justice; if he give me way, all power from the people, and to pluck from them I'll do his country service. their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can vell [Exil. you, and is almost mature for the violent break- SCENE V.-The same. A hall in Aufidius' ing out. Vol. Coriolanus banished? Rom. Banished, sir. Vol. You will be welcome wis this intelligence, Nicanor. house. Music within. Enter a Servant. Serv. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here? I think our fellows are asleep [Exit. Enter another Servant 2 Serv. Where's Cotus? my master calls for him. [Exit. Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's Cotus? wife, is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country. Enter Coriolanus. Cor. A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, Appear not like a guest. thus accidentally to encounter you: You have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. Re-enter the first Servant. 1 Serv. What would you have, friend? Whence Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you are you? Here's no place for you: Pray, go to the most strange things from Rome; all tending to the door. good of their adversaries. Have you an army Cor. I have deserv'd no better entertainment, ready, say you? In being Coriolanus. Vol. A most royal one: the centurions, and their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company. [Exeunt. Vol. You take my part from me, sir: I have the most cause to be glad of yours. Rom. Well, let us go together. SCENE IV.-Antium. Before Aufidius's house. Enter Coriolanus, in mean apparel, disguised and muffled. Cor. A goodly city is this Antium: City, Tis I that made thy widows; many an heir Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not; Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones, Enter a Citizen. In puny battle slay me.-Save you, sir. Cit. And you. Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, Where great Aufidius lies; Is he in Antium? Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state, At his house this night. Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you? Cit. This, here, before you. Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell. [Exit Citizen. 0, world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 2 A small coin 1 In pay. 3 Having derived that name from Corioli. Re-enter second Servant. 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such companions ?4 Pray get you out. Cor. Away! 2 Serv. Away? Get you away. Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 2 Serv. Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 3 Ser. What fellow's this? 1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out o'the house: Pr'ythee, call my master to him. 3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth. 3 Serv. What are you? Cor. A gentleman. 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. Cor. True, so I am. 3 Serv. Pray, you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here's no place for you; pray you, avoid: come. Cor. Follow your function, go! And battens on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 3 Serv. What, will you not? Pr'ythee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here. 2 Serv. And I shall. 3 Serv. Where dwellest thou? Cor. Under the canopy. 3 Serv. Under the canopy? Cor. Ay. 3 Serv. Where's that? 4 Fellows. 5 Feed [Exit. 682 ACT IV. CORIOLANUS. Cor. I'the city of kites and crows. 3 Serv. I'the city of kites and crows?-What an ass it is!-Then thou dwellest with daws too? Cor. No, I serve not thy master. S Serv. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master? Cor. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress: Thou prat'st, and prat'st; serve with thy trencher, hence! [Beats him away. Enter Aufidius and the second Servant. Auf. Where is this fellow? 2 Serv. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. Auf. Whence comest thou? what wouldest thou? Thy name? Why speak'st not? Speak, man: What's thy name? Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling. Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. Auf. What is thy name? [Servants retire. Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. Auf. Say, what's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, Thou show'st a noble vessel: What's thy name? Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou me yet? Auf. I know thee not:-Thy name? Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly, and to all the Volces, Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: The painful service, The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country, are requited But with that surname; a good memory,' And witness of the malice and displeasure It be to do thee service. Auf. O, Marcius, Marcius, Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from, my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 'Tis true; I'd not believe them more than thee, All-noble Marcius.-O, let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash a hundred times hath broke, And scar'd the moon with splinters! Here co The anvil of my sword; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love, As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I lov'd the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath: but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart, Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, We have a power on foot: and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me out? Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dream't of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Mar cius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy and pouring war, Into the bowels of ungateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands; Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, Who am prepar'd against your territories, Though not for Rome itself. Cor. You bless me, gods: Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take Which thou should'st bear me: only that name re- The one half of my commission; and set down,- mains; The cruelty and envy of the people, Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth; Not out of hope, Mistake me not, to save my life; for if I had fear'd death, of all the men i'the world I would have 'voided thee: But in mere spite, To be full quite of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak2 in thee, that will revenge Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, And make my misery serve thy turn; so use it, That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee; for I will fight Against my canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under4 fiends. But if so be Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice: Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool; Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 1 Memorial. 2 Resentment. 3 Injuries. 4 Infernal. As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st Thy country's strength and weakness,-thine ow ways: Whether to knock against the gates of Rome; Or rudely visit them in parts remote, To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those, that shall Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yes, Marcius, that was much. Your hand! Most welcome! [Exeunt Cor. and Auf. 1 Serv. [Advancing.] Here's a strange alteration! 2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me, his clothes made a false report of him. 1 Serv. What an arm he has! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one woud set up a top. 2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him: He had, sir, a kind of face, me- thought, I cannot tell how to terin it. 1 Serv. He had so: looking as it were, 'Would I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him than I could think. 2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn: He is simply the rarest man i'the world. 1 Serv. I think, he is: but a greater soldier thar he, you wo⁹ one. 2 Serv. Who? my master? 5 Embrace. 8 Years of age. 6 Arm 7 Full 9 Know. SCENE VI. 683 CORIOLANUS. 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that 2 Serv. Worth six of him. 1 Serv. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the greater soldier. 2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that: for the defence of a town, our general is excellent. 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. Re-enter third Servant. 3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news; news, you rascals. 1. 2. Serv. What, what, what? let's partake. 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. 1. 2. Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general,-Caius Marcius. 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general? 3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general; but he was always good enough for him. 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself. 1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say the truth on't: before Corioli, he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado.' 2 Serv. An had he been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too. 1 Serv. But more of thy news? 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end o'the table: no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him: Our gen- eral himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies himself with's hand, and turns up the white o'the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general is cut i'the middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday; for the other has half by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowle² the porter of Rome gates by the ears: He will mow down all before him, and leave his passage polled.3 2 Serv. And he is as like to do't, as any man I can imagine. 3 Serv. Do't? he will do't: For, look you, sir: he has as many friends as enemies: which friends, sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir,) show them- selves (as we term it,) his friends, whilst he's in di- rectitude. 1 Serv. Directitude! what's that? hut peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 3 Serv Reason; because they then less need one another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheapas Volscia ns. They are rising, they are rising. All. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt. SCENE VI-Rome. A public place. Enter Sicinius and Brutus. Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i'the present peace And quietness o'the people, which before Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends Blush, that the world goes well; who rather had, Dissentions numbers pestering streets, than see Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going About their functions friendly. Enter Menenius. Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Mene- nius? Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he: O, be is grown most kind of late-Hail, sir! Men. Hail to you both! Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd, But with his friends; the commonwealth doth stand; And so would do, were he more angry at it. Men. All's well; and might have been much He could have temporiz'd. better, if Sic. Where is he, hear you? Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife Hear nothing from him. Enter three or four Citizens. Cit. The gods preserve you both! Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours. Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. 1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees, Are bound to pray for you both. Sic. Live, and thrive! Bru. Farewell, kind neighbors; we wish'd Cori- olanus Had loved you as we did. Cit. Now the gods keep you! 3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exe Citizens. Sic. This is a happier and more comely time again, and the man in blood, they will out of their Than when these fellows ran about the streets, burrows like coneys after rain, and revel ail with him. 1 Serv. But when goes this forward? Crying, Confusion. Bru. Caius Marcius was A worthy officer i'the war; but insolent, 3 Serv. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, have the drum struck up this afternoon; 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. 2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in- crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. Self-loving,-- Sic. Without assistance. And affecting one sole throne, I think not so. Men. Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, If he had gone forth consul, found it so. Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace, as far as day does night; it's sprightly, waking, Sits safe and still without him. audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apo- plexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children, than war's a de- stroyer of men. Edi. Enter Edile. Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 2 Serv. 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may Reports,-the Volces with two several powers, be said to be a ravisher; so it cannot be denied, 1 Meat cut across to be broiled. 2 Pull. 3 Cut clear. 4 Vigour. 7 Softened. 5 Part. 8 Suffrage. 6 Rumour. 684 ACT IV. CORIOLANUS. Are entered in the Roman territories; And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before them. Men. 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world: Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood Rome, d durst not once peep out. Sic. Of Marcius? If Marcius should be,oin'd with Volsciana. Com. He is their god; he leads them like a thing Made by some other deity than nature, That shapes man better: and they follow hun, Against us brats, with no less confidence, for Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, Or butchers killing flies. Come, what talk you Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.-It cannot be, The Volces dare break with us. Men. Cannot be! We have record, that very well it can; And three examples of the like have been Within my age. But reason2 with the fellow, Before you punish him, where he heard this: Lest you should chance to whip your information, And beat the messenger who bids beware Of what is to be dreaded. Sic. I know, this cannot be. Bru. Tell not me: Not possible. Enter a Messenger. Mes. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going All to the senate-house: some news is come, That turns their countenances. Sic. 'Tis this slave;- Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes:-his raising! Nothing but his report! Mess. Yes, worthy sir, Thy slave's report is seconded; and more, More fearful is deliver'd. Sic. What more fearful? Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths (How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome; And vows revenge as spacious, as between The young'st and oldest thing. Sic. This is most likely! Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish Good Marcius home again. Sic. Men. This is unlikely: The very trick on't. He and Aufidius can no more atone,4 Than violentest contrariety. Enter another Messenger. Mess. You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took What lay before them. Enter Cominius. Com. O, you have made good work! Men. What news? what news? Com. You have holp to ravish your daughters, and own To melt the city leads upon your pates; To see your wives dishonored to your noses; Men. What's the news? what's the news? Com. Your temples burned in their cement: and Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd Into an augur's bore." Men. Pray now your news? You have made fair work, I fear me :-Pray, your news? 15 Stood up in its defence. 3 Changes. 2 Talk. 4 Unite. Men. If! You have made good work, You, and your apron men; you that stood so much Upon the voice of occupation, and The breath of garlic-eaters! Com. Your Rome about your ears. Men. He will shake As Hercules Did shake down mellow fruit: You have made fair work! Bru. But is this true, sir? Com. Ay; and you'll look pale Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt; and, who resist, Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies, and his, find something in him. Men. We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. Com. Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say, Be good to Rome, they charg'd him even As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, And therein show'd like enemies. Men. 'Tis true: If he were putting to my house the brand That should consume it, I have not the face To say, 'Beseech you, cease. You have made fair hands, You, and your crafts! you have crafted fair! You have brought A trembling upon Rome, such as was never So incapable of help. Com. Tri. Say not, we brought it. Men. How! Was it we? We lov'd him; but like beasts, And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters, Who did hoot him out o'the city. Com. But, I fear They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, The second name of men, obeys his points As if he were his officer:-Desperation Is all the policy, strength, and defence, That Rome can make against them. Men. Enter a troop of Citizens. Here come the clusters.- And is Aufidius with him?-You are they That made the air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; And not a hair upon a soldier's head, Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs, As you threw caps up, will he tumble down, And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; If he could burn us all into one coal, We have deserv'd it. Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 1 Cit. For mine own part When I said, Banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 5 A small round hole: an augre is a carpen- ter's tool. 6 Mechanics. Revolt with pleasure. SCENE 1. 685 CORIOLANUS. 2 Cit. And so did I. 3 Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us: That we did, we did for the best: and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will. Com. You are goodly things, you voices! Men. You have made Good work, you and your cry!'-Shall us to the Capitol? Com O ay; what else? [Exe. Com. and Men. Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd; These are a side, that would be glad to have This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. 1 Cit. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said, we were i'the wrong, when we banished him. 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. [Exeunt Citizens. Bru. I do not like this news. Sic. Nor I. Bru. Let's to the Capitol :-'Would, half my wealth Would buy this for a lie! Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt, SCENE VII-A camp; at a small distance from Rome. Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant. Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman ? Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him; but Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; And you are darken'd in this action, sir, Even by your own. Auf. I cannot help it now; Unless, by using means, I lame the foot Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier Even to my person, than I thought he would, When first I did embrace him: Yet his nature In that's no changeling; and I must excuse What cannot be amended. Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, (I mean for your particular,) you had not Join'd in commission with him: but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. Auf. I understand thee well; and be thcu sure, When he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state; Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword: yet he hath left undone That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his; The senators, and patricians, love him, too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome, As is the osprey2 to the fish. who takes it By sovereignty of nature. First he was A noble servant to them; but he could not Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man; whether defect of judgment, 1 Pack, alluding to a pack of hounds. 2 An eagle that preys on fish. 3 Helmet, 4 The chair of civil authority. To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of; or whether nature, Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but, one of these (As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: But he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To extol what it hath done. One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do fail. Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Rome. A public place. Enter Mene- nius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, and others. Men. No, I'll not go : you hear, what he hath said, Which was sometime his general; who lov'd him In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father: But what o'that? Go, you that banish'd him, A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. Com. He would not seem to know me. Men. Do you hear? Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name: I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the crops That we have bled together. Coriolanus He would not answer to: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forg'd himself a name i'the fire Of burring Rome. M. Why, so; you have made good work: A pair of tribunes that have rack'd' for Rome, To make coals cheap: A noble memory !3 Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon When it was less expected: He replied, It was a bare petition of a state To one whom they had punish'd. Men. Could he say less? Very well: Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard For his private friends: His answer to me was, He could not stay to pick them in a pile Of noisome, musty chaff: He said, 'twas folly, For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, And still to nose the offence. Men. For one poor grain Or two? I am one of those: his mother, wife, His child, and this brave fellow, too, we are the grains: You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt Above the moon: We must be burnt for you. Sic. Nay, pray be patient: If you refuse your aid In this so never-needed help, yet do not Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure if you Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, More than the instant army we can make, Might stop our countryman. Men. No; I'll not rcdd.a. 5 Not all in their full extent. 6 Condescended unwillingly. 7 Harassed by exactions. 8 Memorial. 686 ACT V. CORIOLANUS. Sic. pray you, go to him. Men. What should I do? Bru. Only make trial what your love can do For Rone towards Marcius. Men. Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, Unheard; what then?- But as a discontented friend, grief-shot With his unkindness? Say't be so? Sic. Yet your good will Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure As you intended well. Men. I'll undertake it. Yet to bite his lip, I think, he'll hear me. And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. He was not taken well; he had not din'd: 'The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stud These pipes and these conveyances of our bloc With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I'll set upon him, Bru. You know the very road into his kindness, And cannot lose your way. Men. Com. Good faith, I'll prove him, He'll not hear him. Not? His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified; For I have ever verified³ my friends (Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing: Therefore, fel- low, I must have leave to pass. 1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here: no, though it were as virtuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general. 2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar (as you say, you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. Men. Hes he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. 1 G. You are a Roman, are you? Men. I am as thy general is. 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popu- Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge lar ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think Of my success. [Exit. to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed do- tant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; Therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. Sic. Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said, Rise; dismiss'd me Thus, with his speechless hand: What he would do, He sent in writing after me; what he would not, Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions: So, that all hope is vain, Unless his noble mother, and his wife; Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence, And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exe. Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation. 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. Men. I mean, thy general. 1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood;-back, SCENE II-An advanced post of the Volscian-that's the utmost of your having:-back. camp before Rome. The Guard at their sta- tions. Enter to them, Menenius. 1 G. Stay: Whence are you? 2 G. Stand, and go back. Men. You guard like men; 'tis well: But, by your leave, I am an officer of state, and come To speak with Coriolanus. 1 G. Men. From whence? From Rome. 1 G. You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow,- Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. Co. What's the matter? Men. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall know now that I am in estima- tion; you shall perceive that a Jack' guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st not i'the state of hanging, or some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; be- hold now presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee.-The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no 2 G. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire, worse than thy old father Menenius does! O, my before You'll speak with Coriolanus. Men. Good my friends, If you have heard your general talk of Rome, And of his friends there, it is lots¹ to blanks, My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius. 1 G. Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. Men. I tell thee, fellow, Thy general is my lover:2 I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read 1 Prizes. 3 Proved to. 2 Friend. 4 Truth. son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured, none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assauge thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. Cor. Away! Men. How! away? 6 Lie. 5 Deceitful. 9 Jack in office. 7 Dotard. 8 Fellow. SCENE III. 687 CORIOLANUS. Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs Hath an aspect of intercession, which Are servanted to others: Though I owe My revenge properly, my remission lies In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar. Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than Your gates against my force. Yet, for¹ I lov'd thee, Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [Gives a letter. And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, I will not hear thee speak.-This man, Aufidius, Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold'st- Auf. You keep a constant temper. Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? 2 G. "Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You know the way home again. 1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Great nature cries, Deny not.-Let the Volces Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand As if a man were author of himself, And knew no other kin. Cor. Vir. My lord and husband! Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd, Makes you think so. Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, For that, Forgive our Romans--0, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now by the jealous queens of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since.-You gods! I prate. And the most noble mother of the world 2 G. What cause do you think, I have to swoon? Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i'the earth; Men. I neither care for the world. nor your gene- Vol. [Kneels. [Kneel. ral: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's Of thy deep duty more impression show any, you are so slight. He that hath a will to die Than that of common sons. by himself, fears it not from another. Let your O, stand up bless'd general do his worst. For you, be that you are. Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, long; and your misery increase with your age! Il kneel before thee; and unproperly say to you, as I was said to, Away! [Exit. Show duty, as mistaken all the while Between the child and parent. Cor. What is this? [Exeunt. Your knees to me? to your corrected son? Enter Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Murd'ring impossibility, to make Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; What cannot be, slight work. Vol. 1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 2 G. The worthy fellow is our general: He is the rock, the oak not to the wind-shaken. SCENE III-The tent of Coriolanus. Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others. Only their ends Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow Set down our host.-My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainlys I have borne this business. Auf. You have respected; stopp'd your ears against The general suit of Rome; never admitted A private whisper, no, not with such friends That thought them sure of you. Cor. This last old man, Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, Lov'd me above the measure of a father; Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge, Was to send him: for whose old love, I have (Though I show'd sourly to him,) once more offer'd The first conditions which they did refuse And cannot now accept, to grace him only, That thought he could do more; a very little I have yielded too: Fresh embassies, and suits, Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this? [Shout within. Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not.- Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? Cor. The noble sister of Publicola. The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle, That's curded by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria! Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself. Cor. The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy tho'ts with nobleness: that thou may'st prove To shame invulnerable, and stick i'the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw," And saving those that eye thee! Vol. Your knee, sirrah! Cor. That's my brave boy. Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. Cor. I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'd ask, remember this before; The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never Enter in mourning habits. Virgilia, Volumnia, lead-Be held by you denials. Do not bid me ing young Marcius, Valeria, and attendants. My wife comes foremost: then the honour'd mould Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection! All bond and privilege of nature, break! Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn?--I melt and am not Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows, As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod: and my young boy 2 Reprimanded. 1 Because, 4 A young goose. 3 Openly. Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate Again with Rome's mechanics :--Tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural: Desire not To allay my rages and revenges, with Your colder reasons. Vol. O, no more, no more! You have said, you will not grant us any thing; For we have nothing else to ask, but that Which you deny already; Yet we will ask; That, if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness: Therefore hear us. Cor. Aufidius, and you Volces, mark; for we'll 5 Juno. 6 Gust, storm. 688 ACT V. CORIOLANUS. Hear nought from Rome in private.--Your request? Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our rai- ment, And state of bodies, would bewray¹ what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should Than can our reasons.-There is no man in the world More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate Like one i'the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; When she (poor hen!) fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust, Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with And spurn me back: But, if it be not so, comforts, Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which sorrow; Making the mother, wife, and child, to see The son, the husband, and the father, tearing His country's bowels out. And to poor we, Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy: For how can we, Alas! how can we for our country pray, Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win: for either thou Must, as a foreign recreant, be led With manacles thorough our streets, or else Triumphantly tread upon thy country's ruin; And bear the palm, for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune, till These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country, than to tread (Trust to't thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this world. Vir. Ay, and on mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time. Boy. He shall not tread on me; I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. I have sat too long. Vol. [Rising. Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so, that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy To a mother's part belongs.-He turns away: Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride, Than pity to our prayers. Down; an end: This is the last;-So we will home to Rome, And die among our neighbours.-Nay, behold us: This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowsip, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny't.-Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli, and his child Like him by chance:-Yet give us our despatch: I am hush'd until our city be afire, And then I'll speak a little. Cor. O mother, mother, [Holding Volumnia by the hands, silent. What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome: But, for your son.-believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come:-- Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? Auf. I was mov'd withal. Cor. 1 dare be sworn, you were. And, sir, it is no little thing, to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me: For my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause.-O mother! wife! Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour The Volces whom you serve, you might condemn us, At difference in thee: out of that I'll work As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volces May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans, This we receiv'd; and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd For making up this peace! Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shall thereby reap, is such a name, Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ,-The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wip'd it out; Destroy'd his country; and his name remains To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son: Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods; To tear witn thunder the wide cheeks o'the air, And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs?--Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping.--Speak thou, boy: Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more 1 Betray. 2 Conclude. 3 The refinements. Cor. [Aside. Myself a former fortune. [The ladies make signs to Coriolanus. Ay, by and by; [To Volumnia, Virgilia, &c. But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you; all the swords Could not have made this peace. In Italy, and her confederate arms, [Exeunt. SCENE IV-Rome. A public place. Enter Menenius and Sicinius. Men. See you yond' coign¹ o'the Capitol: yond' corner-stone? Sic. Why, what of that? Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenced, and stays upon execution. Stay but for it. 4 Angle. 5 SCENE V. 689 CORIOLANUS. Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the condition of a man? Men. There is differency between a grub, and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Mar- cius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing. Sic. He loved his mother dearly. Mess. Almost at point to enter. Sic. And help the joy. We will meet them, [Going. Enter the Ladies, accompaniea oy Senators, Patri- cians, and People. They pass over the stage. 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he them: walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a Repeal³ him with the welcome of his mother; corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum Cry,-Welcome, ladies, welcome!- is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made2 for Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity, and a heaven to throne in. Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: There is no more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you. Sic. The gods be good unto us! Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respect- ed not them: and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house; The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, And hale him up and down; all swearing, if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches. Sic. Enter another Messenger. What's the news? Mess. Good news, good news ;-The ladies have prevail'd; The Volces are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. Sic. Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you; [Trumpets and hauibeys sounded, and drums beaten, all together, Shouting also within. The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance. Hark you! [Shouting again. Men. This is good news: I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you, A sea and land full: You have pray'd well to-day; This morning, for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! [Shouting and music. Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings: next, Sir, we have all Accept my thankfulness. Mess. Great cause to give great thanks. Sic. They are near the city? 2 To resemble. 4 Gates. 5 Helped. 1 Chair of state. 3 Recall. All. Welcome! Welcome, ladies! [A flourish with drums and trumpets. SCENE V.-Antium. A public place. [Exeunt. Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants. Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market-place; where I, Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, The city-ports by this hath enter'd, and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge himself with words: Despatch. [Exeunt Attendants. Enter three or four Conspirators of Anfidius's faction. Most welcome! 1 Con. How is it with our general? Auf. Even so, As with a man by his own alms empoison'd," And with his charity slain. 2 Con. Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger. Auf. Sir, I cannot tell; We must proceed, as we do find the people. 3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of eithe Makes the survivor heir of all. Auf. I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: Who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends: and, to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping, Auf That I would have spoke of Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint servant with me: gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments I mine own person; holps to reap the fame, Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner; and He wag'd me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary. So he did, my lord: And, in the last. 1 Con. The army marvell'd at it. When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd 6 Thought me rewarded with good looks. 690 ACT V CORIOLANUS. (I say, your city,) to his wife and mother: it;-Breaking his oath and resolution, like For no less spoil, than glory, Auf. There was For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum,' which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action; Therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! [Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people. 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; but he returns, Splitting the air with noise. 2 Con. And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear, With giving him glory. 3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury His reasons with his body. Auf. Here come the lords, Say no more; Enter the Lords of the city. Lords. You are most welcome home. Auf. I have not deserv'd it. But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd What I have written to you? Lords. We have. 1. Lord. And grieve to hear it. What faults he made before the last, I think, Might have found easy fines: but there to end, Where he was to begin; and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge;2 making a treaty, where There was a yielding; This admits no excuse. Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him. Enter Coriolanus, with drums and colours; crowd of Citizens with him. a Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; No more infected with my country's love, Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know, That prosperously I have attempted, and With bloody passage, led your wars, even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home, Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, The charges of the action. We have made peace, With no less honour to the Antiates,3 Than shame to the Romans: And we here deliver, Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o'the senate, what We have compounded on. Auf. Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the highest degree He hath abus'd your powers. Cor. Traitor!-How now? Auf. Cor. Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; Dost thou think A twist of rotten silk; never admitting Counsel o'the war; but at his nurse's tears He whin'd and roar'd away your victory; That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart Look'd wondering each at other. Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars? Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears.- Cor. Auf. No more. Ha! Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!- Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him; that must bear My beating to his grave;) shall join to thrust The lie unto him. 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me.-Boy! False hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your voices in Corioli: Alone I did it.-Boy! Auf. Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears? Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once. Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.] Tear him to pieces, do it presently. He killed my son;-my daughter;-He killed my cousin Marcus;-He kilied my father.-- 2 Lord. Peace, ho;-no outrage ;--peace. The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o'the earth. His last offence to us Shall have judicious hearing.-Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. Cor. O, that I had him, Insolent villain! With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! Auf. Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. Lords. [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufidius stands on him. Hold, hold, hold, hold. Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak. 1 Lord. O Tullus.- 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. 3 Lord. Tread not upon him.-Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords. Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this rage, Ay, traitor, Marcius. Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger Marcius! Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus, in Corioli?- You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously He has betray'd your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 1 Tears. 2 Rewarding us with our own expenses. 3 People of Antium. 4 Drops of tears. 1 Lord. Bear from hence his body And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse, that ever herald Did follow to his urn. 3 No more than a boy of tears. 6 His fame overspreads the world. 7 Judicial SCENE V. 991 CORIOLANUS. 2 Lord. The tragedy of Coriclanus is one of the most amusing of our author's performances. The old man's merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dignity in Volumnia; the bridal modesty in Vir- gilia; the patrician and military haughtiness in His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great pa:t of blame. Let's make the best of it. Auf. My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up: Help, three of the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.-Coriolanus: the plebeian malignity and tribuni- Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes.-Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Coriolanus, A dead march sounded. 1 Memoria tian insolence in Brutus and Sicinius, make a very pleasing and interesting variety; and the various revolutions of the hero's fortune fill the mind with anxious curiosity. There is, perhaps, too much bustle in the first act, and too little in the last. JOHNSON. JULIUS CAESAR. Julius Cæsar. Octavius Cæsar, Marcus Antonius, M. Emil. Lepidus, PERSONS REPRESENTED. A Soothsayer. Cinna, a poet. Another Pact. triumvirs after the death of Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, young Cato, and Vo Julius Cæsar. Cicero, Publius, Popilius Lena; senators. Marcus Brutus, Cassius, Casca. Trebonius, Ligarius, Decius Brutus, Metellus Cimber, Cinna, lumnius; friends to Brutus and Cassius. Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dardanius; servants to Brutus. Pindarus, servant to Cassius, conspirators against Julius Calphurnia, wife to Cæsar. Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. Cæsar. Artemidorus, a sophist of Cnidos. ACT I. SCENE I.-Rome. A street. Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of citizens. HENCE; Flavius. ENCE; home, you idle creatures, get home; Portia, wife to Brutus. Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c. Scene, during a great part of the play, at Rome; afterwards at Sardis; and near Philippi. 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar, and to rejoice in his tri- umph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home! What tributaries follow him to Rome, you To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! Is this a holiday? What! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk, Upon a labouring day, without the sign Of your profession?-Speak, what trade art thou? 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on ?-- You, sir; what trade are you? O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft Your infants in your arms, and there have sat To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, The live-long day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, And when you saw his chariot but appear, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di-That Tyber trembled underneath her banks, Have you not made an universal shout, rectly. To hear the replication of your sounds, 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with Made in her concave shores? safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty And do you now strew flowers in his way, knave, what trade? 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow? 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone; Pray to the gods to intermit the plague Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, That needs must light on this ingratitude. Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault, 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the Assemble all the poor men of your sort;1 awl: I meddle with no tradesmen's matters, nor Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, Into the channel, till the lowest stream a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. danger, I re-cover them. As proper men as ever See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; [Exit Cit trod upon neat's leather, have gone upon my handy-They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? This way will I: Disrobe the images, Go you down that way towards the Capitol; Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 3 Honorary ornaments: tokens of respect. work. 1 Rank. 2 Whether. SCENE II. 693 JULIUS CAESAR. Mar. May we do so? You know, it is the feast of Lupercal. Flav. It is no matter; let no images Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar's wing, Will make him fly an ordinary pitch; Who else would soar above the view of men, And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A public place. Enter, in procession, with music, Cæsar; Antony, for the course: Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd follow- ing, among them a Soothsayer. Cæs. Calphurnia,- Casca. Cæs. Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks. [Music ceases. Calphurnia, Cal. Here, my lord. Cæs. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, When he doth run his course.'-Antonius. Ant. Cæsar, my lord. Cas. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say, The barren, touched in this holy chase, Shake off their steril curse. Ant. I shall remember: When Cæsar says, Do this, it is perform'd. Cæs. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. Sooth. Cæsar. [Music. Cas. Ha! who calls? Casca. Bid every noise be still:-Peace yet again. [Music ceases. Cæs. Who is it in the press, that calls on me? I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, Cry, Cæsar: Speak; Cæsar is turn'd to hear. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cœs. What man is that? Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of March. Caes. Set him before me, let me see his face. Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon Cæsar. Cæs. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again. Sooth. Beware the ides of March. Cæs. He is a dreamer; let us leave him ;-pass. [Sennet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? Bru. Not I. Cas. I pray you, do. But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd; (Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;) Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,4 By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? Bru. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself, But by reflection, by some other things. Cas. 'Tis just: And it is very much lamented, Brutus, That you have no such mirrors, as will turn Your hidden worthiness into your eye, That you might see your shadow. I have heard, Where many of the best respect in Rome, (Except immortal Cæsar,) speaking of Brutus, And groaning underneath this age's yoke, Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius, That you would have me seek into myself For that which is not in me? Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear; And, since you know you cannot see yourself So well as by reflection, I, your glass, Will modestly discover to yourself That of yourself which you yet know not of. And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus : Were I a common laugher, or did use To stale' with ordinary oaths my love To every new protester; if you know That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, And after scandal them; or if you know That I profess myself in banqueting To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Flourish and shout. Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the people Choose Cæsar for their king. Cas. Ay, do you fear it? Then must I think you would not have it so. Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:- But wherefore do you hold me here so long? What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honour in one eye, and death i'the other, And I will look on both indifferently: For, let the gods so speed me, as I love The name of honour more than I fear death. Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, As well as I do know your outward favour. Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part Well, honour is the subject of my story.- Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; I'll leave you. Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And show of love, as I was wont to have: You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Bru. Cassius, Be not deceiv'd: if I have yeil'd my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil, perhaps to my behaviours: ealia. 1 A ceremony observed at the feast of Luper- 3 Flourish of instruments. 2 Crowd. I cannot tell, what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I myself. I was born free as Cæsar; so were you: We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores, Cæsar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point? Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did. The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it With lusty sinews; throwing it aside 4 The nature of your feelings. Allure. 6 Windy. 5 694 ACT I. JULIUS CÆSAR. And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, Cæsar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. I, as Eneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber Did I the tired Cæsar: And this man Is now become a god; and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever when he was in Spain, And, when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake: His coward lips did from their colour fly; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas! it cried, Give me some drink, Titinius, As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper¹ should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. Bru. Another general shout! [Shout. Flourish. I do believe, that these applauses are For some new honours that are heap'd on Cæsar. Cas. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus, and Cæsar: What should be in Cæsar? that Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar. [Shout. Now in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed, That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd: Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was fam'd with more than with one man? When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, That her wide walks encompass'd but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. O! you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus2 once, that would have brook'd The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, As easily as a king. Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; What you would work me to, I have some aim;3 How I have thought of this, and of these times, I shall recount hereafter; for this present, I would not, so with love I might entreat you, Be any further mov'd. What you have said, I will consider; what you have to say, I will with patience hear: and find a time Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this; Brutus had rather be a villager, Than to repute himself a son of Rome Under these hard conditions as this time Is like to lay upon us. Cas. I am glad that my weak words Re--enter Cæsar, and his train. Bru. The games are done and Cæsar is returning. Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. Bru. I will do so :-But, look you, Cassius, The angry spot doth glow on Cæsar's brow And all the rest look like a chidden train: Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero Looks with such ferret' and such fiery eyes, As we have seen him in the Capitol, Being cross'd in conference by some senators. Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. Cæs. Antonius. Ant. Cæsar. Cæs. Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o'nights: Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much: such men are dangerous. Ant. Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous; He is a noble Roman, and well given. Cæs. 'Would he were fatter:-But I fear him not. Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid So soon as that spare Cassius He reads much, Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays He is a great observer, and he looks As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort, As if he mock'd hiraself, and scorn'd his spirit That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. Such men as he be never at heart's ease, Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; And therefore are they very dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, Than what I fear, for always I am Cæsar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. [Exeunt Cæsar and his train. Casca stays behind. Casca. You pulled me by the cloak; Would you speak with me? Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chane'd to-day, That Cæsar looks so sad. Casca. Why you were with him, were you not? Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. Casca. Why, there was a crown offer'd him: and being offer'd him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a shouting. Bru. What was the second noise for? Casca. Why, for that too. Cas. They shouted thrice; What was the last cry for? Casca. Why, for that too. Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice? Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than the other; and at every put ting by, mine honest neighbours shouted. Cas. Who offer'd him the crown? Casca. Why, Antony. Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. Casca. I can as well be hanged, as tell the man- ner of it: it was mere foolery. I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown;-yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coroners: -and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put Have struck but this much show of fire from Brutus it by again: but, to my thinking, he was very loath 1 Temperament, constitution. 2 Lucius Junius Brutus. 3 Guess. 4 Ruminate. 5 A ferret has red eyes. SCENE II. 695 JULIUS CÆSAR. to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the | Well, Brutus, thou art noble: vet, I see, third time; he put it the third time by: and still as Thy honourable metal may be wrought he refus'd it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped From that it is dispos'd: Therefore 'tis meet their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty That noble minds keep ever with their likes: night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd? breath, because Cæsar refused the crown, that it Cæsar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus: had almost choked Cæsar; for he swooned, and fell If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, down at it: And for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving the bad air. Cas. But, soft, I pray you: What? did Cæsar swoon? Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. Bru. 'Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness. Cas. No, Cæsar hath it not; but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness. Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but, I am sure, Cæsar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he pleased, and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true¹ man. Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself? Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- ceiv'd the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered I them his throat to cut.-An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues: -and so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done, or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, good soul!-and forgave him with all their hearts: But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Cæsar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less. Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away? Casca. Av. Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. Cas. To what effect? Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i'the face again: But those, that understood him, smiled at one another, and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Cæsar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if could remember it. Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? Casca. No, I am promised forth. I Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating. Cas. Good; I will expect you. Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. [Exit Casca. Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grow to be? He was quick mettle, when he went to school. Cas. So is he now, in execution Of any bold or noble enterprise, However he puts on this tardy form. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite. Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you: To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, I will come home to you; or, if you will, Come home with me, and I will wait for you. Cas. I will do so:-till then, think of the world. [Exit Brutus. 2 A mechanic. 1 Honest. 3 Disposed to. He should not humours me. I will this night, In several hands, in at his windows throw, As if they came from several citizens, Writings all tending to the great opinion That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely Cæsar's ambition shall be glanced at: And, after this, let Cæsar seat him sure; For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Ex. SCENE III.-The same. A street. Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and Cicero. Cic. Good even, Casca: Brought you Cæsar home ?6 Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth Shakes, like a thing unfirm? O Cicero, have seen tempests, when the scolding winis Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and I have scon The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and feam, To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds: But never till to-night, never till now, Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. Either there is a civil strife in heaven; Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, Incenses them to send destruction. Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderf:l? Casca. A common slave (you know him well by sight,) Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand, Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorcn'c. Besides (I have not since put up my sword,) Against the Capitol I met a lion, Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by Without annoying me: And there were drawn Upon a heap, a hundred ghastly women, Transformed with their fear; who swore, they saw Men, all in fire, waik up and down the streets. And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, These are their reasons,-They are natural; For, I believe they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon. Cic. Indeed, it is a strange disposed time: But men may construe things after their fashion, Clean" from the purpose of the things themselves. Comes Cæsar to the Capitol to-morrow? Casca. He doth; for ne did bid Antonius Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky Is not to walk in. Casca. Farewell, Cicero. Enter Cassius. Cas. Who's there? Casca. [Exit Cic A Roman. Casca, by your voice. Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is Cas. this? 4 Has an unfavourable opinion of me. Cajole. 6 Did you attend Cæsar home. 7 Entirely. 696 ACT L JULIUS CAESAR. Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? Cas. Those, that I have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, Submitting me unto the perilous night; And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone:' And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open The breast of heaven, I did present myself Even in the aim and very flash of it. Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens ? It is the part of men to fear and tremble, When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire, Begir it with wheat straws: What trash is Rome, What rubbish, and what a fal, when it serves For the base matter to illuminate So vile a thing as Cæsar? But, O grief! Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this Before a willing bondman: then I know My answer must be made: But I am arm'd, And dangers are to me indifferent. Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a man That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand: Be factious" for redress of all these griefs; And I will set this foot of mine as far, As who goes farthest. Cas. There's a bargain made. Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already Cas. You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, life That should be in a Roman, you do want, Or else you use not: You look pale, and gaze, And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, To see the strange impatience of the heavens: But if you would consider the true cause, Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, Why birds, and beasts, from quality and kind;2 Why old men fools, and children calculate; Why all these things change, from their ordi- nance, Their natures and pre-formed faculties, To monstrous quality; why, you shall find, That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits, To make them instruments of fear, and warning, Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night: That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars As doth the lion in the Capitol: A man no mightier than thyself, or me, In personal action; yet prodigious grown, And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. Casca. 'Tis Cæsar that you mean: Is it not, Cassius! Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors; But wo the wile! our fathers' minds are dead, And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow Mean to establish Cæsar as a king: And he shall wear his crown by sea, and land, In every place, save here in Italy. Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself. If I know this, know all the world besides, That part of tyranny, that I do bear, I can shake off at pleasure. Casca. So can I: So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity. Cas. And wny should Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know, he would not be a wolf, But that he sees the Romans are but sheep; He were no lion, were not Romans hinds." 1 Bolt. 2 Why they deviate from quality and nature. 3 Portentous. 4 Muscles. To undergo, with me, an enterprise Of honourable-dangerous consequence; And I do know, by this, they stay for me In Pompey's porch: for now, this fearful night, There is no stir, or walking in the streets; And the complexion of the element Is favour'd, like the work we have in hand, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. Enter Cinna. Casca. Stand close a while, for here comes one in haste. Cas. "Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait;" He is a friend.-Cinna, where haste you so? Cin. To find out you: Who's that? Metellus Cimber? Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna? Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this? There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna? Tell me. Cin. You are O Cassius, If you could but win The noble Brutus to our party- Yes, Cas. Be you content: Good Cinna, take this paper, And look you lay it in the prætor's chair, Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this In at his window: set this up with wax Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there? Cin. All but Metellus Cimber; and he's gone To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, And so bestow these papers as you bade me. Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. Exit Cinna Come Casca, you and I will, yet, ere day, See Brutus at his house: three parts of him Is ours already; and the man entire, Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. Casca. O, he sits high, in all the people's hearts: And that, which would appear offence in us, His countenance, like richest alchymy, Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. Cas. Him and his worth, and our great need of him, You have right well conceited. Let us go, For it is after midnight; and, ere day, We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt 5 Deer. 7 Active. 6 Here's my hand. 9 Air of walking. 8 Resembles. SCENE I. 697 JULIUS CAESAR. ACT II. SCENE I.--The same. Brutus's orchard. En- ter Brutus. Bru. What, Lucius! ho!- I cannot, by the progress of the stars, Give guess how near to-day.-Lucius I say!- I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say: What Lucius! Enter Lucius. Luc. Call'd you, my lord? Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: When it is lighted, come and call me here. Luc. I will, my lord. - [Exit. Bru. It must be by his death: and. for my part, I know no personal cause to spurn at him. But for the general. He would be crown'd:- How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder; And that craves wary walking. Crown him?- That:- And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, That at his will he may do danger with. The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins Remorse from power: And, to speak truth of Cæsar, I have not known when his affections sway'd More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof,3 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face: But when he once attains the utmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend: So Cæsar may; Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel Will bear no colour for the thing he is, Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, Would run to these, and these extremities: And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, Speak, strike, redress! Am I entreated then To speak, and strike? 0 Rome! I make thee promise, If the redress will follow, thou receivest Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus. Re-enter Lucius. Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. [Knocks within Bru. "Tis good. Go to the gate. Somebody knocks. [Exit Lucius Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The genius, and the mortal instruments, Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection. Re-enter Lucius. Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door, Who doth desire to see you. Bru. Is he alone? Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. Bru. Do you know them! Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in their cloaks, That by no means I may discover them By any mark of favour.* Bru. Let them enter. [Exit Lucius. They are the faction. O conspiracy! Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, When evils are most free? O, then, by day, Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough To mark thy monstrous visage? Seek none, con spiracy; Hide it in smiles, and affability: For if thou path thy native semblance on, Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis- Not Erebus itself were dim enough chievous; And kill him in the shell. Re-enter Lucius, Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. Searching the window for a flint, I found This papers thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, It did not lie there, when I went to-bed. Bru. Get you to-bed again, it is not day. Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? Luc. I know not, sir. Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. Luc. I will, sir. [Exit. Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, Give so much light, that I may read by them. [Opens the letter, and reads. Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thyself. Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress! Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake- Such instigations have been often dropp'd Where I have took them up. Shall Rome, &c. Thus, must I piece it out; Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What! Rome? My ancestors did from the streets of Rome The Tarquin drive, when he was called a king. 1 An exclamation of impatience. 2 Pity, tenderness. 3 Experience. 4 Low steps. 5 Nature. To hide thee from prevention. Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metullus Cimber, and Trebonius. Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest: Good-morrow, Brutus; Do we trouble you? Bru. I have been up this hour: awake, all night. Know I these men, that come along with you? Cas. Yes, every man of them: and no man here, But honours you: and every one doth wish, You had but that opinion of yourself, Which every noble Roman bears of you. This is Trebonius. Bru. He is welcome hither. Cas. Tr.is, Decius Brutus. Bru. He is welcome too. Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; And this, Metellus Cimber. Bru. They are all welcome. What watchful cares do interpose themselves Betwixt your eyes and night. Cas. Shall I entreat a word? [They whisper. Dec. Here lies the east: Doth not the day break here? Casca. No. Cin. O. pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 7 Countenance. 6 Visionary. 9 Hell. 8 Walk in thy true form. 698 Аст II. JULIUS CAESAR. Casca. You shall confess, that you are both de- And in the spirit of men there is no blood : ceiv'd. Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises; Which is a great way growing on the south, Weighing the youthful season of the year. O, that we then could come by Cæsar's spirit, And not dismember Cæsar! But, alas, Cæsar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Some two months hence, up higher toward the Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, north He first presents his fire; and the high east Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. Bru. Give me your hands all ever, one by one. Cas. And let us swear our resolution. Bru. No, not an oath: If not the face of men, The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse,- If these be motives weak, break off betimes, And every man hence to his idle bed; So let high-sighted tyranny range on. Till each man drop by lottery.2 But if these, As I am sure they do, bear fire enough To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour The melting spirits of women; then, countrymen, What need we any spur, but our own cause, To prick us to redress? what other bond, Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, And will not palter ? and what other oath, Than honesty to honesty engag'd, That this shall be, or we will fall for it? Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous,4 Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear Such creatures as men doubt: but do not stain The even virtue of our enterprise, Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, To think, that, or our cause, or our performance, Did need an oath; when every drop of blood, That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, Is guilty of a several bastardy, If he do break the smallest particle Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? I think, he will stand very strong with us. Casca. Let us not leave him out. Cin. No, by no means. Met. O let us have him; for his silver hairs Will purchase us a good opinion,5 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds: It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands; Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear, But all be buried in his gravity. Bru. O, name him not; let us not break him; For he will never follow any thing That other men begin. Cas. Then leave him out. Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. with Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd, but only Cæsar? Cas. Decius, well urg'd :--I think it is not meet, Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Cæsar. Should outlive Cæsar: We shall find of him A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means, If he improve them, may well stretch so far, As to annoy us all; which to prevent, Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius, To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs; Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards: For Antony is but a limb of Cæsar. Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius. We all stand up against the spirit of Cæsar; 1 Perhaps Shakspeare wrote faith. 2 Lot 3 Prevaricate. 4 Cautious. 5 Character. 6 Let us not break the matter to him. Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds: And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage. And after seem to chide them. This shall make Our purpose necessary, and not envious: Which so appearing to the common eyes, We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. And for Mark Antony, think not of him; For he can do no more than Cæsar's arm, When Cæsar's head is off. Cas. Yet I do fear him: For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cæsar,- Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: If he love Cæsar, all that he can do Is to himself; take thought, and die for Cæsar: And that were much he should; for he is given To sports, to wildness, and much company. Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die; For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. [Clock strikes. Bru. Peace, count the clock. Cas. The clock hath stricken three. Treb. "Tis time to part. Cas. But it is doubtful yet Whe'r Cæsar will come forth to-day, or no: For he is superstitious grown of late; Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies:" It may be, these apparent prodigies, The unaccustom'd terror of this night, And the persuasion of his augurers, 10 May hold him from the Capitol to-day. Dec. Never fear that: If he be so resolv'd I can o'ersway him: for he loves to hear, That unicorns may be betray'd with trees, And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, Lions with toils, and men with flatterers; But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, He says, he does; being then most flattered Let me work: For I can give this humour the true bent; And I will bring him to the Capitol. Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. Bru. By the eighth hour; Is that the uttermost? Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar hard, Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; I wonder, none of you have thought of him. Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him:11 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; Send him hither, and I'll fashion him. Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll leave you, Brutus:- And friends,disperse yourselves: but all remember What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans, Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; Let not our looks put on¹2 our purposes; But bear it as our Roman actors do, With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy: And so, good-morrow to you, every one. [Exeunt all but Brutus Boy! Lucius!-Fast asleep? It is no matter, Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 7 Malice. 9 Omens at sacrifices. By his house. 12 11 8 Whether. 10 Prognosticators Show our designs. BRUTUS AND PORTIA. BRUTUS. "Kneel not, Portia." PORTIA. "I should not need if you were gentle, Brutus." "Julius Cæsar," Act II., Scene II. OF ICH SCENE II. 699 JULIUS CAESAR. Thou hast no figures,' nor no fantasies, Which busy care draws in the brains of men; Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. Por. Enter Portia. Brutus, my lord! Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now? It is not for your health, thus to commit Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. Por Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, Brutus, Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, Musing, and sighing, with your arms across : And when I ask'd you what the matter was, You star'd upon me with ungentle looks: I urg'd you further; then you scratch'd your head, And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot: Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not; But, with an angry wafture of your hand, Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did; Fearing to strengthen that impatience, Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal, Hoping it was but an effect of humour, Which sometime hath his hour with every man. It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; A ad, could it work so much upon your shape, As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,2 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, He would embrace the means to come by it. Bru. Why, so I do :-Good Portia, go to bed. Por. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick; And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, To dare the vile contagion of the night? And tempt the rheumy and unpurged àir To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; You have some sick offence within your mind, Which, by the right and virtue of my place, I ought to know of: And, upon my knees, I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, By all your vows of love, and that great vow Which did incorporate and make us one, That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, Why you are heavy; and what men to-night Have had resort to you: for here have been Some six or seven, who did hide their faces Even from darkness. Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, Is it excepted, I should know no secrets That appertain to you? Am I yourself, But, as it were, in soft or limitation; To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. Bru. You are my true and honourable wife; As dear to me. as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart. Por. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman; but, withal, 1 Shapes created by imagination.. 2 Temper. 3 Damp. 4 Moisture. (A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: I grant, I am a woman; but, withal, A woman well-reputed; Cato's daughter. Think you, I am no stronger than my sex, Being so father'd, and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them: I have made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: Can I bear that with patience, And not my husband's secrets? O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Bru, [Knocking within Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while: And by and by thy bosom shall partake The secrets of my heart. All my engagements I will construe to thee, All the charactery of my sad brows:- Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia. Enter Lucius and Ligarius. Lucius, who is that, knocks? Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you. Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.- Boy, stand aside.-Caius Ligarius! how? Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick! Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand Any exploit worthy the name of honour. Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome! Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins! Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, And I will strive with things impossible; Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? Bru. A piece of work, that will make eick men whole. Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make sick? Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee, as we are going To whom it must be done. Lig. Set on your foot; And, with a heart new-fir'd, I follow you, To do I know not what: but it sufficeth, That Brutus leads me on. Bru. Follow me then. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A room in Cæsar's palace. Thunder and lightning. Enter Cæsar, in his night-gown. Cæs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace to-night: Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, Help, ho! they murder Caesar! Who's within! Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord? Cæs. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, And bring me their opinions of success. Serv. I will, my lord. Enter Calphurnia. [Exit. Cal. What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth? 5 The residence of harlots. 6 All that is charactered on. 700 Аст II. JULIUS CAESAR. You shal not stir out of your house to-day. Cas. Cæsar shall forth: The things that threat- en'd me, Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Cæsar, they are vanished. Cal. Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,' Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. A lioness hath whelped in the streets; And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead; Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, in ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war, Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol: The noise of battle hurtled in the air, Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan; And gosts did shriek, and squeal³ about the streets. O Casar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them. Cas. What can be avoided, Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? Yet Cæsar shall go forth: for these predictions. Are to the world in general, as to Cæsar. Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. Ces. Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, Decius, go tell them, Cæsar will not come. Dec. Most might Cæsar, let me know some cause; Lest I be laughed at, when I tell them so. Cæs. The cause is in my will, I will not come ! That is enough to satisfy the senate. But, for your private satisfaction, Because I love you, I will let you know. Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home: She dreamt to-night she saw my statue, Which like a fountain with a hundred spouts, Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. And these does she apply for warnings, portents, And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted; It was a vision, fair and fortunate: Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck Reviving blood; and that great men shall press For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance." This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. Caes. And this way have you well expounded it. Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say: And know it now; The senate have concluded To give, this day a crown to mighty Cæsar. If you shall send them word, you will not come, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come, when it will come. Re-enter a Servant. What say the augurers? Serv. They would not have you to stir forth to day. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast. Caes. The gods do this in shame of cowardice. Cæsar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear. No; Cæsar shall not: Danger knows full well, That Cæsar is more dangerous than he. We were two lions litter'd in one day, And I the elder and more terrible; And Cæsar shall go forth. Cal. Alas, my lord, Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. Do not go forth to-day: Call it my fear, That keeps you in the house, and not your own. We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house; And he shall say, you are not well to-day : Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. Cæs. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well; And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. Enter Decius. Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. Dec. Cæsar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Cæsar: I come to fetch you to the senate-house. Cæs. And you are come in very happy time, To bear my greeting to the senators, And tell them, that I will not come to-day: Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser; I will not come to day; Tell them so, Decius. Cal. Say, he is sick. Cæs. Shall Cæsar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arms so far, To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth? 1 Never paid a regard to prodigies or omens. Encountered. 3 Cry with pain. 2 4 As to a saint, for relics. Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, Break up the senate till another time, When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams. If Cæsar hide himself, shall they not whisper, Pardon me, Cæsar: for my dear, dear love Lo, Cæsar is afraid? To your proceeding bids me tell you this; And reason to my love is liable." Cæs. How foolish do your fears seem now, phurnia? I am ashamed 1 did yield to them.- Give me my robe, for I will go:- Cal- Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. And look where Publius is come to fetch me. Pub. Good morrow, Cæsar. Cæs. Welcome, Publius. What, Brutus, are you stirr'd, so early too? Good-morrow, Casca,-Caius Ligarius, Cesar was ne'er so much your enemy, As that same ague which hath made you lean. What is't o'clock? Bru. Cæsar, 'tis strucken eight. Cæs. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. Enter Antony. See! Antony, that revels long o'nights, Is notwithstanding up :- Good-morrow, Antony. Ant. So to most noble Cæsar. Coes. Bid them prepare within :-- I am to blame to be thus waited for.- Now Cinna:-Now, Metullus:-What, Treboning! I have an hour's talk in store for you; Remember that you call on me to-day. Be near me, that I may remember you. Treb. Cæsar, I will: and so near will I be, [Aside That your best friends shall wish I had been further 5 As to a prince, for honours. 6 Subordinate. SCENE I 701 JULIUS CAESAR. Cas. Good friends, go on, and taste some wine with me; Of senators, of prætors, common suitors, Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: I'll get me to a place more void, and there Speak to great Cæsar as he comes along. Por. I must go in.-Ah me! how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus ! And we, like friends, will straightway go together. Bru. That every like is not the same, O Cæsar, The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! [Exe. SCENE III.---The same. A street near the cap-The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise! itol. Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. Art. Cæsar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius, mark well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Cæsar. If thou be'st not immortal, look about you: Secu rity gives way to consiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover,2 Artemidorus. Here will I stand, till Casar pass along, And as a suitor will I give him this. My heart laments, that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation.3 If thou read this, O Cæsar, thou may'st live; If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. SCENE IV.-The same. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus. Enter Portia and Lucius. Por. I Pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay? Luc. To know my errand, madam. Por. I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there.- O constancy, be strong upon my side! Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!- Art thou here yet? Luc. Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else? Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: And take good note, What Cæsar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that? Luc. I hear none, madam. Por. Pr'ythee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol. Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. Enter Soothsayer. Por. Which way hast thou been? Sooth. Come hither, fellow: At mine own house, good lady. Por. What is't o'clock? Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. Por. Is Cæsar yet gone to the Capitol? Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand, To see him pass on to the Capitol. Por. Thou hast some suit to Cæsar, hast thou not? Sooth. That I have, lady: if it will please Cæsar To be so good to Cæsar, as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself. Por. Why, knowest thou any harm's intended towards him? Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance. Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: The tarong that follows Cæsar at the heels, 1 Grieves. 2 Friend. [Exit. Sure, the boy heard me :-Brutus hath a suit, That Cæsar will not grant.--O, I grow faint:- Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord:- Say, I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I.-The same. The Capitol; the senate sitting. A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capitol; among them Artemidorus, and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter Cæsar, Bru- tus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. Cas. The ides of March are come. Sooth. Av, Cæsar; but not gone. Art. Hail, Cæsar! Read this schedule. Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, At your best leisure this his humble suit. Art. O, Cæsar, read mine first; for mine's a suit That touches Cæsar nearer: Read it, great Cæsar. Cæs. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. Art. Delay not, Cæsar; read it instantly. Cæs. What, is the fellow mad? Pub. Sirrah, give place. Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street? Come to the Capitol. Cæsar enters the Capitol, the rest following. All the Senators rise. Pop. I wish, your enterprise to-day may thrive. Cas. What enterprise, Popilius? Pop. Fare you well. [Advances to Cæsar. Bru. What said Popilius Lena? Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. I fear, our purpose is discovered. Bru. Look how he makes to Cæsar: mark him. Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, Cassius or Cæsar never shall turn back, For I will slay myself. Bru. Cassius, be constant: Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes: For, look, he smiles, and Cæsar doth not change. Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus, He draws Mark Antony out of the way. [Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Cæsar and the Senators take their seats. Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, And presently prefer his suit to Cæsar. Bru. He is address'd:5 press near, and second him. Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand Cæs. Are we all ready? what is now amiss, That Cæsar and his senate must redress? Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissan Cesar, Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat An humble heart:- 4 Really. 3 Envy. [Kneeling 5 Ready 702 ACT III. JULIUS CÆSAR. Ca:. Re-enter Trebonius. Cas. Whe e's Antony? Treb. Fled to his house amaz'd; Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, As it were doomsday. I must prevent thee, Cimber. But we the ders. These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, Might fire the blood of ordinary men; And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, Into the law of children. Be not fond, To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood, That will be thaw'd from the true quality With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low-crook'd curt'sies, and base spaniel fawning. Thy brother by decree is banished; If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Cæsar doth not wrong; nor without cause Will he be satisfied. Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, To sound more sweetly in great Cæsar's ear," For the repealing of my banish'd brother? Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Cæsar; Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may Have an immediate freedom of repeal. Cæs. What, Brutus! Cas. Pardon, Cæsar; Cæsar, pardon: As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. Cas. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you ; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix'd, and resting quality, There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, They are all fire, and every one doth shine; But there's but one in all doth hold his place: So, in the world; 'Tis furnish'd well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;' Yet, in the number, I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank,2 Unshak'd of motion:3 and, that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd, And constant do remain to keep him so. Cin. O Cæsar,- Cœs. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus? Dec. Great Cæsar,- Cæs. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? Casca. Speak, hands, for me. [Casca stabs Cæsar in the neck. Cæsar catches hold of his arm. He is then stabbed by seve- ral other conspirators, and at last by Marcus Brutus. Cæs. Et tu, Brute ?5-Then, fall. Cæsar. [Dies. The Senators and People retire in confusion. Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!- Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. Cas. Some to the conimon pulpits, and cry out, Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement! Bru. People, and senators! be not affrighted; Fly not; stand still :-ambition's debt is paid. Casca, Go to the pulpit, Brutus. Dec. Bru. Where's Publius? And Cassius too. Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Cæsar's Should chance- Bru. Talk not of standing :--Publius, good cheer; There is no harm intended to your person, Nor to a Roman else: so tell them, Publius. Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the people, Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. Bru. Do so;-and let no man abide this deed, 1 Intelligent. 3 Solicitation. 2 Continues to hold it. Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures: That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time, And drawing days out, that men stand upon. Cas. Why he that cuts off twenty years of life, Cuts off so many years of fearing death. Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: So are we Cæsar's friends, that have abridg'd His time of fearing death.-Stoop, Romans, stoop, And let us bathe our hands in Cæsar's blood Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: Then walk we forth, even to the market-place And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, Let's all cry, Peace! Freedom! and Liberty! Cas. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence, Shall this our loity scene be acted over, In states unborn, and accents yet unknown? Bru. How many times shall Cæsar bleed in sport, That now on Pompey's basis lies along, No worthier than the dust? Cas. So oft as that shall be, So often shall the knot of us be call'd The men that gave our country liberty. Dec. What, shall we forth? Cas. Ay, every man away: Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Enter a Servant. Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down: And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Cæsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him; Say, I fear'd Cæsar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony May safely come to him, and be resolv'd How Cæsar hath deserv'd to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Cæsar dead So well as Brutus living; but will follow The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, Thorough the hazards of this untrod state, With all true faith. So says my master Antony. Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; I never thought him worse. Tell him, so please him come unto this place, He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour, Depart untouch'd. Serv. I'H fetch him presently. [Exit Servant, Bru. I know, that we shall have him well to friend. Cas. I wish, we may; but yet have I a mind, That fears him much; and my misgiving still Fall's shrewdly to the purpose. Re-enter Antony. Bru. But here comes Antony.-Welcome, Mark Antony. Ant. O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so ow? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure?-Fare thee well.- 4 Unsuccessfully. 6 In Cæsar's blood. 5 And thou, Brutus? SCENE I. 703 JULIUS CAESAR. I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank;' If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Cæsar's death's hour; nor no instrument Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, in- deed, Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Cæsar. Friends am I with you all, and love you all; Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die: No place will please me so, no mean of death, As here by Cæsar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirits of this age. Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us. Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, As, by our hands, and this our present act, You see we do; yet see you but our hands, And this the bleeding business they have done : Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful; And pity to the general wrong of Rome (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,) Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part, To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony; Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, Of brothers' temper, do receive you in With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any mai 's, In the disposing of new dignities. Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd The multitude, beside themselves with fear, And then we will deliver you the cause, Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him, Have thus proceeded. Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. Let each man render me his bloody hand: First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you:- Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;- Now, Decius Brutus, yours;-now yours, Metellus; Yours, Cinna ;-and, my valiant Casca, yours;- Though last, not least in love, yours, good Tre- bonius. Gentlemen all,-alas! what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground, That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer.- That I did love thee, Cæsar, O, 'tis true: If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, Most noble! in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better, than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Pardon me, Julius!-Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart; Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. O world! thou wast the forest to this hart; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.- How like a deer, stricken by many princes, Dost thou here lie? Why, and wherein, Cæsar was dangerous. Bru. Or else were this a savage specacle: Our reasons are so full of good regard, That were you, Antony, the son of Cæsar, You should be satisfied." Ant. That's all I seek: And am moreover suitor, that I may Produce his body to the market-place; And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, Speak in the order of his funeral. Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. Cas. Brutus, a word with you You know not what you do; Do not consent, [Aside. That Antony speak in his funeral: Know you how much the people may be mov'd By that which he will utter? Bru. By your pardon;- I will myself into the pulpit first, And show the reason of our Cæsar's death: What Antony shall speak, I will protest He speaks by leave and by permission; And that we are contented, Cæsar shall Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. Cas. I know not what may fall: I like it not. Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Cæsar's body You shall not in your funeral speech blame us But speak all good you can devise of Cæsar; And say, you do't by our permission; Else shall you not have any hand at all About his funeral: And you shall speak In the same pulpit whereto I am going, After my speech is ended. Be it so; Ant. I desire no more. Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. [Exeunt all but Antony. Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, That ever lived in the tide of times. Wo to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,- Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ;- A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, Shall cumber all the parts of Italy: Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile, when they behold Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds; And, Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge: With Até by his side, come hot from hell, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth Cas. Mark Antony,- Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: With carrion men, groaning for burial. The enemies of Cæsar shall say this; Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. Enter a Servant. Cas. I blame you not for praising Cæsar so; But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; Or shall we on, and not depend on you? 1 Grown too high for the public safety. You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not? Serv. I do, Mark Antony.. Ant. Cæsar did write for him to come to Rome. Serv. He did recieve his letters, and is coming: 4 To let slip a dog at a deer, &c. was the tech- 2 Course. 3 The signal for giving no quarter. nical phrase of Shakspeare's time. 704 ACT III. JULIUS CAESAR. And bid me say to you by word of mouth,- O Cæsar!- [Seeing the body. Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. Passion, I see, is catching: for mine eyes, Seeing those beards of sorrow stand in thine, Began to water. Is thy master coming? Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc'd: Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay a while; Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse Into the market-place: there shall I try, In my oration, how the people take The cruel issue of these bloody men; According to the which, thou shalt discourse To young Octavius of the state of things. Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with Cæsar's body. SCENE II.-The same. The Forum. Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. Cit. We will be satified; let us be satisfied. Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.- Cassius, go you into the other street, And part the numbers.- Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here; Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; And public reasons shall be rendered Of Cæsar's death. 1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 2 Cit. I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons, When severally we hear them rendered. [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the rostrum. Enter Antony and others, with Cæsar's body. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re ceive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com- monwealth; As which of you shall not? With this I depart; That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for my self, when it shall please my country to need my death. Cit. Live, Brutus, live! live! 1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 3 Cit. Let him be Cæsar. 4 Cit. Cæsar's better parts Shall now be crowned in Brutus. 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamours. Bru. My countrymen,- 2 Cit. Peace; silence! Brutus speaks 1 Cit. Peace; ho! Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone And, for my sake, stay here with Antony: Do grace to Cæsar's corpse, and grace his speech Tending to Cæsar's glories; which Mark Antony, By our permission, is allow'd to make. I do entreat you, not a man depart, Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 1 Cit. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony. 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair; We'll hear him :-noble Antony, go up. Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus! 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, He finds himself beholden to us all. 4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 1 Cit. This Cæsar was a tyrant. 3 Cit. Nay, that's certain: We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 2 Cit. Peace; let us hear what Antony can say. Ant. You gentle Romans,-- Cit. Peace, ho! let us hear him. Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; 3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended: Silence! Bru. Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen, and lovers!' hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear: believe me for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him. Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. If then The evil, that men do, lives after them; that friend demand, why Brutus rose against Cæsar, The good is oft interred with their bones; this is my answer,-Not that I loved Cæsar less, So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious: Cæsar were living, and die all slaves; than that If it were so, it was a grievous fault; Cæsar were dead, to live all free men? As Cæsar And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it. loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honom him: but, (For Brutus is an honourable man; as he was ambitious, I slew him; There is tears, So are they all, all honourable men;) for his love; joy, for his fortune; honour, for his Come I to speak in Cæsar s funeral. valour; and death, for his ambition. Who is here He was my friend, faithful and just to me: so base, that would be a bondman? If any speak; But Brutus says, he was ambitious; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that And Brutus is an honourable man. would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him He hath brought many captives home to Rome, have I offended. Who is here so vile, that will not Whose ransoms did the general coffers fiJl. love his country? If any, speak; for him have I Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? offended. I pause for a reply. When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept; Cit. None, Brutus, none. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: [Several speaking at once. Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done And Brutus is an honourable man. no more to Cæsar, than you should do to Brutus. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol: I thrice presented him a kingly crown, his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy; Which he did thrice refuse. Was this amb: 02 nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; death. 1 Friends. And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. SCENE II. 705 JULIUS CAESAR You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason!-Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. 1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in sayings. 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Cæsar has had great wrong. 3 Cit. his Has he, masters? I fear, there will a worse come in his place. 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown; Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 2 Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome, than Antony. 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world: now lies he there, And none so poor' to do him reverence. O masters! if I were dispos'd to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar, I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. 4 Cit. We'll hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony. Cit. The will, the will; we will hear Cæsar's will. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov'd you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; For if you should, 0, what would come of it! 4 Cit. Read the will: we will hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will; Caesar's will. Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while? I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. I fear, I wrong the honourable men, Whose daggers have stabb'd Cæsar: I do fear it. 4 Cit. They were traitors: Honourable men! Cit. The will! the testament! 2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! read the will! Ant. You will compel me then to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave? Cit. Come down. 2 Cit. Descend. 1 Cit. Stand frote the hearse, stand from the body 2 Cit. Room for Antony ;-most noble Antony. Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. Cit. Stand back! room! bear back! Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent: That day he overcame the Nervii :- Look! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through See, what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this, the well beloved Brutus stabb'd; And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow'd'it; As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar lov'd him! This was the most unkindest cut of all: For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua," Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 1 Cit. O piteous spectacle! 2 Cit. O noble Cæsar! 3 Cit. O woful day! 4 Cit. O traitors, villains! 1 Cit. O most bloody sight! 2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about,- seek,-burn,-fire,-kill,-slay!-let not a traitor live. Ant. Stay, countrymen. 1 Cit. Peace there.-Hear the noble Antory. 2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him. Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up. To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They, that have done this deed, are honourable; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it; they are wise and honour- able, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come, not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is: But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dum! mouths, And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony [He comes down from the pulpit. Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 3 Cit. You shall have leave. 4 Cit. A ring; stand round. In every wound of Cæsar, that should move 3 Statua for statue, is common among he old 1 The meanest man is now too high to do writers. everence to Cæsar. 2 Handkerchiefs. 4 Was successful. 6 Grievances. 5 Impression. 706 ACT IV. JULIUS CÆSAR. The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. Cit. We'll mutiny. 1 Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 3 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak. Cit. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what: Wherein hath Cæsar thus deserv'd your loves? Alas, you know not:-I must tell you then :- You have forgot the will I told you of. Cit. Most true;-the will;-let's stay and hear the will. Ant. Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.' 2 Cit. Most noble Cæsar!-we'll revenge his death. 3 Cit. O royal Cæsar! Ant. Hear me with patience. Cit. Peace, ho! Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbours, and new-planted orchards, On this side Tyber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Cæsar: When comes such another? 1 Cit. Never, never:-Come, away, away: We'll burn his body in the holy place, And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Take up the body. 2 Cit. Go, fetch fire. 3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. [Exeunt Citizers, with the body. Ant. Now let it work: Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt!-How now, fellow? Enter a Servant. Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. Ant. Where is he? Serv. He and Lepidus are at Cæsar's house. Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him: He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, And in this mood will give us any thing. Sery. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people, How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. Ibachelor? Then to answer every man directly, and briefly, wisely, and truly, Wisely I say, I am a bachelor. 2 Cit. That's as much as to say, they are fools that marry:-You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed; directly. Cin. Directly, I am going to Cæsar's funeral. 1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy? Cin. As a friend. 2 Cit. That matter is answer'd directly. 4 Cit. For your dwelling,-briefly. Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses. 2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho! fire-brands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's; some to Ligarius':-away; go. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE 1.-The same. A room in Antony s house. Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table. Ant. These many then shall die; their names are prick'd. Oct. Your brother too must die; Consent you, Lepidus? Lep. I do consent. Oct. Prick him down, Antony. Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live, Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn³ him. But, Lepidus, go you to Cæsar's house; Fetch the will hither, and we will determine How to cut off some charge in legacies. Lep. What, shall I find you here? Oct. The Capitol. Or here, or at [Exit Lepidus. Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands: Is it fit, The three-fold world divided, he should stand One of the three to share it ?- Oct. So you thought hin; And took his voice who should be prick'd to die, Cin. I dreamt to-night, that I did feast with In our black sentence and proscription. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. A street. Enter Cinna, the Poet. Cæsar, And things unluckily charge my phantasy: I have no will to wander forth of doors, Yet something leads me forth. Enter Citizens. 1 Cit. What is your name? 2 Cit. Whither are you going? 3 Cit. Where do you dwell? 4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor? 2 Cit. Answer every man directly. 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man, or a 1 Greek coin. Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you; And though we lay these honours on this man, To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold; To groan and sweat under the business, Either led or driven, as we point the way; And having brought our treasure where we will, Then take we down his load, and turn him off, Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, And graze in commons. Oct. will, You may do your But he's a tried and valiant soldier. Ant. So is my horse, Octavius; and, for that, I do appoint him store of provender. It is a creature that I teach to fight, To wind, to stop, to run directly on; 2 Set, mark. 3 Condemn. SCENE II, III. 707 JULIUS CAESAR. His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so; He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth: A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds On objects, arts, and imitations; Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men, Begin his fashion: Do not talk of him, But as a property.' And now, Octavius, Listen great things-Brutus and Cassius Are levying powers: we must straight make head: Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd, Our best friends made, and our best means stretch'd out; And let us presently go sit in council, How covert matters may be best disclos'd, And open perils surest answer'd. Oct. Let us do so; for we are at the stake, And bay'd2 about with many enemies; And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear, Millions of mischief. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Before Brutus's tent, in the camp near Sardis. Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and soldiers: Titinius and Pindarus meeting them. Bru. Stand here. Luc. Give the word, ho! and stand. Bru. What now, Lucilius? is Cassius near? Luc. He is at hand; and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his master. [Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus. Bru. He greets me well.-Your master, Pin- darus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied. Pin. I do not doubt, But that my noble master will appear Such as he is, full of regard, and honour. Bru. He is not doubted.-A word, Lucilius: How he receiv'd you, let ine be resolved. Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough; But not with such familiar instances, Nor with such free and friendly conference, As he hath us'd of old. Bru. Thou hast describ'd Bru. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine ene- mies? And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs; And when you do them- Bru. Cassius, be content, Speak your griefs softly,-1 do know you well:- Before the eyes of both our armies here, Which should perceive nothing but love from us, Let us not wrangle: Bid them move away; Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, And I will give you audience. Cas Pindarus, Bid our commanders lead their charges off A little from this ground. Bru. Lucilius, do the like; and let no man Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Within the tent of Brutus. Lu- cius and Titinius, at some distance from it. En- ter Brutus and Cassius. Cas. That you have wrong'd me, doth appear in this; You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted of. Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment. Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers. Cas. I an itching palm? You know, that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. Bru. The name of Cassius honours this cor- ruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. Cas. Chastisement! Bru. Remember March, the ides of March re- member! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That struck the foremast man of all this world, But for supporting robbers; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? And sell the mighty space of our large honours, For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ?- I had rather be a dog, and bays the moon, quar-Than such a Roman. A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith: But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle: But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades, Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be ter'd; The greater part, the horse in general, Are come with Cassius. Bru. [March within. Hark, he is arriv'd ;- March gently on to meet him. Enter Cassius and Soldiers. Cus. Stand, ho! Bru. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. Within. Stand. Within. Stand. Within. Stand. Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 1 As a thing at our disposa.. 2 Surrounded, baited. 3 Grievances. Cas. Brutus, bay not me, I'll not endure it: you forget yourself, To hedge me in; I am a soldier, 1, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions." Bru. Cas. I am. Bru. Go to; you're not Cassius. I say you are not. Cas. Urge me no more. I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. Bru. Away, slight man! Cas. Is't possible? Bru. 4 Trifling. Hear me, for 1 will speak. 6 Limit my authority. 5 Bait, park at. 7 Terms, fit to confer the offices at my disposal 708 ACT IV. JULIUS CAESAR. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 1 Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares? Cas. O ye gods! ye gods! must I endure all this? bru All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart break; Go, show your slaves how coleric you are. And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you: for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish. Cas. Is it come to this? Bru. You say, you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well: For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus; I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say, better? Bru. If you did, I care not. Cas. When Cæsar liv'd, he durst not thus have mov'd me. Bru. Peace, peace: you durst not so have tempt- ed him. Cas. I durst not? Bru. No. Cas. What? durst not tempt him? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, I may do that I shall be sorry for. Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats: For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ;- For I can raise no money by vile means: By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas,' than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces! Cas. Bru. You did. Cas. I denied you not. I did not:-he was but a fool, That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath riv'de my heart: A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. Cus. You love me not. My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; I hat denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. Bru. Sheath your dagger: Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him? Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Bru. And my heart too. Cas. Bru. O Brutus!- What's the matter? Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour, which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful? Bru Yes, Cassius; and, henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus. He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. [Noise within. Poet. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals; There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet They be alone. Luc. [Within.] You shall not come to them. Poet. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. Enter Poet. Cas. How now? What's the matter? Poet. For shame, you generals; What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time: What should the wars do with these jiggling fools? Companion, hence. Cas. Away, away; begone. [Exit Poet. Enter Lucilius and Titinius. Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you, Immediately to us. [Ere. Lucilius and Titinius. Lucius, a bowl of wine. Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. Bru. Bru. I do not like your faults. Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear. As nuge as high Olympus. Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. If you give place to accidental evils. Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is aweary of the world: Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother, Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 1 Coin. 2 Split. 3 Fellow. Bru. No man bears sorrow better:-Portia is dead. Cas. Ha! Portia ? Bru. She is dead. Cas. How 'scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you so?- O insupportable and touching loss!- Upon what sickness? SCENE III. 709 JULIUS CAESAR. Bru. Impatient of my absence; | Do stand but in a forc'd affection; And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antory For they have grudg'd us contribution: Have made themselves so strong;-for with her The enemy, marching along by them, death That tidings came ;-With this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. Cas. And died so? Bru. Even so. Cas. O ye immortal gods! Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers. Bru. Speak no more of her.-Give me a bowl of wine:- By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd, From which advantage shall we cut him off, If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back. Cas. Hear me, gcod bro! Bru. Under your pardon.-You must note be- side, That we have try'd the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : The enemy increaseth every day, We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune, Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. Mes-On such a full sea are we now afloat; In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:- Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. [Drinks. Bru. Come in, Titinius :-Welcome, good sala.- Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities. Cas. Portia, art thou gone? Bru. No more, I pray you.- Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, Come down upon us with a mighty power,' Bending their expedition towards Philippi. Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor. Bru. With what addition? Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, Have put to death a hundred senators. Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; Mine speak of seventy senators, that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. Cas. Cicero one? Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription.-- Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? Bru. No, Messala. Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her? Bru. Nothing, Messala. Mes. That, methinks, is strange. Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours? Mes. No, my lord. Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.-We must die, Messala: With meditating that she must die once,2 I have the patience to endure it now. Mes. Even so great men great Icsses should en- dure. Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so. Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently? Cas. I do not think it good. Bru. Cas. Your reason? This it is: "Tis better that the enemy seek us: So shall we waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence; whilst we, iaying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to better. The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground. And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures. Cas. Then, with your will, go on We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity; Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say? No more. Good night; Cas. Early to-morrow will we rise and hence. Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] Farewell, good Messala;-- Good night, Titinius :-Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose. Cas. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night: Never come such division 'tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus. Bru. Every thing is well. Cas. Good night, my lord. Bru. Good night, good brother. Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. Bru. Farewell, every one. [Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes. Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? Luc. Here in the tent. Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd. Call Claudius, and some other of my men; I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. Luc. Varro, and Claudius! Enter Varro and Claudius. Var. Calls my lord? Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep; It may be, I shall raise you by and by On business to my brother Cassius. Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your pleasure. Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants lie down. Luc. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes a while, And touch thy instrument a strain or two? Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. Bru. It does, my boy 1 Force. 2 At some time. 3 Theory.I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 710 ACT V. JULIUS CAESAR. Luc. It is my duty, sir. Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. Bru. It is well done; and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long: if I do live, I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune :-O murd❜rous slumber! Lay'st thou thy leaden mace' upon my boy, That plays thee music?-Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see;-Is not the leaf turn'd down, It proves not so: their battles are at hand; They mean to warn us at Philippi here, Answering before we do demand of them. Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know Wherefore they do it: tney could be content To visit other places: and come down With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face, To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; But 'tis not so. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Prepare you, generals: Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, The enemy comes on in gallant show; And something to be done immediately. Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, [He sits down. Upon the left hand of the even field. Enter the Ghost of Cæsar. Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. How ill this taper burns!-Ha! who comes here? I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me:--Art thou any thing? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me, what thou art. Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. Bru. Why com'st thou ? Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. Bru. Well; Then I shall see thee again? Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes. Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.- Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.- Oct. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? Oct. I do not cross you; but I will do so. [March. Drum, Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their army, Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others. Bru. They stand, and would have parley. Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk. Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? Make forth, the generals would have some words. Ant. No, Cæsar, we will answer on their charge. Oct. Stir not until the signal. Bru. Words before blows: Is it so, countrymen? Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words: Boy! Lucius!-Varro! Claudius! sirs, awake!-Witness the hole you made in Cæsar's heart, Claudius! Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument.- Lucius, awake. Luc. My lord! Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so cry'dst out? Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. Bru. Yes, that thou didst; Didst thou see any thing? Luc. Nothing, my lord. Bru. Sleep again, Lucius.-Sirrah, Claudius! Fellow thou! awake. Var. My lord. Clau. My lord. Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? Bru. Ay: Saw you any thing? Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. Clau. Nor I, my lord. Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cas- sius; Bid him set on his powers before, And we will follow. Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE I-The plains of Philippi. Enter Oc- tavius, Antony, and their army. Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: You said, the enemy would not come down, But keep the hills and upper regions; 1 Sceptre. 2 Summons. Crying, long live! hail Cæsar! Cas. Antony, The posture of your blows are yet unknown; But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, And leave them honeyless. Ant. Not stingless too. Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; And, very wisely, threat before you sting. For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony; Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile daggers Hack'd one aucther in the sides of Cæsar: You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Cæsar's feet: Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, Struck Cæsar on the neck. O flatterers!" Cas. Flatterers!-Now, Brutus, thank yourself: This tongue had not offended so to-day, If Cassius might have rul'd. Oct. Come, come, the cause: If arguing make us sweat. The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look; I draw a sword against conspirators; When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Cæsar's three and twenty wounds Be well aveng'd; or till another Cæsar Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. Bru. Cæsar. thou canst not die by traitors, Unless thou bring'st them with thee. Oct. So I hope; I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of suck honour, SCENE II, III. 711 JULIUS CAESAR. Join'd with a masker and a reveller. Ant. Old Cassius still! Oct. Come, Antony: away. Defiance, traitors, hurl' we in your teeth: If you dare fight to-day, come to the field; If not, when you have stomachs. [Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their army; Cas. Why now, blow, wind; swell, billow; and swim, bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. Bru. Ho! Lacilius; hark, a word with you. Luc. My lord. [Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. Cas Messala,- Mes. Cas. What says my general? Messala, This is my birth-day; as this very day Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: Be thou my witness, that, against my will, As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set Upon one battle all our liberties. You know, that I held Epicurus strong, And his opinion: now I change my mind, And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former² ensign Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands; Who to Philippi here consorted us. This morning are they fled away, and gone; And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites, Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. Mes. Believe not so. Cas. I but believe it partly; For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd To meet all perils very constantly. Bru. Even so, Lucilius. Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, The gods to-day stand friendly; that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together: What are you then determined to do? Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy, By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself:-I know not how, But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent. The time of life:-arming myself with patience, To stay the providence of some high powers, That govern us below. Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, You are contented to be led in triumph Thorough the streets of Rome? Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; He bears too great a mind. But this same day Must end that work, the ides of March begun; And whether we shall meet again, I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take: For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! If we do meet again, why we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made. Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 1 Throw. 2 Foremost. 3 Accompanied. Bru. Why then, lead on.-O, that a man might know The end of this day's business, ere it come! But it sufficeth, that the day will end, And then the end is known.-Come, ho! away! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. The field of battle. SCENE II.-The same. Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills4 Unto the legions on the other side: [Loud alarum Let them set on at once; for I perceive But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, And sudden push gives them the overthrow. Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy: This ensign here of mine was turning back; I slew the coward, and did take it from him. Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early; Who having some advantage on Octavius, Took it too eagerly; his soldiers fell to spoil, Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. Enter Pindarus. Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord! Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titi nius; Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire? Tit. They are, my lord. Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, And here again: that I may rest assur'd, Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy. Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. Exit. Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill; My sight was ever thick: regard Titinius, And tell me what thou not'st about the field.- [Exit Pindarus. This day I breathed first time is come round, And where I did begin, there I shall end; My life is run his compass.-Sirrah, what news? Pin. [Above.] O my lord! Cas. What news? Pin. Titinius is Enclosed round about with horsemen, that Make to him on the spur;-Yet he spurs on.- Now they are almost on him; now, Titinius!- Now some 'light:-0, he lights too :-he's ta'en ;- and, hark! [Shout. They shout for joy. Come down, behold no more.- O, coward, that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta'en before my face! Enter Pindarus. Cas. Come, hither, sirrah: In Parthia did I take thee prisoner: And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath: 4 Directions for the officers, 712 ACT V JULIUS CAESAR. Now be a freeman; and, with this good sword, That ran through Cæsar's bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer: Here, take thou the hilts; And, when ny face is cover'd, as 'tis now, Guide thou the sword.-Cæsar, thou art reveng'd, Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. Pin. So, I am free; yet would not so have been, Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Far from this country Pindarus shall run, Where never Roman shall take note of him. Re-enter Titinius with Messala.. The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible, that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow.-Friends, I owe more tears To this dead man, than you shall see me pay.- I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; His funeral shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us.-Lucilius, come;- And come, young Cato; let us to the field.-- [Ex. Labeo, and Flavius, set our battles on :- 'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Another part of the field. Alar um. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads! Mes. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, As Cassius' legions are by Antony. Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. Mes. Where did you leave him? Tit. All disconsolate, With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground? Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart! Mes. Is not that he? Tit. No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more.-O setting sun! As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, So in his red blood Cassius' day is set; The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done! Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field: I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend; I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! - [Charges the enemy. Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus. [Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is over- powered, and falls. Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius; deed. O hateful error, melancholy's child! Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men, The things that are not? O error, soon conceiv'd, Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. Tit. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus? Mes. Seek him, Titinius: whilst I go to meet The noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his ears: I may say, thrusting it; For piercing steel, and darts envenomed, Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus, As tidings of this sight. Tit. Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [Ex. Mes. Why dist thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they Put on my brows this wreath of victory, And bid me give't thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts ? Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing. But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I' Will do his bidding.-Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.- By your leave, gods:-This is a Roman's part: Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. [Dies. Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius." Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? Mes. Lo, yonder; and Titinius mourning it. Bru. Titinius' face is upward. He is slain. Cato. Bru. O Julius Cæsar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. Brave Titinius! Cato. Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius! Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these?- 1 Whether. And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's son. 1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. Luc. Only I yield to die: There is so much that thou wilt kill me straght; [Offering money. Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 1 Sold. We must not.-A noble prisoner! 2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 1 Sold. I'll tell the news.-Here comes the gen- eral:- Enter Antony. Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. Ant. Where is he? Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough I dare assure thee, that no enemy Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: The gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive, or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himself. Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you, A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe, Give him all kindness: I had rather have Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on, And see whe'r' Brutus be alive, or dead: And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent, How every thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Another part of the field. Enter Brutus, Dardanius Clitus, Strato, and Volum- nius. Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back; he is or ta'en, or slain. Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: Slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.- [Whispering. Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. Bru. Peace then, no words. Cli. I'll rather kill myself. Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius! [Whispers him SCENE V. 713 JULIUS CAESAR. Dar. Cli. O, Dardanius! Dar. O, Clitus! I do such a deed? | Bru. Farewell, good Strato. Cæsar, now be Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? Dar. To kill him, Clitus: Look, he meditates. Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes. Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word. Vol. What says my lord? Bru. Why, this, Volumnius; The ghost of Cæsar hath appear'd to me Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields. I know my hour is come. Vol. Not so, my lord. Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit: It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou know'st, that we two went to school together; Even for that our love of old, I pray thee, Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. [Alarum still. Cli. Fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here. Bru. Farewell to you;-and you;-and you, Volumnius.- Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato.-Countrymen, My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life, I found no man, but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day, More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So, fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue Hath almost ended his life's history: Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour'd to attain this hour. [Alarum. Cry within, Fly, fly, fly. Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. Bru. Hence; I will follow thee. still: I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. [He runs on his sword, and dies. Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Mes- sala, Lucilius, and their Army. Oct. What man is that? Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy master? Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messal; The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honour by his death. Luc. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. Oct. All that serv'd Brutus' I will entertain¹ them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. Oct. Do so, Messala. Mes. How died my master, Strato? Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master. Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: All the conspirators, save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar; He, only, in a general honest thought, And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle: and the elements So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, This was a man! Oct. According to his virtue let us see him, With all respect and rights of burial. Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. So, call the field to rest: and let's away, To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt [Exeunt Clitus, Dardaníus, and Volumnius. Of this tragedy many particular passages deserve I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord: Thou art a fellow of a good respect: Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it: Hold then iny sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? Stra. Give me your hand first: Fare you well, my lord. 1 Reccive into my service. 2 Recommend. regard, and the contention and reconcilement of Brutus and Cassius is universally celebrated; but I have never been strongly agitated in perusing it, and think it somewhat cold and unaffecting, com- pared with some other of Shakspeare's plays: his adherence to the real story, and to the Roman man- ners, seems to have impeded the natural vigour of his genius. JOHNSON. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. M. Antony, Octavius Cæsar, M.Emil. Lepidus, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Taurus, lieutenant-general to Cæsar. Canidius, lieutenant-general to Antony. Silius, an officer in Ventidius's army. Euphronius,an ambassador from Antony to Cæsar. Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes; attend ants on Cleopatra. A Soothsayer. A Clown. Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. triumvirs. Sextus Pompeius. Domitius Enobarbus,] Ventidius, Eros. Scarus, friends of Antony. Dercetas, Demetrius, Philo, Mæcenas, Agrippa, Iras, Dolabella, Proculeius, friends of Cæsar. Thyreus, Gallus, Menecratus, friends of Pompey. Varius, Menas, ACT I. SCENE I.-Alexandria. A room in Cleopatra's palace. Enter Demetrius and Philo. Philo. NAY, but this dotage of our general's, O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges¹ all temper; And is become the bellows and the fan, To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come! Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with their trains; Eunuchs fanning her. Take but good note, and you shall see in him The tripie pillar of the world transform'd Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see. Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. Cleo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. Enter an Attendant. Octavia, sister to Cæsar, and wife to Antony. Charmian, attendants on Cleopatra. Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attend- ants. Scene, dispersed; in several parts of the Roman empire. If the scarce-bearded Cæsar have not sent His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this; Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; Perform't, or else we damn thee. Ant. How, my love! Cleo. Perchance.-nay, and most like, You must not stay here longer, your dismission Is come from Cæsar; therefore, hear it, Antony. Where's Fulvia's process?5 Cæsar's, I would say? Both?- Call in the messengers.-As I am Egypt's queen, Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.--The messen gers. Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt! and the wide arch Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space; Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life ls, to do thus; when such a mutual pair, [Embracing. And such a twain can do't, in which I bind On pain of punishment, the world to weet, We stand up peerless. Cleo. Excellent falsehood! Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?-- I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony Will be himself. Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. Now, by the love of Love, and her soft hours, Let's not confound' the time with conference harsh! There's not a minute of our lives should stretch sum.-Without some pleasure now: What sport to-night? Att. News, my good lord, from Rome. Ant. Grates me :-The Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony: Fulvia, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows 1 Renounces. 3 O.fends. Cleo, Hear the ambassadors. Ant. Fie, wrangling queen! Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh, 2 Bound or limit. 4 Subdue, conquer. 5 Summons. 6 Know. 7 Consume. SCENE 11. 715 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. To weep; whose every passion fully strives To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd! No messenger; but thine and all alone, To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note The qualities of people. Come, my queen; Last night you did desire it :-Speak not to us. Exeunt Ant. and Cleo. with their train. Dem Is Cæsar with Antonius priz'd so slight? Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, He comes too short of that great property Which still should go with Antony. Dem. I'm full sorry, That he approves the common liar,¹ who Thus speaks of him at Rome: But I will hope Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Another room. Enter Charmain, Iras, Alexas, and a Soothsayer. Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew this husband, which, you say, must change his horns with garlands? Alex. Soothsayer. Sooth. You will? Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine. Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot sooth- say. Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear.-Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune. Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. Iras. But how, but how? give me particulars. Scoth. I have said. Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it? Iras. Not in my husband's nose. Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend!-A- lexas,-come, his fortune, his fortune.-O, let him seech thee! And let her die too, and give him a marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I be- worse! and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sor- Char. Is this the man?-Is't you, sir, that know row to behold a foul knave uncuckolded; There- things? Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, A little I can read. Alex. Show him your hand. Enter Enobarbus. Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough, Cleopatra's health to drink. Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. fore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him ac- cordingly! Char. Amen. Alex. Lo, now! if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but they'd do't. Eno. Hush! here comes Antony. Char. Not he, the queen. Enter Cleopatra. No, lady. Was he not here? Cleo. Saw you my lord? Sooth. I make not, but foresee. Char. Pray then, foresee me one. Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. Eno. Char. He means, in flesh. Cleo. Char. No, madam. Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. Char. Wrinkles forbid ! Alex. Vex not his prescience; be attentive. Char. Hush! Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved. Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. Alex. Nay, hear him. Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sud- den A Roman thought hath struck him.-Enobarbus,- Eno. Madam. Cleo. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? - Alex. Here, madam, at your service. My lord approaches. Char. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all: let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may do homage: find me Enter to marry me with Octavius Cæsar, and companion une with my mistress. Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach. Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no names: Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must I have? Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, And fertile every wish, a million. Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. Alex. You think, none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall be-drunk to bed. Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if noth- ing else. 1 Fame. 2 Shall be bastards Antony, with a Messenger and Attendants. Cleo. We will not Icok upon him: Go with us. [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and Attendants. Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. Ant. Against my brother Lucius? Mess. Ay: But soon that war had end, and the time's state Made friends of them, joining their force 'gai.ast Cæsar; Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, Upon the first encounter, drave them. Ant. What worst? Well, Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward.-On: Things, that are past, are done, with me.-'Tis thus: Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, hear him as he flatter'd. I Mess. Labienus (This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force Extended Asia from Euphrates; 3 An Egyptian goddess 4 Seized. 716 ACT I. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. His conquering banner shook, from Syria To Lydia, and to Ionia; Whilst Ant. Mess. Antony, thou would'st say,- Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general, tongue; Eno. Fulvia? Ant. Dead. Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacri- fice. When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife 8, my lord! of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting therein, that when old robes are worn out, there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented: this grief is crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat :-and, indeed, the tears live in an onion, that should water this Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome: Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults With such full license, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds, When our quick winds' lie still; and our ills told us, Is as our earing.2 Fare thee well a while. Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 1 Att. The man from Sicyon.-Is there such a one? 2 Att. He stays upon your will. Ant. Let him appear.- These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, Enter another Messenger. Or lose myself in dotage.-What are you? 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. Ant. Where died she? sorrow. Ant. The business she hath broached in the state, Cannot endure my absence. Eno. And the business you have broached here, cannot be without you; especially that of Cleo- patra's, which wholly depends on your abode. Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers Have notice what we purpose. I shall break The cause of our expedience to the queen, And get her loves to part. For not alone The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too Of many our contriving friends in Rome 2 Mess. In Sicyon: Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius Her length of sickness, with what else more serious Hath given the dare to Cæsar, and commands Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter. The empire of the sea: our slippery people Ant. Forbear me.-(Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, [Exit Messenger. Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: Pompey the great, and all his dignities, What our contempts do often hurl from us, Upon his son; who high in name and power, We wish it ours again; the present pleasure, Higher than both in blood and life, stands up By revolution lowering, does become For the main soldier: whose quality going on, The sides o'the world may danger: Much is brend- The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone; The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on. I must from this enchanting queen break off; Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, My idleness doth hatch.-How now! Enobarbus! Enter Enobarbus. Eno. What's your pleasure, sir? Ant. I must with haste from hence. Eno. Why, then, we kill all our women: We see how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer our departure, death's the word. Ant. I must be gone. ing, Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, To such whose place is under us, requires Our quick remove from hence. Eno. I shall do't. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. Cleo. Where is he? Char. I did not see him since. Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, wha does:- [Exit Alex. Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die: It were pity to cast them away for nothing; I did not send you ;"-If you find him sad, though, between them and a great cause, they Say, I am dancing; if in mirth, report should be esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching That I am sudden sick: Quick, and return. but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do think, there is mettle in death, which commits. some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying. Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love; We can- not call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they are greater storms and tempests than almanacks can report: this cannot be cunning in her, if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. Ant. 'Would I had never seen her! Eno. O sir, you had then left unseen a wonder- Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, You do not hold the method to enforce The like from him. Cleo. What should I do. I do not? Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in nothing. Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. Char. Terpt him not so too far: I wish, forbear; In time we hate that which we often fear. Enter Antony. ful piece of work; which not to have been blessed But here comes Antony. withal, would have discredited your travel. Ant. Fulvia is dead. Eno. Sir? Ant. Fulvia is dead. 1 In some editions minds. 2 Tilling, ploughing; prepares us to produce good seed. Cleo. I am sick and sullen. Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my pur pose.- Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, or 1 fall; 3 Waits. 5 Leave. 4 Expedition. 6 Horse's. 7 Look as if I did not send you. SCENE IV. 717 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature Will not sustain it. Ant. Now, my dearest queen,- Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. Ant. What's the matter? Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good news. What says the married woman ?-You may go; 'Would she had never given you leave to come! Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, I have no power upon you; hers you are. Ant. The gods best know,- Cleo. Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war, As thou affect'st. Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ;- But let it be.-I am quickly ill, and well: So Antony loves. Ant. My precious queen, forbear: And give true evidence to his love, which stands An honourable trial. Cleo. So Fulvia told me. I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her; Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears Belong to Egypt: Good now, play one scene O, never was there queen Of excellent dissembling; and let it look Like perfect honour. So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first, I saw the treasons planted. Ant. Cleopatra,- Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true, Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, Which break themselves in swearing! Ant. Most sweet queen,- Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying, Then was the time for words: No going then ;- Eternity was in our lips, and eyes; Bliss in our brows bent; none our parts so poor, But was a race of heaven: They are so still, Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, Art turn'd the greatest liar. Ant. How now, lady! Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou should'st know, There were a heart in Egypt. Ant. Hear me, queen : The strong necessity of time commands Our services awhile; but my full heart Remains in use with you. Our Italy Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius Makes his approaches to the port of Rome: Equality of two domestic powers Breeds scrupulous faction; The hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love: the condemn'd Pompey, Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten; And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge By any desperate change: My more particular, And that which most with you should safe going, Is Fulvia's death. Cleo. Though age from folly could not give freedom, It does from childishness :-Can Fulvia die ?5 Ant. She's dead, my queen: my Ant. You'll heat my blood; no more. Cleo. You can do better yet; but this is meetly. Ant. Now, by my sword,- Cleo. And target,-Still he mends, But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, How this Herculean Roman does become The carriage of his chafe." Ant. I'll leave you, lady. Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. Sir, you and I must part, but that's not it: Sir, you and I have lov'd,-but there's not it; That you know well: Something it is I would,- O, my oblivion 10 is a very Antony, And I am all forgotten. Ant. But that your royalty Holds idleness your subject, I should take you For idleness itself. Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour, To bear such idleness so near the heart As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me Since my becomings kill me, when they do not Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence; Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, And all the gods go with you! upon your sword Sit laurel'd victory! and smooth success Be strew'd before your feet! Ant. Let's go. Come, Our separation so abides, and flies, That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me, And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. Away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Rome. An apartment in Cæsar's house. Enter Octavius Caesar, Lepidus, and Attendants. Cæs. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is not Cæsar's natural vice to hate One great competitor:" From Alexandria This is the news; He fishes, drinks, and wastes me The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike Than Cleopatra: nor the queen Ptolemy More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, or Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: You shall find there Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read The garboils she awak'd: at the last, best: See, when, and where she died. Cleo. O most false love! Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fill With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be. Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, As you shall give the advice: Now, by the fire That quickens Nilus' slime,' I go from hence, 1 The arch of our eye-brows. 3 Gate. 2 Smack, or flavour. 4 Render my going not dangerous. 5 Can Fulvia be dead? 6 The commotion she cccasioned. A man, who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow. Lep. I must not think, there are Evils enough to darken all his goodness: His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary, Rather than purchas'd; 12 what he cannot change, Than what he chooses. Cæs. You are too indulgent: Let us grant, it is not 7 Mud of the river Nile.. 8 To me, the queen of Egypt. 9 Heat. 10 Oblivious memory. 11 Associate or partner. 12 Procured by his own fault. 718 ACT I. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; To reel the streets at noon, and stand the huffet With knaves that smell of sweat: say, this be- comes him, (As his composure must be rare indeed, Lep. It is pity of him. Cas. Let his shames quickly Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain Did show ourselves i'the field; and, to that end, Assemble we immediate council: Pompey Thrives in our idleness. Lep. To-morrow, Cæsar, I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must An- Both what by sea and land I can be able, tony No way excuse his soils, when we do bear So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd His vacancy with his voluptuousness. Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones, Call on him for't: but to confounds such time, That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud As his own state, and ours,-'tis to be chid As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge, Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, And so rebel to judgment. Lep. Enter a Messenger. Here's more news. Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, Most noble Cæsar, shalt thou have report How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea; And it appears, he is belov'd of those That only have fear'd Cæsar: to the ports The discontents4 repair, and men's reports Give him much wrong'd. Cæs. I should have known no less:- It hath been taught us from the primal state, That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were; And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love, Comes dear'd, by being lack'd. This common body, Like a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion. Mess. Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, Make the sea serve them; which they ear and wound Cæsar, I bring thee word, With keels of every kind: Many hot inroads They make in Italy; the borders maritime Lack blood' to think on't, and flush youth revolt: No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon Taken as seen: for Pompey's name strikes more, Than could his war resisted. Cæs. Antony, Leave thy lascivious wassals. When thou once, Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel To 'front this present time. Cæs. Till which encounter It is my business too. Farewell. Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know mean time Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, To let me be partaker. Cæs. I knew it for my bond. 12 Doubt, not sir; [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Alexandria. A room in the pal- ace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. Cleo. Charmian,- Char. Madam. Cleo. Ha, ha!- Give me to drink mandragora.'3 Char. Why, madam? Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time My Antony is away. Char. Too much. You think of him Cleo. O treason! Madam, I trust, not so. Char. Cleo. Thou, eunuch! Mardian! Mar. What's your highness' pleasure? Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure In aught an eunuch has: "Tis well for thee, May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections? That, being unseminar'd, 14 thy freer thoughts Mar. Yes, gracious madam. Cleo. Indeed? Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing But what in deed is honest to be done : Yet have I fierce affections, and think, What Venus did with Mars. Cleo. O Charmian, Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom ther mov'st? Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, Though daintily brought up, with patience more Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink The stale 10 of horses, and the gilded puddle" Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did For so he calls me; Now I feed myself The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm And burgonet's of men.-He's speaking now, Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile? deign The roughest berry on the rudest hedge; Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh, Which some did die to look on: And all this (It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now,) Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek So much as lank'd not. 1 Levity. 2 Visit nim. 3 Consume. 4 Discontented. 5 Endeared by being missed. 6 Plough. 7 Turn paie. 8 Ruddy. 9 Feastings in the old copy it is vaissailes, 8 vassals. With most delicious poison :-Think on me, That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cæsar, When thou wast here above the ground, I was A morsel for a monarch: and great Pompey brow; Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my There would he anchor his aspect, and die With looking on his life. Alex. 10 Urine. Enter Alexas. 3.verein of Egypt, hail! 11 Stagnant, slimy water 12 My bounden duty. 13 A sleepy potion. 14 Unmanned. 15 A helmet. SCENE I. 719 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony!| Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath With his tinet gilded thee.- How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, He kiss'd,-the last of many doubled kisses,- This orient pearl;-His speech sticks in my heart. Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. Alex. Good friend, quoth he, Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot To mend the petty present, I will piece Her opulent throne with kingdoms; All the east, Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded, And soberly did mount a termagant' steed, Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke Was beastly dumb'd by him. Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry? Alex. Like to the time o'the year between the extremes Of hot and cold; he was nor sad, nor merry. Cleo. O well-divided disposition!-Note him, Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note him: He was not sad; for he would shine on those That make their looks by his: he was not merry; Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay In Egypt with his joy: but between both; O heavenly mingle!-Be'st thou sad, or merry, The violence of either thee becomes; So does it no man else.-Met'st thou my posts? Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers: Why do you send so thick? Cleo. Who's born that day When I forget to send to Antony, Shall die a beggar.-Ink and paper, Charmian.- Welcome, my good Alexas.-Did, I Charmian, Ever love Cæsar so? Char. O that brave Cæsar! Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis! Say, the brave Antony. Char. The valiant Cæsar! Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, If thou with Cæsar paragon again My man of men. Char, By your most gracious pardon, I sing but after you. Cleo. My salad days; When I was green in judgment;-Cold in blood, To say, as I said then?-But, come, away; Get me ink and paper; he shall have every day A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. [Exe. ACT II. SCENE I-Messina. A room in Pompey's house. Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. Pom. If the great goda be just, they shall assist The deeds of justest men. Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, That what they do delay, they not deny. Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, de- cays The thing we sue for. Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers Deny us for our good; so find we profit, By losing of our prayers. 1 Furious. 3 To. 2 Declined, faded. 4 Done on; i e put on. Pom. I shall do well: The people love me, and the sea is mine; My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make No wars without doors: Cæsar gets money, where He loses hearts: Lepidus flatters both, Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves, Nor either cares for him. Men. Cæsar and Lepidus Are in the field; a mighty strength they carry. Pom. Where have you this? 'tis false. Men. From Silvius, sir. Pom. He dreams; I know, they are in Rome to- gether, Looking for Antony: But all charms of love, Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd2 lip! Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both! Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks, Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite; That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour, Even till a Lethed dulness.-How now, Varrius? Enter Varrius. Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver: Mark Antony is every hour in Rome Expected; since he went from Egypt, 'tis A space for further travel. Pom. I could have given less matter A better ear.-Menas, I did not think, This amorous surfeiter would have don'd' his helm For such a petty war: his soldiership Is twice the other twain: But let us rear The higher our opinion, that our stirring Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. I cannot hope, Men. Cæsar and Antony shall well greet together: His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Cæsar; His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think, Not nov'd by Antony. Pom. I know not, Menas, How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 'Were't not that we stand up against them all, 'Twere pregnant they should square between them- selves; For they have entertain'd cause enough To draw their swords: but how the fear of us May cement their divisions, and bind up The petty difference, we yet not know. Be it as our gods will have it! It only stands Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. Come, Menas. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Rome. A room in the house of Lepidus. Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, And shall become you well, to entreat your captain To soft and gentle speech. Eno. I shall entreat him To answer like himself: if Cæsar move him, Let Antony look over Cæsar's head, And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, I would not shave to-day. Lep. For private stomaching. Eno. 'Tis not a time Every time Serves for the matter that is then born in it. Lep. But small to greater matters must give way. Eno. Not if the small come first. 5 Helmet. 6 Quarrel. 720 ACT I ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Lep. Your speech is passion: But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes The noble Antony. Eno. Enter Antony and Ventidius. And yonder, Cæsar. Enter Cæsar, Mæcenas, and Agrippa. Ant. If we compose' well here, to Parthia: Hark you, Ventidius. Cæs. I do not know, Noble friends, Mæcenas; ask Agrippa. Lep. Which 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, I would you had her spirit in such another: The third o'the world is yours; which with a snaffle' You may pace easy, but not such a wife. Eno. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women! Ant. So much uncurable, her gar boils, Cæsar, Made out of her impatience (which not wanted Shrewdness of policy too,) I grieving grant, Did you too much disquiet: for that, you must But say, I could not help it. Cæs. I wrote to you, When rioting in Alexandria; you Did gibe my missive out of audience. Ant. Sir, That which combin'd us was most great, and let not Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts A leaner action rend us: What's amiss, May it be gently heard: When we debate Our trivial difference loud, we do commit Murder in healing wounds: Then, noble partners, (The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, Nor curstness2 grow to the matter. Ant. "Tis spoken well: Were we before our armies, and to fight, I should do thus. Cas. Welcome to Rome. Ant. Cæs. Ant. Cæs. Then- Thank you. Sit. Sit, sir! Nay, Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so; Or, being, concern you not. Cæs. I must be laugh'd at, If, or for nothing, or a little, I Should say myself offended; and with you Chiefly i'the world: more laugh'd at, that I should Once name you derogately, when to sound your name It not concern'd me. Ant. What was't to you? My being in Egypt, Caesar, Caes. No more than my residing here at Rome Might be to you in Egypt: Yet, if you there Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt Might be my question." Ant. How intend you, practis'd? Cas. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent, By what did here befall me. Your wife, and brother, Made wars upon me; and their contestation Was theme for you, you were the word of war. Ant. You do mistake your business; my brother never Did urge me in this act: I did inquire it; And have my learning from some true reports, That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather Discredit my authority with yours; And make the wars alike against my stomach, Having alike your cause? Of this, my letters Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, As matter whole you have not to make it with, It must not be with this. Cæs. You praise yourself By laying defects of judgment to me; but You patch'd up your excuses. Ant. Not so, not so; I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, Very necessity of this thought, that I Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 2 Let not ill humour be added. 1 Agree. 3 Use bad arts or stratagems. 4 Subject of conversation. 5 Reporters. 6 Opposed. He fell upon me, ere admitted; then Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want Of what I was i'the morning: but, next day, I told him of myself; which was as much As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, Out of our question' wipe him. Cæs. You have broken The article of your oath; which you shall never Have tongue to charge me with. Lep. Soft, Cæsar. Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak; The honour's sacred which he talks on now, Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Cæsar; The article of my oath,- Cæs. To lend me arms, and aid, when I requir'd them; The which you both denied. Ant. Neglected, rather; And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, I'll play the penitent to you: but mine honesty Shall not make poor my great.ess, nor my power Work without it: Truth is, that Fulvia, To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; For which myself, the ignorant motive, do So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour To stoop in such a case. Lep. "Tis nobly spoken. Mac. If it might please you, to enforce no further The griefs between ye: to forget them quite, Were to remember that the present need Speaks to attone12 you. Lep. Worthily spoke, Mæcenas. Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, you may, when you hear no more words of Pompey, return it again: you shall have time to wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do. Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost forgot. Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no more. Eno. Go to then; your considerate stone. Cæs. I do not much dislike the matter, but The manner of his speech: for it cannot be, We shall remain in friendship, our conditions19 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew What hoop should hold us staunch, 14 from edge to edge O'the world, I would pursue it.. Agr. 7 Bridle. 9 Messsenger. 11 Grievances. 13 Dispositions. Give me leave, Cæsar,- 8 Commotions. Conversation. 10 12 Reconcile. 14 Firm. SCENE II. 721 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cæs. Speak, Agrippa. Agr. Thou hast a sister by thy mother's side, Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony Is now a widower. Cæs. Say not so, Agrippa; If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof Were well deserv'd of rashness. Ant. I am not married, Cæsar: let me hear Agrippa further speak. Arr. To hold you in perpetual amity, To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts With an unslipping knot, take Antony Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims No worse a husband than the best of men: Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak That which none else can utter. By this marriage, All little jealousies, which now seem great, And all great fears, which now import their dan- gers, Would then be nothing: truths would be but tales, Where now half tales be truths: her love to both, Would, each to other, and all loves to both, Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke; For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, By duty ruminated. Ant. Will Cæsar speak? Caes. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd With what is spoke already. Ant. What power is in Agrippa, If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, To make this good? Cas. The power of Cæsar, and His power unto Octavia. Art. May I never To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, Dream of impediment!-Let me have thy hand: Further this act of grace; and, from this hour, The heart of brothers govern in our loves, And sway our great designs! Cæs. There is my hand. A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother Did ever love so dearly: Let her live To join our kingdoms, and our hearts; and never Fly off our loves again! Happily, amen! Lep. Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey; For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, Of late upon me: I must thank him only, Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; At heel of that, defy him. Lep. Of us must Pompey presently be sought, Or else he seeks out us. Ant. Time calls upon us: And where lies he? What's his strength Caes. About the mount Misenum. Ant. By land? Cæs. Great, and increasing: but by sea He is an absolute master. So is the fame. Ant. Would, we had spoke together: Haste we for it: Vet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we The business we have talk'd of. Cas. With most gladness; And to invite you to my sister's view, Whither straight I will lead you. fnt. Nct lack your company. Lep. Let us, Lepidus, Noble Antony, : Suits with ner merits. 2 Added to the warmth they were intended to inish. Not sickness should detair. zne [Flourish. Exemt Cæs. Ant. and Lep Mac. Welcome from Egypt, sir. Eno. Half the heart of Cæsar, worthy Mæcenas i -my honourable friend, Agrippa! Agr. Good Enobarbus ! Mac. We have cause to be glad, that matters are so well digested. You staid well by it in Egypt. Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of counte- nance, and made the night light with drinking. Mac. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break- fast, and but twelve persons there; Is this true? Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had much more monstrous matter of feast, which wor- thily deserved nothing. Mac. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her.' Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart upon the river of Cydmus. Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter devised well for her. Eno. I will tell you: The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar'd all description: she did lie In her pavilion (cloth of gold, of tissue,) O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see The fancy out-work nature: on each side her, Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did.2 Agr. 0, rare for Antony! Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i'the eyes, And made their bends adornings: at the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, That yarely frame³ the office. From the barge A strange invisible perfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her; and Antony, Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, And made a gap in nature. Agr. Rare Egyptian! Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, Invited her to supper: she replied, It should be better, he became her guest; Which she entreated: Our courteous Antony, Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak, Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast; And, for his ordinary, pays his heart, For what his eyes eat only. Agr. Royal wench! She made great Cæsar lay his sword to bed; He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. Eno. I saw her once Hop forty paces through the public street; And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted, That she did make defect, perfection, And, breathless, power breathe forth. Moec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. Eno. Never; he will not; Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 3 Readily perform. 722 ACT II. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Her infinite variety: Other women, Cloy th' appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her; that the holy priests Bless her, when she's riggish. Men. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle The heart of Antony, Octavia is A blessed lottery to him. Agr. Let us go. Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest, Whilst you abide here. Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A room in Cæsar's house. Enter Caesar, Antony, Octavia between them; Attendants, and a Soothsayer. Ant. The world, and my great office, will times Divide me from your bosom. Octa. You must to Parthia; your commission's ready: Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt SCENE IV.-The same. A street. Enter Lepi- dus, Mæcenas, and Agrippi. hasten Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you, Your generals after. Agr. Sir, Mark Antony Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, Which will become you both, farewell. Mac. Westall, Lep. As I conceive the journey, be at mount' Before you, Lepidus. Your way is shorter, some-You'll win two days upon me. My purposes do draw me much about; Mac. Agr. All which time Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers To them for you. Ant. Good night, sir.-My Octavia, Read not my blemishes in the world's report: I have not kept my square; but that to come Shall all be done by the rule.-Good night, dear lady.- Octa. Good night, sir. Cas. Good night. [Exeunt Cæsar and Octavia. Ant. Now, sirrah! you do wish yourself in Egypt? Sooth. 'Would I had never come from thence, nor you Thither! Ant. If you can, your reason? Sooth. I see't in My motion, have it not in my tongue: But yet Hie you again to Egypt. Ant. Say to me, Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Cæsar's, or mine? Sooth. Cæsar's. Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: Thy dæmon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, Where Cæsar is not; but near him, thy angel Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd; therefore Make space enough between you. Ant. Speak this no more. Sooth. To none but thee; no more, but when to thee, If thou dost play with him at any game, Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural luck, He beats thee 'gainst the odds; thy lustre thickens, When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit Is all afraid to govern thee near him; But he away, 'tis noble. Ant. Get thee gone: Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him: [Exit Soothsayer. He shall to Parthia.-Be it art, or hap, He hath spoken true: The very dice obey him; And, in our sports, my better cunning faints Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds: His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought; and his quails³ ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt: And though I make this marriage for my peace, Enter Ventidius.. I' the east my pleasure lies:-O, come Ventidius, 1 Wanton. 2 Allotment. 3 The ancients used to match quails as we match cocks. Sir, good success Lep. Farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Alexandria. A room in the palace Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love. Attend. The music, ho! Enter Mardian. Cleo. Let it alone; let us to billiards: Come, Charmian. Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd, As with a woman:-Come, you'll play with me, sir? Mar. As well as I can, madam. Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it come too short, The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now:- Give me mine angle,-We'll to the river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shal! pierce Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say, Ah, ha! you're caught. Char. 'Twas merry, when You wager'd on your angling, when your diver Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he With fervency drew up. Cleo. That time!-0 times!- I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night I laugh'd him into patience: and next morn, Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed; Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst I wore his sword Philippan. O! from Italy; I Enter a Messenger. Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, That long time have been barren. Mess. Cleo. Antony's dead?- Madam, madam,- If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress: But well and free, If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here My bluest veins to kiss; a hand, that kings Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. Mess. First, madam, he's well Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah mark; We use To say. the dead are well; bring it to that, The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pou: Down thy ill-uttering throat, Mess. Good madam, hear me. 4 Inclosed. 5 Mount Misenum. 6 Melancholy 7 Head-dress. SCENE VI. 723 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cleo. Well, go to, I will; But there's no goodness in thy face: If Antony Be free, and healthful,-why so tart a favour' To trumpet such good tidings? If not well, Thou shouldst come like a fury crown'd with snakes, Not like a formal man.2 Mess. Will't please you hear me? Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st: Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well, Or friends with Cæsar, or not captive to him, I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail Rich pearls upon thee. Mess. Cleo. Madam, he's well. Mess. And friends with Cæsar. Cleo. Re-enter Messenger. Though it be honest, it is never good To bring bad news: Give to a gracious message A host of tongues: but let ill tidings tell Themselves, when they be felt. Mess. I have done my duty. Cleo. Is he married? I cannot hate thee worser than I do, If thou again say, Yes. Mess. He is married, madam. Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there still? Mess. Should I lie, madam? Cleo. Well said. O, I would thou didst! So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made Thou'rt an honest man. A cistern of scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence; Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. Cleo. Mess. Cæsar and he are greater friends than ever. Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. Mess. But yet, madam,- Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay The good precedence; fie upon but yet: But yet is a gaoler to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend, Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, The good and bad together: He's friend with Cæsar; In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free. Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report: He's bound unto Octavia. Cleo. For what good turn? Mess. For the best turn i'the bed. Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. Mess, Madam, he's married to Octavia. Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! [Strikes him down. Mess. Good madam, patience. Cleo. What say you?-hence [Strikes him again. Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head; [She hales him up and down. Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, Smarting in ling'ring pickle. Mess. Gracious madam, I, that do bring the news, made not the match. Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province i will give thee, And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage; And I will boot thee with what gift beside Thy modesty can beg. Mess. He's married, madam. Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a dagger. Mess. Nay, then I'll run. What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. [Exit. Char. Good madam, keep yourself within your- self; The man is innocent. Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder- bolt.- Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures Turn all to servants! Call the slave again; Though I am mad, I will not bite him: Call. Char. He is afeard to come. Cleo. I will not hurt him: These hands do lack nobility, that they strike A meaner than myself'; since I myself Have given myself the cause. Come hither, sir, 1 So sour a countenance. 2 A man in his senses. 3 Preceding. He is married? Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend you: To punish me for what you make me do, Seems much unequal; He is married to Octavia. Cleo. O, that his faults should make a knave of thee, That art not! What? thou'rt sure of't? Get thee hence: The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome, Are all too dear for me; Lie they upon thy hand, And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger. Char. Good your highness, patience Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Cæsar Char. Many times, madam. Cleo. I'm paid for't now, Lead me from hence. I faint; O Iras, Charmian,-"Tis no matter: Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him Her inclination, let him not leave out Report the feature of Octavia, her years, The colour of her hair :-bring me word quickly. [Exit Alexas. Let him for ever go: Let him not-Charmian, Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, T'other way he's a Mars:-Bid you Alexas [To Mardain. Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian. But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Near Misenum. Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side with drum and trumpet: at another, Cæsar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus. Mæcenas, with soldiers marching. Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine And we shall talk before we fight. Cæs. Most meet, That first we come to words; and therefore have we Our written purposes before us sent : Which if thou hast considered, let us know If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword; And carry back to Sicily much tall youth That else must perish here. Pom. To you all three, The senators alone of this great world, Chief factors for the gods.-1 do not know, Wherefore my father should revengers want, Having a son and friends: since Julius Cæsar 4 Recompense. 6 Beauty. 5 Whelmed under water. 7 Brave. 724 ACT II. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Whot Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,' There saw you labouring for him. What was it, That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? And what Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus, With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, To drench the Capitol; but that they would Have one man but a man? And that is it, Hath made me rig my navy: at whose burden The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome Cast on my noble father. Cæs. Take your time. Ant. Thou can'et not fear2 us, Pompey, with thy sails, We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st How much we do o'er-count thee. Pom. At land, indeed, Thou dost o'er-count me of iny father's house: But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in't as thou may'st. Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, (For this is from the present,3) how you take The offers we have sent you. There's the point. Cues. Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh What it is worth embrac'd. Cæs. To try a larger fortune. Pom. And what may follow, You have made me offer Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send Measures of wheat to Rome: This 'greed upon, To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back Our targe¹ undinted. Cæs. Ant. Lep. That's our offer. Pom. Know then, I came before you here, a man prepar'd To take this offer: but Mark Antony Put me to some impatience :-Though I lose The praise of it by telling, You must know, When Cæsar and your brothers were at blows, Your mother came to Sicily, and did find Her welcome friendly. Ant. I have heard it, Pompey; And am well studied for a liberal thanks, Which I do owe you. Pom. Let me have your hand: I did not think, sir, to have met you here. Ant. The beds i'the east are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me, timelier than my purpose hither: For I have gain'd by it. Cæs. Since I saw you last, There is a change upon you. Pom. Well, I know not What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face: But in my bosom shall she never come, To make my heart her vassal. Lep. Well met here. Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed: I crave, our composition may be written, And seal'd between us. Cæs. That's the next to do. Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part; and let us Draw lots who shall begin. Ant. That will I, Pompey. Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first, Or last, your fine Egyptian crockery Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Cæsar 1 Haunted. 2 Affright. 3 Present subject. 4 Target. shield. I Frew fat with feasting there. Ant. You have heard much Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. Ant. And fair words to them Pom Then so much have I heard: And I have heard, Apollodorus carried- Eno. No more of that: He did so. Pom. What, I pray you? Eno. A certain queen to Cæsar in a mattress. Pom. I know thee now: How far'st thou, soldier? Eno. Well; And well am like to do: for, I perceive, Four feasts are toward. Pom. Let me shake thy hand: never hated thee: I have seen thee fight, When I have envied thy behaviour. Eno. Sir, I never lov'd you much; but I have prais'd you, When you have well deserv'd ten times as much. As I have said you did. Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, It nothing ill becomes thee.-- Aboard my galley I invite you all: Will you lead, lords? Cæs. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. Pom. Come. [Exeunt Pompey, Cæsar, Antony, Lepidus, Soldiers and Attendants. Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made this treaty.-[Aside.]-You and I have known, sir. Eno. At sea, I think. Men. We have, sir. Eno. You have done well by water. Men. And you by land. Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me: though it cannot be denied what I have done by land. Men. Nor what I have done by water. Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief by sea. Men. And you by land. Eno. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, Menas: If our eyes had authority, here they might take two thieves kissing. Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their hands are. Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true face. Men. No slander; they steal hearts. Eno. We came hither to fight with you. Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a drinking. Pompey doth this way laugh away his fortune. Eno. If he do, sure, he cannot weep it back again. Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here; Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? Eno. Cæsar's sister is call'd Octavia. Men. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Mar- celius. Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. Men. Pray you, sir? Eno. 'Tis true. Men. Then is Cæsar, and he, for ever knit to- gether. would not prophesy so. Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage, than the love of the parties. Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the band that seems to tie their friendship together, 5 Scores, marks. 6 Been acquainted. SCENE VII. 725 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as will be the very strangler of their unity: Octavia broad as it has breadth: it is just so high as it is, is of holy. cold, and still conversation.¹ Men. Who would not have his wife so? Eno. Net he, that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Cæsar; and, as I said before, that which is the strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate author of their variance. Antony will use his af- fection where it is; he married but his occasion here. Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a health for you. Eno. I shall take it, sir; we have used our throats in Egypt. [Exeunt. Men. Come; let's away. SCENE VII.-On board Pompey's galley, lying near Misenum. Music. Enter two or three servants with a banquet. 1 Serv. Here they'll be, man; Some o'their plants are ill-rooted already, the least wind i'the world will blow them down. 2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dis- position, he cries out, no more; reconciles them to his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. 2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that will do me no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. A sennet sounded. Enter Caesar, Antony, Pompey, Lepidus, Agrippa, Mæcenas, Enobarbus, Menas, with other captains. Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To Cæsar.] They take the flow o'the Nile By certain scales i'the pyramid; they know, By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, Or foizon, follow: The higher Nilus swells, The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, And shortly comes to harvest. Lep. You have strange serpents there. Ant, Ay, Lepidus. Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud, by the operation of your sun: so is your crocodile. Ant. They are so. Pom. Sit, and some wine.-A health to Lepidus. Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out. Eno. Not till you have slept; I fear me, you'll be in, till then. Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things; without contra- dietion, I have heard that. Men. Pompey, a word. Pom. Laside. Say in mine ear: What is't? and moves with its own organs: it lives by that which nourisheth it; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates. Lep. What colour is it of. Ant. Of its own colour too. Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. Cæs. Will this description satisfy him. Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure. Pom. [To Menas aside.] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that? away! Do as I bid you.-Where's this cup I call'd for? Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me Rise from thy stool. [Aside Pom. I think, thou'rt mad. The matter! [Rises, and walks aside. Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith: What's else to say? Be jolly, lords. Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, Keep off them, for you sink. Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world? Pom. What say'st thou ? Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. Pom. How should that be? Men. Although thou think me poor, Will give thee all the world. But entertain it, and I am the man Pom. Hast thou drunk well! Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup Thou art, if thou dars't be, the earthly Jove: Is thine, if thou wilt have't. Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky inclips," Pom. Show me which way. Men. These three world-sharers, these competi- tors, 10 Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable; And, when we are put off, fall to their throats: All there is thine. Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done, And not have spoke on't! In me, 'tis villany; In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour; Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown, should have found it afterwards well done; But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. I Men. For this. [Aside. I'll never follow thy pall'd¹¹ fortunes more. Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, Shall never find it more. 1 m. Ant. Bear him ashore. Pompey. This health to Lepidus I'll pledge it for him, Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. Men. Enobarbus, welcome. Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas. Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, Pointing to the attendant who carries off Lepidus. And hear me speak a word. Pom. This wine for Lepidus. [Aside. Forbear me till anon.- Lep. What manner o'thing is your crocodile? Men. Why? Eno. He bears The third part of the world, man; See'st not? Men. The third part then is drunk: Would it were all, That it might go on wheels! Eno. Drink thou: increase the reels. 1 Behaviour. 2 Dessert. 3 Feet. 4 Pike. 5 Middle. 6 Plenty. 8 Encompasses. 7 Pyramids. 10 Confederates. 9 Embraces. 11 Cloyed. 726 Acr III ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Men. Come. Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death Make me revenger.-Bear the king's son's body Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. Ant. It ripens towards it.-Strike the vessels,' ho! Before our army :-Thy Pacorus, Orodes," Here is to Cæsar. Cæs. I could well forbear it. t's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain, And it grows fouler. Ant. Be a child o'the time. Cæs. Possess it, I'll make answer: but I had ather fast From all, four days, than drink so much in one. Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony. Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink? Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier. Ant. Come, let us all take hands. Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense In soft and delicate Lethe. Eno. All take hands.- Make battery to our ears with the loud music :- The while, I'll place you: Then the boy shall sing; The holding every man shall bear, as loud As his strong sides can volley. Pays this for Marcus Crassus. Sil. Noble Ventidius, Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media, Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither The routed fly: so thy grand captain Antony Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and Put garlands on thy head. Ven. O Silius, Silius, I have done enough: A lower place, note well, May make too great an act: For learn this, Silius; Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. Cæsar, and Antony, have ever won More in their officer, than person: Sossius, One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, For quick accumulation of renown, Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour. Who does i'the wars more than his captain can, Becomes his captain's captain: and ambition, [Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, in hand. SONG. Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne:4 In thy vats our cares be drown'd; With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd; Cup us, till the world go round; Cup us, till the world go round! Than gain, which darkens him. I could do more to do Antonius good, But 'twould offend him; and in his offence Should my performar.ce perish. Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, That without which a soldier, and his sword, Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to An- tony? Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, Cæs. What would you more?-Pompey, good That magical word of war, we have effected; night. Good brother, Let me request you off: our graver business Frowns at this levity.-Gentle lords, let's part; You see, we have burnt our cheeks: strong Eno- barbe Is weaker than the vine; and mine own tongue Splits what it speaks; the wild disguise hath almost Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night.- Good Antony, your hand. Pom. How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia We have jaded out o'the field. what haste Sil. Where is he now? Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with The weight we must convey with us will permit, We shall appear before him.-On, there; pass along. [Exeunt I'll try you o'the shore. SCENE II.-Rome. An ante-chamber in Ca- sar's house. Enter Agrippa, and Enobarbus meeting. Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand. Pom. O, Antony, You have my father's house,--But what? we are friends: Come, down into the boat. Eno. Take heed you fall not.- [Exeunt Pom. Cæs. Ant. and Attendants. Menas, I'll not on shore. Men. No, to my cabin.- These drums. these trumpets, flutes! what! Let Neptune hear we did a loud farewell To these great fellows: Sound, and be hang'd,' sound out. [A flourish of trumpets with drums. Eno. Ho, says 'a! There's my cap. Ho! noble captain! [Exeunt. Men. Come. ACT III. SCENE I-A plain in Syria. Enter Venti- dius as after conquest, with Silius, and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him. Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck; and 1 now Kettle-drums. 3 Burden, chorus. 2 Understand. 4 Red eyes. Agr. What, are the brothers parted? Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is gone; The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps, To part from Rome: Cæsar is sad; and Lepidus, Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled With the green sickness. Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. Eno. A very fine one: 0, how he loves Cæsar! Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark An- tony! Eno. Cæsar! Why, he's the Jupiter of men. Agr. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter. Eno. Spake you of Cæsar? How? the nonpareil! Agr. O Antony! O thou Arabian bird!6 Eno. Would you praise Cæsar, say, -Cæsar ;- go no further. Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellen' praises. Eno. But he loves Cæsar best;-Yet he loves Antony; Ho! hearts, tongues, fingers, scribes, bards, poets cannot Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love 5 Pacorus was the son of Oroges, king of Parthis. 6 The phoenix. SCENE III. 727 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. To Antony. But as for Cæsar, Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. Agr. Both he loves. Eno. They are his shards,' and he their beetle. So,- [Trumpets. This is to horse.-Adieu, noble Agrippa. gr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell. Enter Cæsar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia. Ant. No further, sir. Cæs. You take from me a great part of myself; Use me well in it.-Sister, prove such a wife As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band2 Shall pass on thy approof.-Most noble Antony, Let not the piece of virtue,3 which is set Betwixt us, as the cement of our love, To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter The fortress of it: for better might we Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts This be not cherish'd. Ant. In your distrust. Cæs. Ant. Make me not offended I have said. You shall not find, Though you be therein curious, the least cause For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you, And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! We will here part. Cæs. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well; The elements be kind to thee, and make. Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. Octa. My noble brother!- Ant. The April's in her eyes: It is love's spring, And these the showers to bring it on.-Be cheerful. Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and- Cæs. Octavia? Octa. I'll tell you in your ear. What, Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can Her heart inform her tongue: the swan's down feather, That stands upon the swell at full of tide, And neither way inclines. Eno. Will Caesar weep? Agr. [Aside to Agrippa. He has a cloud in's face. Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse; So is he, being a man. Agr. Why, Enobarbus? When Antony found Julius Cæsar dead, He cried almost to roaring: and he wept, When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; What willingly he did confound, he wail'd: Believe it, till 1 weep too. Ca No, sweet Octavia, You shall hear from me still; the time shall not Out-go my thinking on you. Ant. Come, sir, come; I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love: Look, here I have you; thus I let you go, And give you to the gods. Cæs. Adieu; be happy! Lep. Let all the number of the stars give To thy fair way! Cæs. Ant. 1 Wings. 4 Scrupulous. Farewell, farewell! 2 SCENE III-Alexandria. A room in the pal- ace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. Cleo. Where is the fellow? Alex. Half afeard to come Cleo. Go to, go to:-Come hither, sir. Enter a Messenger. Alex. Good majesty, Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you, But when you are well pleas'd. Cleo. That Herod's head I'll have: But how? when Antony is gone, Through whom I might command it.-Come thou near. Mess. Most gracious majesty,- Cleo. Didst thou behold Octavia? Mess. Ay, dread queen. Cleo. Where? Madam, in Rome Mess. I look'd her in the face; and saw her led Between her brother and Mark Antony.. Cleo. Is she as tall as me? Mess. She is not, madam. Cleo. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill tongu'd, or low? Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is low- voic'd. Cleo. That's not so good:--he cannot like her long. Char. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible. Cleo. I think so. Charmian: Dull of tongue and dwarfish!- What majesty is in her gait? Remember, If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. Mess. She creeps; Her motion and her station" are as one: She shows a body rather than a life; A statue, than a breather. Cleo. Is this certain? Mess. Or I have no observance, Char. Cannot make better note. Cleo. Three in Egypt He's very knowing, I do perceive't:-There's nothing in her yet:- The fellow has good judgment. Char. Excellent. Madam, Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. Mess. She was a widow. Cleo. Widow ?-Charmian, hark. Mess. And I do think, she's thirty. Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind? is it long, or round? Mess. Round even to faultiness. Cleo. For the most part too, They are foolish that are so.-Her hair, what colour? Mess. Brown, madam : And her forehead is as low As she would wish it. Cleo. There is gold for thee. Thou must not take my former sharpness ill: I will employ thee back again; I find thee Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready; Our letters are prepar'd. (Exit Messenger A proper man. Char. lightThat so I harry'd him. Why, methinks, by him, Cleo. Indeed, he is so: I repent me much, This creature's no such thing. [Kisses Octavia Farewell. [Trumpets sound. Exeunt. Bond. 3 Octavia. 5 Of air and water. Char. O nothing, madam. Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, 6 Destroy. 7 Standing. 8 Pulled, lugged. 728 ACT III. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. And serving you so long! Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian :- But 'tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me Where I will wright: All may be well enough. Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Athens. IV.-Athens. A room in Antony's house. Enter Antony and Octavia. Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that,- That were excusable, that, and thousands more Of semblable import,'-but he hath wag'd New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it To public ear: Spoke scantly of me: when perforce he could not2 But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly He vented' them; most narrow measure lent me : When the best hint was given him, he not took't, Or did it from his teeth.4 Oct. O my good lord, Believe not all; or, if you must believe, Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, If this division chance, ne'er stood between, Praying for both parts: And the good gods will mock me presently, When I shall pray, 0, bless my lord and husband! Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, O, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother, Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway "Twixt these extremes at all. Ant. Gentle Octavia, Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks Best to preserve it: If I lose mine honour, I lose myself: better I were not yours, Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, Yourself shall go between us: The mean time, lady, I'll raise the preparation of a war Shall stain your brother; Make your soonest haste; So your desires are yours. Thanks to my lord. Oct. The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak, Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be As if the world should cleave, and that slain men Should solder' up the rift. Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, Turn your displeasure that way; for our faults Can never be so equal, that your love Can equally move with them. Provide your going; Choose your own company,and command what cost Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. Another room in the SCENE V.-The same. same. Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. Eno. Then, wo d, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more: And throw between them all the food thou hast, They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony? Eros. He's walking in the garden-thus; and spurns The rush that lies before him; cries, Fool, Lepidus! And threats the throat of that his officer, That murder'd Pompey. Eno. Our great navy's rigged. Eros. For Italy, and Cæsar. More, Domitius; My lord desires you presently: my news I might have told hereafter. "Twill be naught: But let it be.-Bring me to Antony. Eros. Come, sir. Eno. [Excunt. SCENE VI.-Rome. A room in Cæsar's house. Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, and Mæcenas. Cæs. Contemning Rome, he has done all this; And more; In Alexandria, here's the manner of it,- I'the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, Cleopatra and himself, in chairs of gold, Were publicly enthron'd: at the feet, sat Cæsarion, whom they call my father's son; And all the unlawful issue, that their lust Since then hath made between them. He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, Absolute queen. Mac. Unto her This in the public eye? Cæs. I'the common show-place, where they ex ercise. His sons he there proclaim'd, The kings of kings; Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia: She In the habiliments of the goddess Isis That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience As 'tis reported, so. Let Rome be thus Mæc. Inform'd. Agr. Who, queasy13 with his insolence Already, will their good thoughts call from him. Cæs. The people know it; and have now receiv'd His accusations. Agr. Whom does he accuse? Cæs. Cæsar: and, that, having in Sicily Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated¹4 him His part o'the isle: then does he say, he lent me Some shipping unrestor'd: lastly, he frets, That Lepidus of the triumvirate Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain All his revenue. Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. Eno. How now, friend Eros? Eros. There's strange news come, sir. Eno. What, man' I Cas. "Tis done already, and the messenger gone have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel; That he his high authority abus'd, Eros. Cæsar and Lepidus have made wars upon And did deserve his change; for what I have con Pompey. Eno. This is old; What is the success?? Eros. Cæsar, having made use of him10 in the wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rival- ty; would not let him partake in the glory of the action: and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own ppeal, 12 seizes him: So the poor third is up till death enlarge his confine. 1 Similar tendency. 3 Published. 5 Resent. 8 Opening. 2 Could not help. 4 Indistinct, through his teeth. 6 Disgrace. 7 Cement, close. I quer'd, And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, Demand the like. Mac. He'll never yield to that. Cæs. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. Enter Octavia. Oct. Hail, Cæsar, and my lord! hail, most deal Cæsar! 9 What follows. 11 Equal rank. 13 Sick, disgusted. 10 i. e. Lepidus. 12 Accusation. 14 Assigned. SCENE VII. 729 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cæs. That ever I should call thee, cast away! Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. Cas. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You come not Like Cæsar's sister: The wife of Antony Should have an army for an usher, and The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way, Should have borne men; and expectation fainted, Longing for what it had not: nay, the dust Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, Rais'd by your populous troops: But you are come A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented The ostent' of our love, which, left unshown, Is often left unlov'd: we should have met you By sea, and land; supplying every stage With an augmented greeting. Oct. Good my lord, To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted My griev'd ear withal; whereon, I begg'd His pardon for return. Cæs. Which soon he granted, Being an obstruct? 'tween his lust and him. Oct. Do not say so, my lord. Cæs. promon- SCENE VII-Antony's camp, near the tory of Actium. Enter Cleopatra and Eno- barbus. Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. Eno. But why. why, why? Cleo. Thou hast forespokes my being in these wars; And say'st, it is not fit. Eno. Well, is it, is it? Cleo. Is't not? Denounce against us, why should not we Be there in person? Eno. [Aside.] Well, I could reply:- If we should serve with horse and mares together, The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear A soldier, and his horse. Cleo. What is't you say? Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony: Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his time, What should not then be spar'd. He is already Traduc'd for levity: and 'tis said in Rome, That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids, Manage this war. Cleo. Sink Rome; and their tongues rot, That speak against us! A charge we bear i'the war, And, as the president of my kingdom, will I have eyes upon him, Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; And his affairs come to me on the wind. Where is he now? Oct. My lord, in Athens. Cæs. No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire Up to a whore; who now are levying The kings o'the earth for war; He hath assembled Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus, Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas: King Malchus of Arabia; king of Pont; Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king Of Comagene; Polemon and Amintas, The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a More larger list of sceptres. Oct. Ah me, most wretched, That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, That do afflict each other! Cæs. Welcome hither: Your letters did withhold our breaking forth; Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong led, And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart: Be you not troubled with the time, which drives O'er your content these strong necessities; But let determin'd things to destiny Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome: Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods, To do you justice, make them ministers Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort; And ever welcome to us. Welcome, lady. Agr. Mac. Welcome, dear madam. Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: Only the adulterous Antony, most large In his abominations, turns you off; And gives his potent regiment to a trull,* That noises its against us. Is it so, sir? Oct. Cos. Most certain. Sister, welcome: Pray you, Be ever known to patience: My dearest sister! 1 Show, token. 3 Government. 6 Forbid. 2 Obstruction. [Exeunt. 4 Harlot. 5 Threatens. 7 Absolutely. I will not stay behind. Eno. Here comes the emperor. Ant. Nay, I have done: Enter Antony and Canidius. Is't not strange, Canidius, That from Tarentum, and Brundusium, He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, And take in Toryne ?--You have heard on't, sweet? Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd, Than by the negligent. Ant. A good rebuke, Which might have well becom'd the best of men, To taunt at slackness.-Canidius, we Will fight with him by sea. Cleo. By sea! What else? Can. Why will my lord do so? Ant. For he dares us to't. Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, Where Cæsar fought with Pompey: But these offers Which serves not for his vantage, he shakes off; And so should you. Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd: Your mariners are muleteers, 10 reapers, people Ingross'd by swift impress; in Cæsar's fleet Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought: Their ships are yare; 12 yours, heavy. 13 No disgrace Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, Being prepar'd for land. Ant. By sea, by sea. Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away The absolute soldiership you have by land; Distract your army, which doth nost consist Of war-mark'd foot-men; leave unexecuted Your own renowned knowledge; quite forego The way which promises assurance; and Give up yourself merely to chance and nazard, From firm security. Ant. I'll fight at sea. Cleo. I have sixty sails, 4 Cæsar none better. Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn; 8 Take, subdue. 10 Mule-drivers. 9 Because. 11 Pressed in haste. 12 Ready. 13 Incumbered. 14 Ships 730 ACT III. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. And, with the rest full mann'd, from the head of! Actium Beat the approaching Cæsar. But if we fail, Enter a Messenger. We then can do't at land.-Thy business? Mess. The news is true, my lord; he is descried; Cæsar has taken Toryne. Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible; Strange, that his power should be.'-Canidius, Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, And our twelve thousand horse:-We'll to our ship; Enter a Soldier. Away, my Thetis!2-How now, worthy soldier? Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea; Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egyp- tians, And the Phoenicians, go a ducking; we Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, And fighting foot to foot. Ant. Well, well, away. [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Enobarbus. Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i'the right. Can. Soldier, thou art: but his whole action grows Not in the power on't: So our leader's led, And we are women's men. Sold. You keep by land The legions and the horse whole, do you not? Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, Publicola, and Cælius, are for sea: But we keep whole by land. This speed of Cæsar's Carries beyond belief. Sold. While he was yet in Rome, His power went out in such distractions, as Beguil'd all spies. Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you? Sold. They say, one Taurus. Can. Well I know the man. Enter a Messenger. Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius. Can. With news the time's with labour; and throes forth, Each minute, some. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII-A plain near Actium. Enter Cæsar, Taurus, Officers, and others. Cos. Taurus,- Tau. Cœs. My lord. Strike not by land: keep whole: Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll: Our fortune lies upon this jump.7 Enter Antony and Enobarbus. [Exeunt. Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon' side o'the hill, In eyes of Cæsar's battle; from which place We may the number of the ships behold, And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. Enter Canidius, marching with his land army one way over the stage; and Taurus, the lieutenant of Cæsar the other way. After their going in, is heard the noise of a sea-fight. 1 Strange that his forces should be there. 2 Cleopatra. 4 Forces. 6 Agonizers. 3 Goes. Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus. Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer : The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, With all their sixty, fly, and turn their rudder; To see't, mine eyes are blasted. Scar. Enter Scarus. Gods, and goddesses, What's thy passion! And the whole synod of them! Eno. Scar. The greater cantle¹0 of the world is lost With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away Kingdoms and provinces. Eno. How appears the fight? Scar. On our side like the token'd" pestilence, Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag¹2 of Egyp., Whom leprosy o'ertake! i'the midst o'the fight,- When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,13. The brize¹ upon her, like a cow in June, Hoists sails, and flies. Eno. That I beheld: mine eyes Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not Endure a further view. Scar. She once being loof'd, 15 The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard, Leaving the fight in height, flies after her: I never saw an action of such shame; Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before Did violate so itself. Eno. Alack, alack! Enter Canidius. Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, And sinks most lamentably. Had our general Been what he knew himself, it had gone well O, he has given example for our flight, Most grossly, by his own. [Aside. Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good night Indeed. Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend What further comes. Can. To Cæsar will I render Show me the way of yielding. My legions, and my horse; six kings already Eno. I'll yet follow The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt. SCENE IX.-Alexandria. A room in the pal ace. Enter Antony and Attendants. Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon't, It is asham'd to bear me!-Friends, come hither, I am so lated 16 in the world, that I Have lost my way for ever:-I have a ship Laden with gold; take that, divide it; fly, And make your peace with Cæsar. Att. Fly! not we. Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed cowards To run, and show their shoulders.-Friends, be gone; I have myself resolv'd upon a course. 10 Corner. 11 Spotted. 12 Lewd, common strumpet. 13 Better. 8 Sight. 14 The gad-fly, that stings cattle. 5 Detachments, separate bodies. 7 Hazard. Name of Cleopatra's ship. 15 Brought close to the wind. 16 Belated, benighted. SCENE X, XI. 731 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Which has no need of you; be gone: My treasure's in the harbour, take it.-0, I follow'd that I blush to look upon: My very hairs do mutiny; for the white Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them For fear and doting.-Friends, be gone: you shall Have letters from me to some friends that will Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, Nor make replies of loathness: take the hint Which my despair proclaims; let that be left Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway: I will possess you of that ship and treasure. Leave me, I pray, a little; 'pray you now :- Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command, Therefore I pray you:--I'll see you by and by. [Sits down. Enter Eros, and Cleopatra, led by Charmian and Iras. Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him:-Comfort him. Iras. Do, most dear queen. Char. Do? Why, what else? Cleo. Let me sit down. Ant. No, no, no, no, no. Eros. See you here, sir? Ant. O fie, fie, fie. Char. Madam,- O Juno! Iras. Madam; O good empress!- Eros. Sir, sir,- Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ;-He,' at Philippi, kept His sword even like a dancer; while I struck The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I, That the mad Brutus ended: he alone Dealt on lieutenantry,2 and no practice had In the brave squares of war: Yet now-No matter. Cleo. Ah, stand by. Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him; He is unqualitied³ with very shame. Cleo. Well then,-Sustain me:-0! Eros. Most noble sir, arise; the queen ap- proaches; but Her head's declined, and death will seize her; Your comfort makes the rescue. Ant. I have offended reputation; A most unnoble swerving. Eros. Sir, the queen. Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See, How I convey my shame out of thine eyes, By looking back on what I have left behind, Stroy'd in dishonour. O my lord, my lord! Cleo. Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought, You would have follow'd. Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well, My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, And thou should'st tow me after: O'er my spirit Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods Command me. Cleo. Ant. O, my pardon. Now I must To the young man send humble treaties, dodge And palter in the shifts of lowness; who With half the bulk o'the world play'd as I pleas'd, Making, and marring fortunes. You did know, How much you were my conqueror; and that My sword, made weak by my affection, would 2 Fought by his officers. 4 Unless. 1 Cæsar. • 3 Divested of his faculties. 5 Values. O pardon, pardon. Obey it on all cause. Cleo. Ant. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates' All that is won and lost: Give me a kiss; Even this repays me.-We sent our schoolmaster, Is he come back?-Love, I am full of lead:- Some wine, within there, and our viands:-For- tune knows, We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. [Exeunt. SCENE X.-Casar's camp, in Egypt. Enter Cæsar, Dolabella, Thyreus, and others. Cæs. Let him appear that's come from Antony.- Know you him? Dol. Cesar, 'tis his schoolmaster: He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither Which had superfluous kings for messengers, Not many moons gone by. Cæs. Enter Euphronius. Approach, and speak. Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony: I was of late as petty to his ends, As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf To his grand sea." Cæs. Be it so; Declare thine office. Eup. Lord of his fortune, he salutes thee, and Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted, He lessens his requests; and to thee sues To let him breathe between the heavens and earth A private man in Athens: This for him. Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness; Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves. The circles of the Ptolemies for her heirs, Now hazarded to thy grace. Cæs. For Antony, I have no ears to his request. The queen Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend," Or take his life there: This if she perform, She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. Eup. Fortune pursue thee! Cæs. Bring him through the bands. [Exit Euphronius. To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time: Despatch; From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, [To Thyreus. And in our name, what she requires; add more, From thine invention, offers: women are not, In their best fortunes, strong: but want will perjure The ne'er-touch'd vestal: Try thy cunning, Thy- reus; Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will answer as a law. Thyr. Cæsar, I go. Cas. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw;10 And what thou think'st his very action speaks In every power that moves. Thyr. Cæsar, I shall. [Exe. SCENE XI.-Alexandria. A room in the pal- ace. Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and Iris. Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? Think, and die. Eno. Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this? Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 7 As is the dew to the sea. 8 Diadem, the crown. 9 Paramour. 6 Euphronius, schoolmaster to Antony's chil- 10 Conforms himself to this breach of his for dren.. 'tune. 732 ACT Ill. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Lord of his reason. What although you fled From that great face of war, whose several ranges Frighted each other? why should he follow? The itch of his affection should not then Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point, When half to half the world oppos'd, he being The mered question: "Twas a shame no less Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, And leave his navy gazing. Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. Enter Antony, with Euphronius. Ant. Is this his answer? Eup. Ay, my lord. Ant. Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield Us up. The queen Let her know it.- Eup. He says so. Ant. To the boy Cæsar send this grizzled head, And he will fill thy wishes to the brim With principalities. Cleo. That head, my lord? Ant. To him again; Tell him, he wears the rose Of youth upon him; from which the world should note Something particular; his coin, ships, legions, May be a coward's; whose ministers would pre- vail Under the service of a child, as soon As i'the command of Cæsar: I dare him therefore To lay his gay comparisons2 apart, And answer me declin'd, sword against sword, Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me. [Exeunt Antony and Euphronius. Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Cæsar will Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the show, Against a sworder.-I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike. That he should dream, Knowing all measures, the full Cæsar will Answer his emptiness ?-Cæsar, thou hast subdu'd His judgment too. Att. Enter an Attendant. A messenger from Cæsar. Cleo. What, no more ceremony ?-See, women!- Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, That kneel'd unto the buds.-Admit him, sir. Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. The loyalty well held to fools, does make Our faith mere folly :-Yet, he, that can endure To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, Does conquer him that did his master conquer, And earns a place i'the story. Cleo. Enter Thyreus. my [Aside. Cæsar's will? Thyr. Hear it apart. Cleo. None but friends; say boldly Thyr. So, haply," are they friends to Antony. Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Cæsar has; Or needs not us. If Cæsar please, our master, Will leap to be his friend: For us. you know, Whose he is, we are; and that's, Cæsar's. 1 The only cause of the dispute. 2 Circumstances of splendor. 3 In age and power. 4 Are of a piece with them. 5 Quarrel. f Perhaps Thyr. So.- Thus. then, thou most renown'd; Cæsar entreats, Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, Further than he is Cæsar. Cleo. Go on: Right royal. Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony As you did love, but as you fear'd him. Cleo. O! Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he Does pity, as constrained blemishes, Not as deserv'd. Cleo. He is a god, and knows What is most right: Mine honour was not yielded, But conquer'd merely. Eno. Aside. To be sure of that, I will ask Antony.-Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky, That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbus Thyr. Shall I say to Cæsar What you require of him? for he partly begs To be desir'd to give. It much would please him, That of his fortunes you should make a staff To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits, To hear from me you had left Antony, And put yourself under his shrowd, The universal landlord. Cleo. What's your name? Thyr. My name is Thyreus. Cleo. Most kind messenger, Say to great Cæsar this, In disputation" I kiss his conquering hand; tell him, I am prompt To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel: Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear The doom of Egypt. Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. Wisdom and fortune combating together, If that the former dare but what it can, No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay My duty on your hand. Cleo. Your Cæsar's father Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, 10 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, As it rain'd kisses. Ant. Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 19 Favours, by Jove that thunders! - One, that but performs What art thou, fellow? Thyr. The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest To have command obey'd. Eno. You will be whipp'd. Ant. Approach, there:-Ay, you kite!-Now gods and devils! Authority melts from me: Of late, when I cry'd, ho, Like boys unto a muss, 12 kings would start forth, And cry, Your will? Have you no ears? I am Enter Attendants. Antony yet. Take hence this Jack 13 and whip him. Eno. "Tis better playing with a lion's whelp, Than with an old one dying. Ant. Moon and stars! Whip hien:-Were't twenty of the greatest tribu- taries That do acknowledge Cæsar, Should I find them So saucy with the hand of she here (What's her name, Since she was Cleopatra ?)-Whip him, fellows, 7 Supposed to be an error for deputation, i. e. by proxy. 8 Obeyed. 9 Grant me the favour. 10 Conquering. 11 Most complete and perfect. 12 Scramble. 13 A term of contempt. SCENE I. 733 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face, And whine aloud for mercy: Take him hence. Thyr. Mark Antony,- Ant. Tug him away: being whipp'd, Bring him again:-This Jack of Cæsar's shall Bear us an errand to him.- [Exeunt Attend. with Thyreus. You were half blasted ere I knew you:-Ha! Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, Forborne the getting of a lawful race, And by a gem of women, to be abus'd By one that looks on feeders?¹ Cleo. Good my lord,- Ant. You have been a boggler ever:- But when we in our viciousness grow hard, (0 misery on't?) the wise gods seel2 our eyes; In our own filth drop our clear judgments; make us Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we strut To our confusion. Cleo. O, is it come to this? Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon Dead Cæsar's trencher: nay, you were a fragment Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have Luxuriously pick'd out :-For I am sure, Ant. Cold-hearted toward me? Cleo. Ah, dear, it I be so From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, And poison it in the source; and the first stone Drop in my neck: as it determines," so Dissolve my life! The next Cæsarion smite' Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb, Together with my brave Egyptians all, By the discandying of this pelleted storm, Lie graveless; till the flies and gnats of Nile Have buried them for prey! Ant. I am satisfied. Cæsar sits down in Alexandria; where I will oppose his fate. Our force by land Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy too Have knit again, and fleet, 10 thread ning most sea like, Whare hast thou been, my heart?-Dost thou hear lady? If from the field I shall return once more To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood, I and my sword will earn our chronicle; There is hope in it yet. Cleo. That's my brave lord! Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd, Though you can guess what temperance should be, And fight maliciously: for when mine hours You know not what it is. Cleo. Wherefore is this? Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards, And say, God quit you! be familiar with My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal, And plighter of high hearts!-0, that I were Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar The horned herd! for I have savage cause; And to proclaim it civilly, were like A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank For being yare about him.-Is he whipp'd? Re-enter Attendants, with Thyreus. 1 Att. Soundly, my lord. Ant. Cry'd he? and begg'd he pardon? 1 Att. He did ask favour. Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry To follow Cæsar in his triumph, since Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: hence- forth, The white hand of a lady fever thee, Shake thou to look on't.-Get thee back to Cesar, Tell him thy entertainment: Look, thou say, He makes me angry with him: for he seenis Proud and disdainful; harping on what I am; Not what he knew I was: He makes me angry; And at this time most easy 'tis to do't; When my good stars, that were my former guides, Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike My speech, and what is done; tell him, he has Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, As he shall like, to quit me: Urge it thou: Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyreus. Cleo. Have you done yet? Ant. Alack, our terrene moon Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone The fall of Antony! Cleo. I must stay his time. Ant. To flatter Cæsar, would you mingle eyes With one that ties his points? Cleo. 1 Servants. 2 Close up. 8 4 Ready, handy. 7 Dissolves. Not know me yet? 3 Wantonly. 5 Requite. 6 Earthly. Her son by Julius Cæsar. Were nice¹¹ and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests; but now, I'll set my teeth, And send to darkness all that stop me.-Come, Let's have one other gaudy 12 night: call to me All my sad captains, fill our bowls; once more Let's mock the midnight bell. Cleo. It is my birth-day: I had thought, to have held it poor; but, since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. Ant. We'll yet do well. Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force The wine peep through their scars.-Come on, my queen; There's sap in't yet. The next time I do tight, I'll make death love me; for I will contend Even with his pestilent scythe. [Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Attend. Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To ce furious, Is, to be frighted out of fear: and in that mood, The dove will peck the estridge ;13 and I see still, A diminution in our captain's brain Restores his heart: When valour preys on reason, It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek Some way to leave him. ACT IV. [Exit SCENE I-Caesar's camp at Alexandria. En- ter Caesar, reading a letter; Agrippa. Maecenas, and others. Caes. He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power To beat me out of Egypt: my messenger He hath whipp'd with rods: dares me to personal combat, Cæsar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know, I have many other ways to die; mean time, Laugh at his challenge. 9 Melting. 12 Feasting 10 Float. 13 Ostrich.. 11 Trifling. 734 ACT IV. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Mac. Cæsar must think, When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now Make boot' of his distraction. Never anger Made good guard for itself. You take me i too dolorous a sense: Cæs. Let our best heads Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles We mean to fght:-Within our files there are Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late, Enough to fetch him in. See it be done; And feast the army: we have store to do't, And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! [Exeunt. I spake to you for your comfort: did desire you; To burn this night with torches: Know, my hearts, I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you, Where rather I'll expect victorious life, Than death and honour. Let's to supper; come, And drown consideration. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The same. Before the palace. Enter two Soldiers, to their guard. 1 Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow is the day. 2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well, pal-Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? 1 Sold. Nothing: What news? SCENE II.-Alexandria. A room in the ace. Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Char- mian, Iras, Alexas, and others. Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. Eno. Ant. Why should he not? 2 Sold. Good night to you. 1 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a ruraour Well, sir, good night. No. Enter two other Soldiers. 2 Sold. Soldiers, Have careful watch. Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. Ant. To-morrow, soldier, By sea and land I'll fight: or I will live, Or bathe my dying honour in the blood Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? Eno. I'll strike; and cry, Take all. Ant. Well said; come on.- Call forth my household servants; let's to-night Enter Servants. Be bounteous at our meal.-Give me thy hand, Thou hast been rightly honest;--so hast thou ;- And thou,-end thou,-and thou: you have serv'd me well, And kings have been your fellows. 3 Sold. And you: Good night, good night. [The first two place themselves at their posts. 4 Sold. Here we: [They take their posts.] and if to-morrow Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope Our landmen will stand up. 3 Sold. And full of purpose. 4 Sold. 1 Sold. 'Tis a brave army, [Music of hautboys under the stage. Peace, what noise? List, list! 2 Sold. Hark! 1 Sold. Music i'the air. 3 Sold. Under the earth. Cleo. What means this? Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow shoots [Aside. Out of the mind. 4 Sold. Does't not? It signs' well, 3 Sold. No. 1 Sold. Ant. And thou art honest too. I wish, I could be made so many men; And all of you clapp'd up together in An Antony; that I might do you service. So good as you have done. Serv. The gods forbid! Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to- night: Scant not my cups; and make as much of me, As when mine empire was your fellow 100, And suffer'd my command. Cleo. What does he mean? Tead me to-night; Eno. To make his followers weep. Ant. May be, it is the period of your duty: Haply you shall not see me more; or if, A mangled shadow: perchance, to-morrow You'll serve another master. I look on you As one that takes his lesve. Mine honest friends, I turn you not away; out, like a master Married to your good service, stay till death :- Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, And the gods yield you for't! Eno. What mean you, sir, To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; And 1, an ass, am onion-ey'd; for shame, Transform us not to women. Ant. Ho, ho, ho!4 Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus! Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends, Take advantage. 2 Perhaps Peace, I say. What should this mean. 2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, Now leaves him. 1 Sold. Walk; let's see if other watchmen Do hear what we do. 2 Sold. Sold. [They advance to another post. How now, masters? How now? do you hear this? 1 Sold. How now? [Several speaking together. Ay; Is't not strange? 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter; Let's see how't will give off. Sold. [Several speaking.] Content: 'Tis strange. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter Antony, and Cleopatra; Charmian, and others, attending. Ant. Eros! mine armour, Eros! Cleo, Sleep a little. Ant. No, my chuck.-Eros, come; mine armour Eros! Enter Eros, with armour. Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on :- If fortune be not ours to-day, it is Because we brave her..--Come. Cleo. What's this for? Ant. Reward. Nay, I'll help too Ah, let be, let be! thou art 4 Stop 5 Bodes SCENE V-VII. 735 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. The armourer of my heart :-False, false; this, this. To change a master.--0, my fortunes have Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help: Thus it must be. Corrupted honest men :-Eros, despatch. [Exe Ant. SCENE VI.-Cæsar's camp before Alexandria Enter Cæsar with Agrippa, Enobar Well, well; We shall thrive now.-See'st thou, my good fellow? Go, put on thy defences. Eros. Briefly, sir. Cleo. Is not this buckled well? Ant. Rarely, rarely: He that unbuckles this, till we do please To doff't2 for our repose, shall hear a storm.- Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire More tight at this, than thou: Despatch.-O love, That thou could'st see my wars to-day, and knew'st The royal occupation! thou should'st see Enter an Officer, armed. A workman in't.-Good morrow to thee; welcome: Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge: To business that we love, we rise betime, And go to it with delight. A thousand, sir, 1 Offi. Early though it be, have on their riveted trim,4 And at the port expect you. [Shout. Trumpets. Flourish. Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 2 Offi. The morn is fair.-Good morrow, general. All. Good morrow, general. Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads. This morning, like the spirit of a youth That means to be of note, begins betimes.- So, so; come, give me that: this way; well said. Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me: This is a soldier's kiss: rebukable, [Kisses her. And worthy shameful check it were, to stand On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee Now, like a man of steel.-You, that will fight, Follow me close; I'll bring you to't.-Adieu. [Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and Sold. Char. Please you, retire to your chamber? Cleo. Lead me: He goes forth gallantly. That he and Cæsar might Determine this great war in single fight! Then, Antony,-But now,-Well, on. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Antony's camp near Alexandria. Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros; a Soldier meeting them. Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony! Ant. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd To make me fight at land! Sold. Hadst thou done so, The kings that have revolted, and the soldier That has this morning left thee, would have still Follow'd thy heels. Ant. Sold. Who's gone this morning? Who? One ever near thee: Call for Enobarbus, He shall not hear thee; or from Cæsar's camp Say, I am none of thine. Ant. What say'st thou ? Sold, Sir, He is with Cæsar. Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure Is he gone? Most certain. He has not with him. Ant. Sold. Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it; Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him (I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings: Say, that I wish he never find more cause ut it off. 3 Hardy. 1 Shortly. Flourish. bus, and others. Cæs. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight: Our will is, Antony be took alive; Make it so known. Agr. Cæsar, I shall, [Exit Agrippa. Ces. The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world Shall bear the olive freely. Mess. Enter a Messenger. Is come into the field. Antony Cæs. Go, charge Agrippa Plant those that have revolted in the van, That Antony may seem to spend his fury Upon himself. [Exeunt Cæsar and his train Eno. Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry, On affairs of Antony; there did persuade Great Herod to incline himself to Cæsar, And leave his master Antony: for this pains, Cæsar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest That fell away, have entertainment, but No honourable trust. I have done ill; Of which I do accuse myself so sorely, That I will joy no more. Enter a Soldier of Cæsar's. Sold. Enobarbus, Antony Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with His bounty overplus: The messenger Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now, Unloading of his mules. Eno. I give it you. Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus I tell you true: Best that you saf'd the bringer Out of the host; I must attend mine office, Or would have done't myself. Your emperor Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, And feel I am so most. O Antony, Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have paid My better service, when my turpitude Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart: If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, I feel. I fight against thee!-No: I will go seek Some ditch, wherein to die; the foul'st best fits My latter part of life. [Exit. SCENE VII.-Field of battle between the camps. Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter Agrippa, and others. Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far: Cæsar himself has work, and our oppression Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded. Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed! Had we done so at first, we had driven them home, With clouts about their heads. Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, But now 'tis made an H. Ant. Scor. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes; I have yet They do retire. 5 Swells. 4 Riveted dress, armour. 736 ACT IV. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Room for six scotches' more. Enter Eros. SCENE IX.-Cæsar's camp. Sen els on their post. Enter Enobarbus. 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage We must return to the court of guard: The night serves For a fair victory. Scar. Let us score their backs, And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind; 'Tis sport to maul a runner. Ant. I will reward thee Once for thy sprightly comfort, and ten-fold For thy good valour. Come thee on. Scar. I'll halt after. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII.-Under the walls of Alexandria. Alarum. Enter Antony, marching; Scarus, and forces. Ant. We have beat him to his camp; Run one before, And let the queen know of our guests.-To-morrow, Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all; For doughty2-handed are you; and have fought Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors. Enter the city, clip³ your wives, your friends, Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss The honour'd gashes whole.-Give me thy hand; [To Scarus. Enter Cleopatra, attended. To this great fairy4 I'll commend thy acts, Make her thanks bless thee.-0 thou day o'the world, Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, Through proof of harness to my heart, and there Ride on the pants triumphing. Cleo. Lord of lords! O infinite virtue! coms't thou smiling from The world's great snare uncaught? Ant. We have beat them to their beds. What, girl? My nightingale, though grey Do something mingle with our brown; yet have we A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand;- Kiss it, my warrior:-He hath fought to-day, As if a god, in hate of mankind, had Destroy'd in such a shape. Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, An armour all of gold; it was a king's. Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled Like holy Phoebus' car.-Give me thy hand; Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them Had our great palace the capacity To camp this host, we all would sup together; And drink carouses to the next day's fate, Which promises royal peril.-Trumpeters, With brazen din blast you the city's ear; Make mingle with our rattling tabourines:7 Is shiny; and, they say, we shall embattle By the second hour i'the morn. 2 Sold. A shrewd one to us. Eno. This last day was O, bear me witness, night,- 3 Sold. What man is this? 2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, When men revolted shall upon record Bear hateful memcry, poor Enobarbus did Before thy face repent!- 1 Sold. 3 Sold. Hark further. Enobarbus Peace; Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, That life, a very rebel to my will, The poisonous damp of night disponges upon me; May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart Against the flint and hardness of my fault; Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder Nobler than my revolt is infamous, And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, But let the world rank me in register Forgive me in thine own particular; A master-leaver, and a fugitive: O Antony! O Antony! 2 Sold. To him. Let's speak Let's do so. [Dies. 1 Sold. Let's hear hiin, for the things he speaks May concern Cæsar. 3 Sold. But he sleeps. 1 Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his Was never yet for sleeping. 2 Sold. 3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir; 2 Sold Go we to him. speak to us. 1 Sold. The hand of death Hark, the drums. To the court of guard; he is Demurely 10 wake the sleepers. Is fully out. 3 Sold. Come on then; He may recover yet. Hear you, sir? hath raught him. [Drums afar off. note: our hour Let us bear him of [Exeunt with the body. SCENE X.-Between the two camps. Enter Antony and Scarus, with forces, marching. Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea; We please them not by land. Scar. For both, my lord. Ant. I would they'd fight i'the fire, or in the air; We'd fight there too. But this it is; Our foot Upon the hills adjoining to the city, Shall stay with us: order for sea is given; They have put forth the haven: Further on, Where their appointment we may best discover, And look on their endeavour."¹ [Exeunt. Enter Caesar, and his forces, marching. Caes. But12 being charg'd, we will be still by land, 'That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- Which, as I tak't, we shall; for his best force Applauding our approach. gether, 1 Cuts. 2 Brave. Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, [Exeunt. And hold our best advantage. 3 Embrace. 4 Beauty united with power, was the popular characteristic of fairies. 5 Armour of proof. 7 Small drums. [Exeunt. 8 Discharge, as a sponge when squeezed, dis- charges the moisture it had imbibed. 10 Solemnly. 9 Reached. 6 As become the brave warriors that own 11 Discover their numbers, and see their mo tions. them 12 Without. SCENE XI, XII. 737 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Re-enter Antony and Scarus. Ant. Yet they're not join'd: Where yonder pine does stand, I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit. Scar. Swallows have built In Cleopatra's sails their nests: the augurers Say, they know not,-they cannot tell; look grimly, And lare not speak their knowledge. Antony Is valiant, and dejected; and, by starts, His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, Of what he has, and has not. Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight. Antony. Ant. SCENE XI.-Alexandria. A room in the pal ace. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, und Mardian. Cleo. Help me, my women! O, he is more mad Than Telamon" for his shield; the boar of Thessaly Was never so emboss'd. 10. Char. To the monument; There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead. The soul and body rive" not more in parting, Than greatness going off. Cleo. To the monunient:- Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; Re-enter Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony, And word it, pr'y thee, piteously Hence, Mardian; and bring me how he takes my death.- To the monument. [Exeunt All is lost; This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me: My fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder They cast their caps up, and carouse together Like friends long lost.-Triple-turn'd whore ! 'tis thou Hath sold me to this novice; and my heart. Makes only wars on thee.-Bid them all fly; For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, I have done all-Bid them all fly, begone. [Exit Scarus. O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more: Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands.-All come to this?-The hearts That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets On blossoming Cæsar; and this pine is bark'd That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : O this false soul of Egypt; this grave charm,2- Whose eye beck'd' forth my wars, and call'd them home; Whose bosom was my crownet,4 my chief end,- Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.- What, Eros, Eros ! Enter Cleopatra. SCENE XII.-The same. Another room. En ter Antony and Eros. Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? Eros. Ay, noble lord. Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish; A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, A forked mountain or blue promontory With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these They are black vesper's pageants. signs; Eros. Ay, my lord. Ant. That, which is now a nurse, even with a thought, The rack!2 dislimns; and makes it indistinct, As water is in water. Eros. It does, my lord. Ant. My good knave, 13 Eros, now thy captain is Even such a body: Here I am Antony; Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen,- Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine; Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't A million more, now lost,-she, Eros, has Pack'd cards with Cæsar, and false play'd my glory Unto an enemy's triumph.- Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us Ourselves to end ourselves. O, thy vile lady! Enter Mardian. Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love? Ant. Vanish; or I shall give thee thy deserving, And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee, And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown For poor'st diminutives, to delts; and let Patient Octavia plough thy visage up With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleo.] 'Tis well With thine entirely. thou'rt gone, ho!- If it be well to live: But better 'twere Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death Might have prevented many.-Eros, The shirt of Nessus is upon me: Teach me, Alcides," thou mine ancestor, thy rage: Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o'the moon; And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest club, Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die; To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall Under this plot : she dies for't.-Eros, ho! [Exit. 1 Cleopatra first belonged to Julius Cæsar, then to Antony, and now, as Antony supposes, to Augustus. 2 Deadly piece of witchcraft. 3 Was the motion for. 4 Finish. 5 A cheating game, at present named pricking at the belt. 6 For the smallest piece of money, to clowns. She has robb'd me of my sword. Mar. No, Antony; My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch; peace, She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once * And that she has discharg'd: What thou would'st do Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake Was, Antony! most noble Antony! Then in the midst a tearing groan did break The name of Antony; it was divided Between her heart and lips: she render'd life, Thy name so buried in her. Ant. Mar. Dead then? Dead. Ant. Eros, unarm; the long day's task is done; 7 Hercules. 8 The boy that brought the poisoned shirt te Hercules. 9 Ajax Telamon for the shield of Achilles. 10 Foaming at the mouth. 11 Split. 12 The fleeting clouds. 13 Servant. 738 ACT IV. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. And we must sleep:-That thou depart'st hence safe. Does pay thy labour richly;-Go.-Off, pluck off; [Exit Mardian. The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides! Heart, once be stronger than thy continent,¹ Crack thy frail case!-Apace, Eros, apace.- To more a soldier :-Bruised pieces go; You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. [Exit Eros. I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now At length is torture:-Since the torch is out, Lie down, and stray no further: Now all labour Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles Itself with strength: Seal then, and all is done. Eros!-I come, my queen:-Eros!-Stay for me: Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand, And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze: Dido and her Æneas shall want troops, And all the haunt be ours.-Come, Eros, Eros! Re-enter Eros. Eros. What would my lord? Ant. Since Cleopatra died, I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack The courage of a woman; less noble mind Than she, which, by her death, our Cæsar tells, I am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn, Eros, That, when the exigent should come (which now Is come, indeed,) when I should see behind me The inevitable prosecution of Disgrace and horror, that on my command, Thou then would'st kill me: do't; the time is come: Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Cæsar thou defeat'st. Put colour in thy cheek. Eros. Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? Ant. Now, Eros Eros. Why, there then :-[Falls on his sword. Thus do I escape the sorrow Of Antony's death. Ant. [Dies. Thrice nobler than myself! Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what I should, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me A nobleness in record: But I will be A bridegroom in my death, and run into't As to a lover's bed. Come then; and, Eros Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus [Falling on his sword. I learn'd of thee. How! not yet dead? not dead?- The guard ?-ho!-O, despatch me. Enter Dercetas and Guard. 1 Guard. What's the noise ? Ant. I have done my work ill, friends; O, make an end Of what I have begun. 2 Guard. 1 Guard. And time is at his period. All. The star is fallen. Alas, and wo! Not I. [Exeunt Guard. Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead. 1 Guard. 2 Guard. Nor I. 3 Guard. Nor any one. Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. This sword but shown to Cæsar, with this tidings, Shall enter me with him. Enter Diomedes. Dio. Where's Antony? Der. Dio. Wilt thou not answer, man? There, Diomed, there. Lives he? [Exit Dercetas. Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, The gods withhold me! and give me Sufficing strokes for death. Dio. Eros, Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts, Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? Ant. Would'st thou be window'd in great Rome, and see Thy master thus with pleach'd' arms, bending down His corrigible neck, his face subdued To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat Of fortunate Cæsar, drawn before him, branded His baseness that ensued ?6 I would not see't. Eros. Ant. Come then; for with a wound I must be cur'd Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn Most useful for thy country. Eros. O, sir, pardon me. Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not then To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once; Or thy precedent services are all But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance, Wherein the worship' of the whole world lies. Ant. Lo thee. Eros. My sword is drawn. Ant. [Turning from him. Then let it do at once The thing why thou hast drawn it. Eros. My dear master, My captain, and my emperor! let me say, Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. Ant. 'Tis said, man;-and farewell. 1. e. The thing that contains thee. 2 Sealing completes a contract. Most absolute lord, My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. Ant. When did she send thee? Dio. Ant. Now, my lord. Where is she? Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro- phesying fear Of what hath come to pass: for when she saw (Which never shall be found,) you did suspect She had dispos'ds with Cæsar, and that your rage Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was dead; But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent Me to proclaim the truth; and I am come, I dread, too late. Ant. Too late, good Diomed:-Call my guard, I pr'ythee. Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, what, ho! Come, your lord calls. Enter some of the Guard. Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides; 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 1 Guard. Wo are we, sir, you may not live to wear All your true followers out. ᏁᏓᏓ . Most heavy day? 8 Settled. 3 Folded. 4 Corrected. 5 Penetrating 6 Followed. 7 Dignity. OF WICH THE DEATH OF ANTONY. CLEOPATRA.-"O see, my women, The crown of the earth doth melt." "Antony and Cleopatra," Act IV., Scene XV. SCENE I. 739 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Ant. Nay, my good fellows, do not please sharp Of Cæsar seek your honour, with your safety.-O! fate To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome Which comes to punish us, and we punish it Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, And nave my thanks for all. [Exeunt bearing Antony. SCENE XIII.-The same. A monument. En- ter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. Char. Be comforted, dear madam. leo. No, I will not: All strange and terrible events are welcome, But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great Enter Diomedes. As that which makes it.-How now? is he dead? Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. Look out o'the other side your monument, His guard have brought him thither. Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. Cleo. O thou sun, Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in!-darklingi stand The varying shore o'the world!-0 Antony! Antony, Antony !-Charmian, help; help, Iras; Help, friends below; let's draw him hither. Ant. Not Cæsar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony Should conquer Antony; but wo 'tis so! Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death a while, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips.- Cleo. I dare not, dear (Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not, Lest I be taken: not the imperious show Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar ever shall Be brooch'd' with me; if knife, drugs, have Cleo. They do not go together. Ant. Gentle, hear me: None about Cæsar trust, but Proculeius. Cleo. My resolution and my hands I'll trust; None about Cæsar. Ant. The miserable change now at my end, Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts, Whercin 1 liv'd, the greatest prince o'the world, In feeding them with those my former fortunes The noblest: and do now not basely die, Nor cowardly; put off my helmet to My countrymen, a Roman, by a Roman Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going; I can no more. Cleo. [Dies. Noblest of men, woo't die? Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide In this dull world, which in thy absence is No better than a stye?-O, see, my women, The crown o'the earth doth melt:--My lord!- O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fallen; young boys, and girls, Are level now with men: the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. Char. O, quietness, lady! Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. Char. Lady,- Iras. Char. O madam, madam, madam! Iras. Peace: Empress! serpents, Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes, And still conclusion,3 shall acquire no honour Demuring upon me.-But come, come, Antony,- Help me, my women,-we must draw thee up ;- Assist good friends. Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. Cleo. Here's sport, indeed!-How heavy weighs my lord! Our strength is all gone into heaviness, That makes the weight: Had I great Juno's power, The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up, And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,- Wishers were ever fools;-0, come, come, come; [They draw Antony up. And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast liv'd:) Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power, Thus would I wear them out. All. A heavy sight! Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying: Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high, That the false house-wife Fortune break her wheel, Provok'd by my offence. Ani. One word, sweet queen: 1 Without light. ? Sedate determination. 2 Ornamented. Char. Peace, peace, Iras. Madam,- Royal Egypt! Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and com. manded By such poor passion as the maid that milks, And does the meanest chares. 5-It were for me To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; To tell them that this world did equal theirs, Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught, Patience is sottish; and impatience does Become a dog that's mad: Then is it sin, To rush into the secret house of death, Ere death dare come to us?--How do you, women? What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Char- mian? My noble girls!--Ah, women, women! look, Our lamp is spent,it's out:-Good sirs, take heart :-- [To the guard below. We'll bury him: and then, what's brave, what's noble, Let's do it after the high Roman fashion, And make death proud to take us. Come, away: This case of that huge spirit now is cold. Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend But resolution, and the briefest end. [Exeunt; those above bearing off An tony's body. ACT V. SCENE I-Cesar's camp before Alexandria Enter Cæsar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mæcenas Gallus, Proculeius, and others. Coes. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by The pauses that he makes.7 4 Revive. 6 Frustrated. 5 Task-work. 7 He trifles with us. 740 ACT V. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Del. Cæsar, I shall. (Exit Dolabella. Enter Dercetas, with the sword of Antony. Cas. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, that dar'st Appear thus to us? Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and spoke. He was my master; and I wore my life, To spend upon his haters: If thou please To take me to thee, as I was to him I'll be to Cæsar; if thou pleasest not, I yield thee up my life. Cæs. What is't thou say'st? Der. I say, O Cæsar, Antony is dead. Cæs. The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: The round world should have shook Lions into civil streets, To the way she's forc'd to. Cæs. Bid her have good heart; She soon shall know of us, by some of ours. How honourable and how kindly we Determine for her: for Cæsar cannot live To be ungentle. Mess. So the gods preserve thee! [Exit Cæs. Come hither, Proculeius; Go, and say, We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts The quality of her passion shall require; Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke She do defeat us: for her life in Rome Would be eternal in our triumph: Go, And, with your speediest, bring us what she says, And how you find of her. Pro. Cæsar, I shall. [Exit Pro. Cos. Gallus, go you along.-Where's Dolabella. To second Proculeius? [Exit Gallus. Agr. Mac. Dolabella! Cæs. Let him alone, for I remember now How he's employed; he shall in time be ready. Go with me to my tent; where you shall see And citizens to their dens :-The death of Antony How hardly I was drawn into this war; Is not a single doom; in the name lay A moiety of the world. Der. He is dead, Cæsar; Not by a public minister of justice, Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand, Which writ his honour in the acts it did, How calm and gentle I proceeded still In all my writings: Go with me, and see What I can show in this. [Exeunt. SCENE II-Alexandria. A room in the monu- ment. Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iris. Cleo. My desolation does begin to make Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, A better life: "Tis paltry to be Cæsar; Splitted the heart.-This is his sword, I robb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd With his most noble blood. Cæs. Look you sad, friends? The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings To wash the eyes of kings. Agr. And strange it is, That nature must compel us to lament Our most persisted deeds. Mac. Waged equal with him. Agr. His taints and honours A rarer spirit never Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us Some faults to make us men. Cæsar is touch'd. Mac. When such a spacious mirror's set before him, He needs must see himself. Cæs. O Antony! I have follow'd thee to this ;-But we do lance Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce Have shown to thee such a declining day, Or look on thine; we could not stall together In the whole world: But yet let me lament, With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, That thou, my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war, Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave," A minister of her will; And it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds; Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, The beggar's nurse and Cæsar's. Enter to the gates of the monument, Proculeius, Gallus, and Soldiers. Pro. Cæsar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; And bids thee study on what fair demands Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. Cleo. [Within.] Pro. My name is Proculeius. Cleo. [Within.] What's thy name? but Antony Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, That have no use for trusting. If your master Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him That majesty, to keep decorum, must No less beg than a kingdom: if he please To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, He gives me so much of mine own, as I Will kneel to him with thanks. Pro. Be of good cheer; You are fallen into a princely hand. fear nothing Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our Make your full reference freely to my lord, stars, Unreconciliable, should divide Our equalness to this.--Hear me, good friends,- But I will tell you at some meeter season; Enter a Messenger. The business of this man looks out of him, We'll hear him what he says.--Whence are you? Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my mistress, Confin'd in all she has, her monument, Of thy intents desires instruction; That she preparedly may frame herself 1 Its. 2 Servant. Who is so full of grace, that it flows over On all that need: Let me report to him Your sweet dependency; and you shall find A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, Where he for grace is kneel'd to. Cleo. [Within.] Pray you, teli hun, I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him The greatness he has got. I hourly learn A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly Look him i'the face. Pro. This I'll report, dear lady. Have comfort; for, I know, your plight is pitied Of him that caus'd it. Gal. You see how easily she may be surpris'd SCENE II. 741 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Most sovereign creature,-- [Here Proculeius and two of the guard, ascend Dol. the monument by a ladder placed against Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm a window, and having descended, come behind Crested the world: his voice was propertied Cleopatra. Some of the guard unbar and open the gates. Guard her till Cæsar come. [To Proculeius and the guard. [Exit Gall. Iras. Royal queen! Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen! Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. Pro. [Drawing a dagger. Hold, worthy lady, hold: [Seizes and disarms her. Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this Reliev'd, but not betray'd. Cleo. What, of death too, That rids our dogs of languish? Pro. Cleopatra, Do not abuse my master's bounty, by The undoing of yourself: let the world see His nobleness well acted, which your death Will never let come forth. As all the turned spheres, and that to friends; But when he meant to quails and shake the orh, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas, That grew the more by reaping: His delights Were dolphin-like; they show'd his back above The element they liv'd in: In his livery Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands were As plates¹ dropp'd from his pocket. Dol. Cleopatra.- Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, such a man As this I dream'd of? Dol. Gentle madam, no. Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods.. But, if there be, or ever were one such, It's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine Where art thou, death? An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, Condemning shadows quite. Cleo. Come hither, come! come, come, and take a queen Worth many babes and beggars! Pro. O, temperance, lady! Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir; If idle talk will once be necessary, I'll not sleep neither: This mortal house I'll ruin, Do Cæsar what he can. Know, sir, that I Will not wait pinion'd' at your master's court; Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, And show me to the shouting varletry2 Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt Be gentle grave to me! rather on Nilus' mud Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies Blow me into abhorring! rather make My country's high pyramides my gibbet, And hang me up in chains! Pro. You do extend These thoughts of horror further than you shall Find cause in Cæsar. Dol. Enter Dolabella. Proculeius, What thou hast done thy master Cæsar knows, And he hath sent for thee: as for the queen, I'll take her to my guard. Pro. So, Dolabella, If shall content me best: be gentle to her.- To Cæsar I will speak what you shall please, [To Cleopatra. If you'll employ me to him. Cleo. Say, I would die. [Exeunt Proculeius, and Soldiers. Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me? Cleo. I cannot tell. Dol. Assuredly, you know me, Cleo. No matter.sir, what I have heard.or known. You laugh when boys, or women, tell their dreams; Is't not your trick? Dol. I understand not, madam Cleo. I dream'd there was an emperor Antony: O, such another sleep, that I might see But such another man! If it might please you. Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein Dol. stuck A sun, and moon; whi. h kept their course, and lighted The little O, the earth 1. Bound, confined. 2 Rabble. 3 Crush. Dol. Hear me, good madam: Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel, By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots My very heart at root. Cleo. I thank you, sir. Know you, what Cæsar means to do with me! Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir,- Dol. Though he be honourable,- Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph? Dol. Madam, he will; I know it. Within. Make way there,-Cæsar. Enter Cæsar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mecenas, Seleu- cus, and Attendants. Cæs, Of Egypt? Which is the queen [Cleo. kneels. Arise, Dol. "Tis the emperor, madam. Cæs. You shall not kneel:- I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. Cleo. Sir, the gods Will have it thus; my master and my lord I must obey. Coes. Take to you no hard thoughts. The record of what injuries you did us, Though written in our flesh, we shall remember As things but done by chance. Sole sir o'the world, I cannot projects mine own cause so well To make it clear; but do confess, I have Been laden with like frailties, which before Have often sham'd our sex. Cleo. Cæs. Cleopatra know, We will extenuate rather than enforce : If you apply yourself to our intents (Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find A benefit in this change; but if you seek To lay on me a cruelty, by taking Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself Of my good purposes, and put your children To that destruction which I'll guard them from, If there on you rely. I'll take my leave. 4 Silver money. 5 Shape or form. 742 ACT V. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cleo. And may, through all the world: 'tis yours; [Our care and pity is so much upon you, and we That we remain your friend; And so adieu. Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall Cleo. My master and my lord! Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. Cas. You shall advise me all for Cleopatra. Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels, I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued; Not petty things admitted.-Where's Seleucus? Sel. Here, madam. Cleo. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord. Upon his peril, that I have reserved To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. Sel. Madam, I had rather seel' my lips, than, to my peril, Speak that which is not. Cleo. What have I kept back? Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made known. Cas. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve Your wisdom in the deed. Cleo. See, Cæsar! O, behold, How pomp is follow'd! mine will now be yours; And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine. The ingratitude of this Seleucus does Even make me wild :-0 slave, of no more trust Than love that's hir'd!-What, goest thou back? thou shalt Go back, I warrant thee; but I'll catch thine eyes, Though they had wings: Slave, soul-less villain, dog! O rarely base! Cæs. Good queen, let us entreat you. Cleo. O Cæsar, what a wounding shame is this; That, thou vouchsafing here to visit me, Doing the honour of thy lordliness To one so meek, that mine own servant should Parcel³ the sum of my disgraces by Addition of his envy! Say, good Cæsar, That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, Immoment toys of such dignity As we greet modern4 friends withal; and say, Some nobler token I have kept apart For Livia, and Octavia, to induce Their mediation; must I be unfolded With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites.me Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence; [To Seleucus. Or I shall show the cinders" of my spirits Through the ashes of my chance:-Wert thou a man, Thou would'st have mercy on me. Cœes. Forbear, Seleucus. [Exit Seleucus. Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are. mis-thought For things that others do; and, when we fall, We answer others' merits8 in our name, And therefore to be pitied. Cœs. Cleopatra, Not what you have reserv'd nor what acknowledg'd Put we i'the roll of conquest: still be it yours, Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe, Cæsar's no merchant to make prize with you Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd; Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear queen; For we intend so dispose you, as Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep: 1 Sew up. 2 Uncommonly. 3 Add to. 7 Fire. 4 Common. 5 Cæsar's wife. 6 Cæsar's sister. 8 Merits or demerits. Cæs. Not so: Adieu. [Exeunt Cæsar, and his train. Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian. [Whispers Charmian, Iras. Finish, good lady: the bright day is done, And we are for the dark. Hie thee again: Cleo. I have spoke already, and it is provided; Go, put it to the haste. Char. Madam, I will, Re-enter Dolabella. Dol. Where is the queen? Char. Cleo. Behold, sir. (Exit Char. Dolabella? Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, Which my love makes religion to obey, I tell you this: Cæsar through Syria Intends his journey; and, within three days, You with your children will he send before: Make your best use of this: I have perform'd Your pleasure, and my promise. Cleo. I shall remain your debtor. Dol. Dolabella. I your servant, Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Cæsar. Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol.] Now Iras, what think'st thou? Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, And forc'd to drink their vapour. Iras. The gods forbid ! Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers Ballad us out o'tune: the quickio comedians Extemporally will stage us, and present Our Alexandrian revels; Antony Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see Some squeaking Cleopatra boy¹¹ my greatness I'the posture of a whore. Iras. O the good gods! Cleo. Nay, that is certain. Iras. I'll never see it; for, I am sure, my nails Are stronger than mine eyes. Cleo. Why, that's the way To fool their preparation, and to conquer Their most absurd intents.-Now, Charmian?- Enter Charmian. Show me, my women, like a queen ;-Go fetch My best attires;-I am again for Cydnus, To meet Mark Antony :-Sirrah, Iras, go.- Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed: And, when thou hast done this chare, 12 I'll give the leave To play till dooms-day.--Bring our crown and all. Wherefore's this noise? [Ex. Iras. A noise within Enter one of the Guard. Guard. Here is a rural fellow, That will not be denied your highness' presence; He brings you figs. 9 Beadles. 10 Lively. 11 Female characters were played oy boys. 12 Job of work. SCENE II. 743 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Cleo. Let him come in. ment How poor an instru- [Exit Guard. May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty. My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing Of woman in me: Now from head to foot I am marble-constant: now the fleeting¹ moon No planet is of mine. Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a basket. Guard. This is the man. Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard. Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, That kills and pains not? Clown. Truly I have him; but I would not be the party that should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal; those that do die of it, do seldom or never recover. Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say, The gods themselves do weep! Cleo. This proves me base If she first meet the curl'd Antony, He'll make demand of her; and spend that kiss, Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate [To the asp, which she applies to her breast O eastern star! Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool, Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak! That I might hear thee call great Cæsar, ass Unpolicied! Char. Cleo. Peace, peace! Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep? Cleo Remember'st thou any that have died on't? Char. O, break! 0, break. Clown. Very many, men and women too. I Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, heard of one of them no longer than yesterday: a0 Antony!-Nay I will take thee too :- very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman should not do, but in the way of honesty: What should I stay- [Falls on a bed and dies. how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt, Char. In this wild world ?-So, fare thee well. -Truly, she makes a very good report o'the worm: Now boast thee, death! in thy possession lies But he that will believe all that they say, shall A lass unparallel'd.-Downy windows close; never be saved by half that they do: But this is And golden Phoebus never be beheld most fallible, the worm's an odd worm. Cleo. Get thee hence; farewell. Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm. Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the basket. Clown. You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind. Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell. Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted, but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in the worm. Cleo. Take thou no care; it shall be hee led. Clown. Very good; give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. Cleo. Will it eat me? Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the [Applying another asp to her arm. Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; I'll mend it, and then play. Enter the Guard, rushing in. 1 Guard. Where is the Char. queen ? Speak softly, wake her noi. 1 Guard. Cæsar hath sent- Char. Too slow a messenger. [Applies the asp. O, come; apace, despatch: I partly feel thee. 1 Guard. Approach, ho! All's not well; Cæsar's beguil'd. 2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Cæsar; call him. 1 Guard. What work is here?-Charmian, is this well done? Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whore- Descended of so many royal kings. son devils do the gods great harm in their women; Ah, soldier! for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell. Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the worm. [Exit. Re-enter Iras, with a robe, crown, &c. Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me: Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick.-Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act; I hear him mock The luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath; Husband, I come; Now to that name my courage prove my title! I am fire, and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So,-have done? Come, then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell. [Kisses them. Iras falls and dies. Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desir d. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world It is not worth leave-taking. 1 Inconstant. 2 Serpent. 3 Act according to his nature. Enter Dolabella. All dead. [Dies. Dol. How goes it here? 2 Guard. Dol. Cæsar, thy thoughts Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou So sought's to hinder.. [Within] A way there, way for Cæsar! Enter Cæsar and attendants. Dol. 0, sir, you are too sure an augurer; That you did fear is done. Cœs. Bravest at the last : She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal, Took her own way. The manner of their deaths? I do not see them bleed. Dol. Who was last with them? 1 Guard. A simple countrymen that brought her figs; This was his basket. Cœs. 1 Guard. Poison'd then. O Cæsar, This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood, and spake : I found her trimming up the diadem. 4 Make haste. 5 Unpolitic to leave me to myself. 744 ACT V. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. On her dead mistress: tremblingly she stood, And on the sudden dropp'd. Cæs. In solemn show attend this funeral; And then to Rome.-Come, Dolabella, see O noble weakness!-High order in this great solemnity. If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear By external swelling: but she looks like sleep, As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace.¹ Dol. Here, on her breast, There is a vent of blood, and something blown: The like is on her arm. 1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig-leaves Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves Upon the caves of Nile. Cæs. Most probable, That so she died; for her physician tells me, She hath pursued conclusions' infinite Of easy ways to die.-Take up her bed; And bear her women from the monument: She shall be buried by her Antony: No grave upon the earth shall clips in it A pair so famous. High events as these Strike those that make them: and their story is No less in pity, than his glory, which Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall, 1 Graceful appearance. 2 Tried experiments. 3 Enfold. [Exeunt. This play keeps curiosity always busy, and the passions always interested. The continual hurry of the action, the variety of incidents, and the quick succession of one personage to another, call the mind forward without intermission, from the first act to the last. But the power of delighting is de- rived principally from the frequent changes of the scene; for except the feminine arts, some of which are too low, which distinguish Cleopatra, no char- acter is very strongly discriminated. Upton, who did not easily miss what he desired to find, has dis- covered that the language of Antony is, with great skill and learning, made pompous and su- perb, according to his real practice. But I think his diction not distinguishable from that of others; the most tumid speech in the play is that which Cæsar makes to Octavia. The events, of which the principal are described according to history, are produced without any art of connection or care of disposition. JOHNSON. CYMBELINE. Cymbeline, king of Britain. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Cornelius, a physician Cloten, son to the queen by a former husband. Two Gentlemen. Leonatus Posthumus, a gentleman, husband to Two Gaolers. Imogen. Belarius, a banished lord, disguised under the Queen, wife to Cymbeline. name of Morgan. Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen Guiderius, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under Helen, woman to Imogen. Arviragus, the names of Polydore and Cadwal, supposed sons to Belarius. Philario, friend to Posthumus, Iachimo, friend to Philario, Italians. A French Gentleman, friend to Philario. Caius Lucius, general of the Roman forces. A Roman Captain. Two British Captains. Pisanio, servant to Posthumus. Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Appa- ritions, a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Cap. tains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attend- ants. Scene, sometimes in Britain; sometimes in Italy. ACT I. His measure duly." 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth? SCENE I-Britain. The garden behind Cym- 1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father beline's palace. Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gentlemen. Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour, Against the Romans, with Cassibelan; You do not meet a man but frowns : our bloods' He serv'd with glory and admir'd success: No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers; Still seem, as does the king's. 2 Gent. But what's the matter? 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his king- dom, whom He purpos'd to his wife's sole son (a widow, That late he married,) hath referr'd herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: She's wedded: Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king, Be touch'd at very heart. 2 Gent. None but the king? 1 Gert. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at. 2 Gent. And why so? 1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is thing Too bad for bad report; And he that hath her, (I mean that married her,-alack, good man!- And therefore banish'd,) is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare. I do not think So fair an outward, and such stuff within, Endows a man but he. 2 Gent. You speak him far.3 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold 1 Inclination, natural disposition. 2 i. e. You praise him extensively. So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus: And had, besides this gentleman in question, Two other sons, who, in the wars o'the time, Died with their swords in hand; for which their father (Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow, That he quit being; and his gentle lady, As he was born. The king, he takes the babe Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd To his protection; calls him Posthumus; Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber: Puts him to all the learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of; which he took, As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd; and In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, (Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd. A sample to the youngest; to the more mature, A glass that feated them; and to the graver A child that guided dotards: to his mistress, For whom he now is banish'd,-her own price a Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; By her election may be truly read, What kind of man he is. 3 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit, 2 Gent. I honour him But, 'pray you, Even out of your report. Is she sole child to the king? tell me, 1 Gent. His only child. He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing, Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, I'the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery Were stolen: and to this hour, no guess in know- ledge Which way they went. 2 Gent. How long is this ago? 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 4 The father of Cymbeline. 5 Formed their manners. 746 ACT I. CYMBELINE. 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con vey'd ! So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, That could not trace them! 1 Gent. You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death!-Remain thou here [Putting on the ring While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles I still win of you! For my sake, wear this; 1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the queen, It is a miracle of love; I'll place it [Exeunt. Upon this fairest prisoner. Howsoe'r 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, Yet is it true, sir. 2 Gent. and princess. I do well believe you. SCENE II.-The same. Enter the Queen, Pos- thumus, and Imogen. Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most step-mothers, Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win the offended king, I will be known your advocate: marry, yet The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good, You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience Your wisdom may inform you. Post. I will from hence to-day. Queen. Please your highness, You know the peril :- I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king Hath charg'd you should not speak together. Imo. Exit Queen. 0, Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest hus- band, I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing (Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what His rage can do on me: You must be gone; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, But that there is this jewel in the world, That I may see again. Post. My queen? my mistress! O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Than doth become a man! I will remain The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth My residence in Rome at one Philario's; Who to my father was a friend, to me Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall. Re-enter Queen. Queen. Be brief, I pray you: If the king come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure:-Yet I'll move him [Aside. To walk this way: I never do him wrong, But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. Post. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! Ino. Nay, stay a little : Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead. Post. How! how! another?- 1 Close up. 2 Sensation. 4 A more exquisite feeling. 3 Fill. 5 Only. Imo. [Putting a bracelet on her arm. O, the gods! When shall we see thee again? Post. Enter Cymbeline and Lords. Alack, the king! Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If, after this command, thou fraughts the court With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away! Thou art poison to my blood. Post. The gods protect you! And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. Cym. O disloyal thing. Exit. That should'st repair my youth; thou heapes A year's age on me! Imo. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation; I Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare¹ Subdues all pangs, all fears. Cym. Past grace? obedience? Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace. Cym. That might'st have had the scles son of my queen; Imo. O bless'd that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock. Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my throne A seat of baseness. Imo. A lustre to it. Cym. Imo. No; I rather added O thou vile one! Sir, It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumes: You bred him as my playfellow; and he is A man, worth any woman; overbuys me Almost the sum he pays. Cym. What!-art thou mad! Imo. Almost, sir:-Heaven restore me!-Would I were A neat-herd's daughter! and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd's son! Re-enter Queen. Cym. Thou foolish thing!- They were again together: you have done [To the Queen. Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up. Queen. 'Beseech your patience :-Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace; Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort Out of your best advice.8 Cym. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, 6 A kite. 7 Cattle.keeper's. 8 Consideration. SCENE III, IV, V. 747 CYMBELINE. Die of this folly! Enter Pisanio. Queen. [Exit. Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had been some hurt done! Fie!-you must give way: Here is your servant.-How now, sir? What news? Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. Queen. No harm, I trust, is done? Pis. 2 Lord. I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass which is no great hurt. Clo. You'll go with us? Ha!! 1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 2 Lord. Well, my lord. There might have been, But that my master rather play'd than fought, And had no help of anger: they were parted By gentlemen at hand. Queen. I am very glad on't. Imo. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.- To draw upon an exile!-O brave sir!- I would they were in Afric both together; Myself by with a needle, that I might prick The goer back.-Why came you from your master? Pis. On his command: He would not suffer me To bring him to the haven: left these notes Of what commands I should be subject to, When it pleas'd you to employ me. Queen. This hath been Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour He will remain so. I humbly thank your highness. Queen. Pray, walk a while. Imo. Pis. About some half hour hence, pray you, speak with me: you shall, at least, Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me. [Exeunt. SCENE III-A public place. Enter Cloten, and two Lords. [Aside. [Exeunt SCENE IV-A room in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Imogen and Pisanio. Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shore's o'the haven, And question'dst every sail: if he should write, And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost As offer'd mercy is. What was the last That he spake to thee? Pis. "Twas His queen, his queen! Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief? Pis. And kiss'd it. madam. Imo. Senseless linen! happier therein than f! - And that was all? Pis. No, madam; for so long As he could make me with this eye or ear Distinguish him from others, he did keep The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, How swift his ship. Imo. As little as a crow, To after-eye him. Pis. Thou should'st have made him or less, ere left Madam, so I did. Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but 1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; To look upon him; till the diminution the violence of action hath made you reek as a sac- Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle: rifice: Where air comes out, air comes in: there's Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it-The smallness of a gnat to air; and then Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it-Have turn'd mine eye, and wept.-But, good Pi- sanio, Have I hurt him? 2 Lord. No, faith; not so much as his patience. When shall we hear from him? [Aside. Pis. Be assur'd, madam, cass, if he be not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had steel, if it be not hurt. Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him, 1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable car-With his next vantage.' 2 Lord. His steel was in debt; it went o'the How I would think on him, at certain hours, backside the town. Clo. The villain would not stand me. 2 Lord. No; but he fled forward still, your face. 1 Lord. Stand you! You have land your own: but he added to your having; some ground. [Aside. Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear toward Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him, The shes of Italy should not betray [Aside. At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, enough of To encounter me with orisons, for then gave you I am in heaven for him; or ere I could 2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans: Puppies! [Aside. Clo. I would, they had not come between us. 2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. Cio. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! 2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damned. Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, Give him that parting kiss, which I had set And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north, Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady. The queen, madam, Lady. Desires your highness' company. [Aside. Imo. These things I bid you do, get them des- patch'd. will attend the queen. 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together: She's a good sign, but II have seen small reflection of her wit.2 2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the re- flection should hurt her. 1 Her beauty and sense are not equal. [Aside. 2 To understand the force of this idea, it should be remembered that anciently almost every sign had a motto, or some attempt at a witticism, under- neath it. Pis. [Exe. Madam, I shall. SCENE V-Rome. An apartment in Philario's house. Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard. Ich. Believe it, sir; I have seen him in Britain 3 Opportunity. 4 Meet me with reciprocal prayer. 748 ACT I. CYMBELINE. Iach. You must not so far prefer het 'fore ours of Italy. he was then of a rescent note;' expected to prove so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name of: but I could then have looked on him without the Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, help of admiration; though the catalogue of his en- I would abate her nothing; though I profess my- dowments had been tabled by his side, and I to self her adorer, not her friend." peruse him by items. Iach. As fair, and as good (a kind of hand-in- Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnish-hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and ed,2 than now he is, with that which makes him too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went be- both without and within. fore others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but be- lieve she excelled many: but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. Post. I praised her, as I rated her: so do I my stone. French. I have seen him in France: we had very many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he. Iach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- ter (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter. French. And then his banishment:- Iach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that weep this lamentable divorce, under her colours, are won- derfully to extend to him; be it but to fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. But how comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance? Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life:- Enter Posthumus. Iach. What do you esteem it at ? Post. More than the world enjoys. Iach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's out-priz'd by a trifle. Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given; if there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods. Iach. Which the gods have given you? Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. Iach. You may wear her in title yours: but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stolen too: so, of your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way- accomplished courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last. Here comes the Briton: Let him be so entertained amongst you, as suits, with gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality.-I beseech Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished vou all, be better known to this gentleman; whom a courtier, to convince the honour of my mistress; I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine: How if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves; not- than story him in his own hearing. withstanding, I fear not my ring. French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans: Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still. French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I did atones my countryman and you; It nad been pity, you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature. Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller; rather shunn'd to go even with what I heard, than in my every action to be guided by others' experiences: but, upon my mended judg- ment (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my quar- rel was not altogether slight. French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords; and by such two, that would, by all likelihood, have confounded' one the other, or have fallen both. fach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the áifference? French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses: This gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant- qualified, and less attemptible, man any the rarest of our ladies in France. Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy sig- nior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first. Iach. With five times so much conversation, I should get ground of your fair mistress; make her go back, even to the yielding; had I admittance, and opportunity to friend. Post. No, no. Iach. I dare, thereon, pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'er- values it something: But I make my wager rather against your confidence, than her reputation: and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world. Post. You are a great deal abused 10 in too bold a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're worthy of, by your attempt. Iach. What's that? Post. A repulse: Though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more; a punishment too. Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be better acquainted. Iach. 'Would I had put my estate, and my neighbour's, on the approbation of what I have spoke. Post. What lady would you choose to assail? Iach. Yours; whom in constancy, you think, stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats Iach. That lady is not now living; or this gen-to your ring, that, commend me to the court where tleman's opinion, by this, worn out. your lady is, with no more advantage than the op- Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 1 Increasing in fame. 2 Accomplished. 3 Forms him. 4 Praise. 6 Importunity, instigation. 5 Reconcile. 7 Destroyed. 8 Lover,-I speak of her as a being I revorence, not as a beauty whom I enjoy.. 9 Overcome. 10 Deceived. 11 Proof SCENE VI. 742 CYMBELINE. B ما from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine so reserved. Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it. Iach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting: But, I see, you have some religion in you, that you fear. Post. This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope. Cor. To try the vigor of them, and applied Allayments to their act; and by them gather Their several virtues, and effects. Shall from this practice but make hard your heart: Your highness Besides, the seeing these effects will be Both noisome and infectious. Queen. O, content thee. Enter Pisanio. Iach. I am the master of my speeches; and Will I first work: he's for his master, Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him [Aside. would undergo what's spoken, I swear. Post. Will you?-I shall but lend my diamond till your return:-Let there be covenants drawn between us: My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring. Phi. I will have it no lay. And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio? Doctor, your service for this time is ended; Take your own way. But you shall do no harm. Cor. Queen. I do suspect you, madam; [Aside. Hark thee, a word.- [To Pisanio. Cor. [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think she has Iach. By the gods it is one:-If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand du- cats are yours: so is your diamond too. If I come Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit, off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust And will not trust one of her malice with in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold A drug of such damn'd nature; Those, she has, are yours:-provided, I have your commendation, Will stupify and dull the sense a while; for my more free entertainment. Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats, and dogs; Post. I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us:-only, thus far you shall an- Then afterward up higher; but there is swer. If you make your voyage upon her, and No danger in what show of death it makes, give me directly to understand you have prevailed, More than the locking up the spirits a time, I am no further your enemy, she is not worth our To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd debate: if she remain unseduced (you not making With a most false effect; and I the truer, it appear otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the So to be false with her. assault you have made to her chastity, you shall an- Quem. No further service, doctor, swer me with your sword. lach. Your hand; a covenant: We will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain; lest the bargain should catch cold, and starve: I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers recorded. Post. Agreed. [Exe. Posthumus and Jachimo. French. Will this hold, think you? Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. us follow 'em. Until I send for thee. Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think, in time She will not quench; and let instructions enter Where folly now possesses? Do thou work; When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son; Pray, let I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then [Exeunt. As great as is thy master: greater; for SCENE VI.-Britain. A room in Cymbeline's Is at last gasp: Return he cannot, nor His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name palace. Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers; Make haste: Who has the note of them? 1 Lady. I, madam. Queen. Despatch.- [Exeunt Ladies. Now, master doctor; have you brought those drugs? Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam: [Presenting a small box. But I beseech your grace, (without offence; My conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have Commanded of me these most poisonous com- pounds, Which are the movers of a languishing death; But, though slow, deadly? Queen. I do wonder, doctor, Thou ask'st me such a question: Have I not been Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so, That our great king himself doth woo me oft For my confections? Having thus far proceeded (Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet That I did amplify my judgment in Other conclusions ?2 I will try the forces Of these thy compounds on such creatures as We court not worth the hanging (but none human,) 2 Experiments. 1 Recommendation. Continue where he is: to shift his being,4 Is to exchange one misery with another; And every day, that comes, comes to decay A day's work in him: What shalt thou expect, To be depender on a thing that leans: Who cannot be new built; nor has no friends, [The Queen drops a box: Pisanio takes it up- So much as but to prop him?-Thou tak'st up Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour: It is a thing I made, which hath the king Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know What is more cordial :-Nay, I pr'ythee, take it; It is an earnest of a further good That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how The case stands with her; do't, as from thyself. Think what a chance thou changest on; but think Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king To any shape of thy preferment, such As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, That set thee on to this desert, am bound To load thy merit richly. Call my women Think on my words. [Exit Pis.]-A sly and con stant knave; Not to be shak'd: the agent for his master: And the remembrancer of her, to hold 3 i. e. Grow cool. 4 To change his abode 750 ACT L CYMBELINE. The hand fast to her lord. I have given him that. Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her Of liegers¹ for her sweat; and which she, after, Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd Re-enter Pisanio, and Ladies. To taste of, too. So, so; well done, well done : The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, Bear to my closet: Fare thee well, Pisanio; Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. Fs. And shall do: But when to my good lord I prove untrue, I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you SCENE VII.-Another room in the same. ter Imogen. Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false; A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. Not so allur'd to feed. Imo. What is the matter, trow? Iach. The cloyed wil (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first The lamb, longs after for the garbage. Imo. What, dear sir Thus raps you? Are you well? Iach. Thanks, madam; well:-'Beseech you, sir, desire [To Pisanio My man's abode where I did leave him: he Is strange and peevish." [Ex. En- Pis. To give him welcome. That hath her husband banish'd:-0, that husband! My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stolen, As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable Is the desire that's glorious: Blessed be those, How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, Which season's comfort.-Who may this be? Fie! Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome; Comes from my lord with letters. Iach. Change you, madam? The worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greets your highness dearly. Imo. [Presents a letter. Thanks, good sir: You are kindly welcome. Iach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich! [Aside. If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, She is alone the Arabian bird; and I Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!" Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; Rather, directly fly. Imo. [Reads.]-He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindness I am most infinitely tied. Reflect Upon him accordingly, as you value your truest LEONATUS. So far I read aloud: But even the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I Have words to bid you: and shall find it so, In all that I can do. Iach. Thanks, fairest lady.- I was going, sir, [Exit Pisanio Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'be seech you? Iach. Well, madam. Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, he is. Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd The Briton reveller. Imo. When he was here, He did incline to sadness; and oft-times Not knowing why. Iach. I never saw him sad There is a Frenchman his companion, one An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves A Gallian girl at home: he furnaces The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton (Your lord, I mean,) laughs from 's free lungs, cries, O! Can my sides hold, to think, that man,-who knows By history, report, or his own proof, What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose But must be,-will his free hours languish for Assured bondage? Imo. Will my lord say so? Iach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman: But, heavens know, Some men are much to blame. Imo. Not he, I hope. Iach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; In you,-which I count his, bevond all talents,- Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too. Imo. What do you pity, sir? Iach. Two creatures, heartily. Imo. Am I one, sir? You look on me; What wreck discern you in me, What! are men mad? Hath nature given them Deserves your pity? eyes To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones Upon the number'd beach? and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious "Twixt fair and foul? Imo. What makes your admiration? Iach. It cannot be i'the eye; for apes and mon- keys, "Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other: Nor i'the judg- ment; For idiots, in this case of favour, would Be wisely definite: Nor i'the appetite; Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, Should make desire vomit emptiness, 1 Ambassadors. 2 Making mouths. ] Lamentable! What! Iach. To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace I'the dungeon by a snuff? Imo. I pray you, sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me? Iach. That others do, I was about to say, enjoy your- -But It is an office of the gods to 'venge it, Not mine to speak on't. Imo. You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be sure they do; For certainties Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing, The remedy then born,) discover to me 3 Shy and foolish. SCENE VII. 751 CYMBELINE. What both vou spur and stop.' Iach. Had I this cheek To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Whose eyery touch, would force the feeler's soul To the oath of loyalty; this object, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fixing it only here: should I (damn'd then,) Slaver with lips as common as the stairs That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, as With labour;) then lie peeping in an eye, Base and unlustrous as the smoky light That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit, That all the plagues of hell should at one time Encounter such revolt. Imo. Has forgot Britain. Iach. My lord, I fear, And himself. Not I, Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, Charms this report out. Imo. Let me hear no more. Iach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,2 Would make the great'st king double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition4 Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ven- tures, That play with all infirmities for gold, Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff, As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd; Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you Recoil from your great stock. Imo. Reveng'd! How should I be reveng'd? If this be true. (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true, How should I be reveng'd? Iach. Should he make me Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets; Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure; More noble than that runagate to your bed; And will continue fast to your affection, Still close, as sure. Imo. What ho, Pisanio! lach. Let me my service tender on your lips. Imo. Away!-I do condemn mine ears, that have So long attended thee.-If thou wert honourable, Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far From thy report, as thou from honour; and Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains Thee and the devil alike.-What ho, Pisanio!- The king my father shall be made acquainted Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit, A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart As in a Romish stew, and to expound His beastly mind to us; he hath a court He little cares for, and a daughter whom He not respects at all.-What ho, Pisanio!- Jach. O happy Leonatus! I may say; The credit that thy lady hath of thee. 1 What you seem anxious to utter, and yet withhold. 2 Sovereign command. 3 Wantons. Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness Her assur'd credit!-Blessed live you long! A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. I have spoke this, to know if your affiance Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord, That which he is, new o'er: And he is one The truest manner'd; such a holy witch, That he enchants societies unto him: Half all men's hearts are his. Imo. You make amends. Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god: He hath a kind of honour sets him off, More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd To try your taking of a false report; which hath Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment In the election of a sir so rare, Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear him Made me to fan' you thus; but the gods made you, Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i'the court for yours. Iach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot To entreat your grace but in a small request, And yet of moment too, for it concerns Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, Are partners in the business. Imo. Pray, what is't? Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord (The best feather of our wing,) have mingled surns To buy a present for the emperor; Which I, the factor for the rest, have done In France: "Tis plate, of rare device; and jewels Of rich and exquisite form; their values great; And I am something curious, being strange, To have them in safe stowage; May it please you To take them in protection? Imo. Willingly; And pawn mine honour for their safety: since My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them In my bed-chamber. Iach. They are in a trunk, Attended by my men: I will make bold To send them to you, only for this night; I must aboard to-morrow. Imo. O, no, no. Iach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word, By length'ning my return. From Gallia I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise To see your grace. Imo. I thank you for your pains; But not away to-morrow? Iach. O, I must, madam; Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night: I have outstood my time; which is material To the tender of our present. Ino. I will write; Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept, And truly yielded you: You are very welcome. ACT II. [Exeunt SCENE I-Court before Cymbeline's palace Enter Cloten, and two Lords. Clo. Was there ever man had such luck. when 4 Allowance, pension. 5 To fan is to winnow. 6 A stranger. 752 ACT II. CYMBELINE. I kissed the jack upon an up-cast,' to be hit away! | SCENE II-A bed-chamber, in one part of it I had a nundred pound on't: And then a whoreson a trunk. Imogen reading in her bed; a Laay jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I attending. borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. I Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. 2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out. [Aside. Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths: Ha? 2 Lord. No, my lord; nor [Aside.] crop the ears of them. Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? Lady. Imo. What hour is it? Please you, madam. Lady. Almost midnight, madam: Imo. I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:- Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed; And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock, Take not away the taper, leave it burning; [Exit Lady Clo. Whoreson dog!-I give him satisfaction? I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. Would, he had been one of my rank! 2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside. To your protection I commend me, gods! Clo. I am not more vexed at any thing in the From fairies, and the tempters of the night, earth,-A pox on't! I had rather not be so noble Guard me, beseech ye! as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my mother: every jack-slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match. 2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside. Clo. Sayest thou? 1 Lord. It is not fit, your lordship should under- take every companion that you give offence to. Clo. No, I know that: but it is fit, I should com- mit offence to my inferiors. 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. Clo. Why, so I say. 1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger, that's come to court to-night? Clo. A stranger! and I not know on't! 2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. [Aside. [Sleeps. Iachimo, from the trunt. Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labourd sense Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd The chastity he wounded.-Cytherea, How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! But kiss; one kiss!-Rubies unparagon'd, Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o'the tape; How dearly they do't!-'Tis her breathing that Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids, To see the enclosed lights, now canopied With blue of heaven's own tinet.-But my design's Under these windows: White and azure, lac'd To note the chamber:-I will write all down:- Such, and such, pictures :-There the window:- Such 1 Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis The adornment of her bed ;-The arras, figures, thought, one of Leonatus' friends. Why, such, and such:-And the contents o'the Clo. Leonatus? a banished rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger? 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. story,- Ah, but some natural notes about her body, Above ten thousand meaner moveables Would testify, to enrich mine inventory: Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon no derogation in't! 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. Clo. Not easily, I think. 2 Lord. You are a fool granted; therefore your issues being foolish, do not derogate. Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian: What I have lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come, go. 2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. [Exeunt Cloten and first Lord. That such a crafty devil as is his mother Should yield the world this ass! a woman, that Bears all down with her brain; and this her son Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st! Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd: A inother hourly coining plots; a wooer, More hateful than the foul expulsion is Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens firm old The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd That temple, thy fair mind; that thou may'st stand, To enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land! [Exit. her' And be her sense but as a monument, Thus in a chapel lying!-Come off, come off;- [Taking off her bracelet, Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard! As strongly as the conscience does within, To the madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I'the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher, Stronger than ever law could make: this secret Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and ta'en The treasure of her honour. No more.-To what end? Why should I write this down, that's riveted, Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here's the leaf turn'd down, Where Philomel gave up :-I have enough: To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night!-that dawning May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes. One, two, three,-Time, time! [Goes into the trunk. The scene closes 4 It was anciently the custom to strew cham 1 He is describing his fate at bowls; the jack bers with rushes. is the small bowl at which the others are aimed. 2 Fellow. 3 i. e. Degrade yourself. 5 i. e. The white skin laced with blue veins. 6 Tapestry. SCENE III. 758 CYMBELINE. SCENE III.-An ante-chamoer adjoining Imo-Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; gen's apartment. Enter Cloten and Lord. 1. Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the noble temper of your lordship; You are most ho and furious when you win. But that's no fault of his: We must receive him According to the honour of his sender; And towards himself his goodness forespent on us We must extend our notice. Our dear son, When you have given good morning to your mis Clo. Winning would put any man into courage: If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough: It's almost morning, is't not? 1 Lord. Day, my lord. tress, Attend the queen and us; we shall have need To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. [Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords and Mess. Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her: if not, Clo. I would this music would come: I am ad-Let her lie still and dream. By your leave ho! vised to give her music o'mornings; they say it will penetrate. Enter Musicians. [Knocks. I know her women are about her: What If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Come on; tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so we'll try with tongue too: if none Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up will do, let her remain: but I'll never give o'er. Their deer to the stand of the stealer; and 'tis gold First, a very excellent, good-conceited thing: after, Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider. SONG. thief; Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man. What Can it not do, and undo? I will make Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, One of her women lawyer to me; for And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd' flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin: My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise. I yet not understand the case inyself. By your leave. Enter a Lady. Lady. Who's there, that knocks? [Knocks. Clo. A gentleman. Lady. No more? Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady. That's more So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours, your music the better:2 if it do not, it is a vice in Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's plea, her ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 2 Lord. Here comes the king. Clo. I am glad, I was up so late; for that's the reason I was up so early: He cannot choose but take this service I have done, fatherly. Good mor- row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not forth? Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new: She hath not yet forgot him: some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours. Queen. You are most bound to the king; Who lets go by no vantages, that may Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself To orderly solicits; and be friended With aptness of the season; make denials Increase your services: so seem, as if You were inspir'd to do those duties which You tender to her; that you in all obey her, Save when commanded to your dismission tends, And therein you are senseless. Clo. Senseless? not so. Enter a Messenger. Mess. So like you, sir, embassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius. Cym. 1 Cups. A worthy fellow, sure? Clo. Your lady's person? Is she ready Lady. To keep her chamber. Ay: Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The princess- Enter Imogen. Clo. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. Imo. Good morrow, sir; You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give, Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them. Clo. Still I swear, I love you. Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: That I regard it not. If you swear still, your recompense is still Clo. This is no answer. Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak. I pray you spare me: i'faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance. Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not. Imo. Fools are not mad folks. Clo. Imo. As I am mad, I do. Do you call me fool? If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; 3 With solicitations not only proper, but wal 2 Will pay you more for it. timed. 754 ACT II. CYMBELINE. That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put ine to forget a lady's manners, By being so verbal.' and learn ncw, for all, That 1, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the very truth of it I care not for you; And am so near the lack of charity (To accuse myself,) I hate you: which I had rather You felt, that make't my boast. Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot;2 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o'the crown; and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent. Imo. Profane fellow! Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated For being preferr'd so well. Clo. The south fog rot him! Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer, In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, Were they all made such men.-How now, Pisanio? Enter Pisanio. To win the king, as I am bold, her hene ar Will remain hers. Phi. What means do you make to him: Post. Not any; but abide the change of time, Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come: In these fear' hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor. Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius Will do his commission throughly: And, I think, He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief. Post. I do believe (Statists though I am none, nor like to be, That this will prove a war; and you shall near The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline (Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers, they are people, such That mend upon the world. Phi. Enter Iachimo. See! Iachimo? Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land; And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble. Phi. Welcome, sir. Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return. Iach. Your lady Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon. Post. And, therewithal, the best; or let her through a casement to allure false hearts, beauty Clo. His garment? Now, the devil- Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently:-Look Clo. His garment? Imo. I am spirited with a fool; Frighted, and anger'd worse:-Go, bid my woman Search for a jewel, that too casually Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: confident I am, Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he.. Pis. 'Twill not be lost. Imo. I hope so: go, and search.. [Exit Pis. Clo. You have abus'd me:- His meanest garment? Imo. Ay; I said so, sir: If you will make't an action, call witness to't. Clo. I will inform your father. Imo. Your mother too: She's my good lady: and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent. Clo. [Exit. I'll be reveng'd: [Exit. His meanest garment?-Well. SCENE IV.-Rome. An apartment in Philario's house. Enter Posthumus and Philario. Post. Fear it not, sir: I would, I were so sure 1 So verbose, so full of talk. 2 In knots of their own tying. 3 A low fellow, only fit to wear a livery. And be false with them. Iach. Here are letters for you. Post. Their tenor good, I trust. Iach. 'Tis very like. Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, When you were there? Iach. But not approach'd.. Post. He was expected then. All is well yet.- Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not Too dull for your good wearing? lach. If I have lost it, I should have lost the worth of it in gold. I'll make a journey twice as far to enjoy A second night of such sweet shortness, which Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. Post. The stone's too hard to come by. Iach. Your lady being so easy. Post. Not a whit, Make not, sir, Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we Must not continue friends. Iach. Good sir, we must If you keep covenant: Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question further: but I now Profess myself the winnner of her honour, Together with your ring: and not the wronger Of her, or you, having proceeded but 4 Haunted. 5 Statesman. 6 To those who try them. SUENE V. 755 CYMBELINE. By both your wills. Post. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, And ring, is yours: If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them. Iach. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe: whose strength I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not. Post. Proceed. Iach. First, her bed-chamber (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, Had that was well worth watching,) it was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was- Post. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me, Or by some other. Iach. More particulars Must justify my knowledge. Post. Or do your honour injury. Iach. So they must, The chimney Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece, Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures So likely to report themselves: the cutte Was as another Nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out. Post. This is a thing, Which you might from relation likewise reap; Being, as it is, much spoke of. Iach. The roof o'the chamber With golden cherubins is fretted: Her andirons (I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands.' Post. Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance: love, Where there's another man: The vows of women Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:- O, above measure, false! Phi. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won: It may be probable, she lost it; or, Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, Hath stolen it from her? Post. Very true; And so, I hope, he came by't:-Back my ring;- Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this; for this was stolen. Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears, 'Tis true;-nay, keep the ring-'tis true: I am sure, She would not lose it: her attendants are All sworn and honourable :-They induc'd to steal it? And by a stranger ?-No, he hath enjoy'd her: The cognizance2 of her incontinency Is this,-she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.- There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell Divide themselves between you! Phi. This is not strong enough to be believed Of one persuaded well of- Post. She hath been colted by him. Iach. Sir, be patient; Never talk on't; If you seek For further satisfying, under her breast (Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging: by my life, I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger To feed again, though full. You do remember This stain upon her? Post. Ay, and it doth confirm Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it. Iach. Will you hear more? Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns s; This is her honour!-Once, and a million! Let it be granted, you have seen all this (and Iach. praise Be given to your remembrance,) the description Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves The wager you have laid. Fach. Then if you can, [Pulling out the bracelet. Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: See!- And now 'tis up again: It must be married To that your diamond; I'll keep them. Post. Once more let me behold it: Is it that Which I left with her? Iach. Jove!- Sir (I thank her,) that: She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said, She priz'd it once. Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, To send it me. Jach. She writes so to you? doth she? Post. O, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take this too; [Gives the ring. It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't:-Let there be no honour, 1 Torches in the hands of Cupids. Post. I'll be sworn,- No swearing. If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny Thou hast made me cuckold. Iach. I will deny nothing. Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb- meal! I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before Her father:-'ll do something- [Exit. Phi. Quite beside The government of patience!-You have won: Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself. lach. SCENE V.-The same. With all my heart. [Exeunt. Another room in the same. Enter Posthumus. Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half workers? We are bastards all; And that most venerable man, which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools. Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd 2 The badge; the token. 756 ACT I CYMBELINE. The Dian of that time: so does my wife The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance! Me of my lawful pleasures restrain'd, And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with A pudency¹ so rosy, the sweet view on't Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunn'd snow :-O, all the devils!- This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,-was't not?- Or less, at first: Perchance he spoke not; but, Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, Cry'd oh! and mounted: found no opposition But what he look'd for should oppose, and she Should from encounter guard. Could I find out The woman's part in me! For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longings, slanders, mutability, All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell knows, Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all: For v'n to vice They are not constant, but are changing still One vice, but of a minute old, for one Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, Detest them, curse them :-Yet 'tis greater skill In a true hate, to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better. ACT III. [Exit. SCENE I.-Britain. A room of state in Cymbe- line's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Live's in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less Than in his feats deserving it,) for him, And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, (0, giglet fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword, And Britons strut with courage. Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time, and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsar's: other of them have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none. Cym Son, let your mother end. Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand-Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. Cym. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's am- bition (Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off, Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar, Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran- chise, Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mulmutius, Who was the first of Britain, which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Himself a king. Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar (Cæsar that hath more kings his servants, than Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: Receive it from me, then :--War, and confusion, In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look For fury not to be resisted:-Thus defied, I thank thee for myself. Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee Which he, to seek of me again, perforce, lately Is left untender'd. Queen. And, to kill the marvel, Shall be so ever. Clo. There be many Cæsars, Ere such another Julius. Britain is A world by it itself; and we will nothing pay, For wearing our own noses. Queen. That opportunity, Which then they had to take from us, to resume We have again.-Remember, sir, my liege, The kings your ancestors; together with The natural bravery of your isle; which stands As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con- quest Cæsar made here; but made not here bis brag, Of came, and saw, an overcame; with shame (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried 2 Strumpet. 1 Modesty. Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect," That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent Which not to read, would show the Britons cold. So Cæsar shall not find them. Luc. Let proof speak. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us i our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end. Luc. So, sir. Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is welcome. [Exeunt SCENE II-Another room in the same. Enter Pisanio. Pi. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monster's her accuser? Leonatus! 3 Extremity of defiance. 4 Well informed. SCENE III. 757 CYMBELINE. O, master! what a strange infection Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian (As poisonous-tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No: She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes, More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults As would take in' some virtue.-0, my master! Thy mind to her is now as low, as were Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her? Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I Have made to thy command?-I, her?-her blood? If it be so to do good service, never Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, That I should seem to lack humanity, So much as this fact comes to? Do't: the letter [Reading. That I have sent her, by her own command Shall give thee opportunity:-O damn'd paper! Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble, Art thou a feodary2 for this act, and look'st So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. Enter Imogen. I am ignorant in what I am commanded. Imo. How now, Pisanio? Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus? O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, That knew the stars, as I his characters; He'd lay the future open.-You good gods, Let what is here contain'd relish of love, Of my lord's health, of his content,-yet not, That we two are asunder, let that grieve him,- (Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them, For it doth physic love;-of his content, All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave:-Bless'd be You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers, And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike; Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet You clasp young Cupid's tables.-Good news, gods! Why should excuse be born or ere begot? We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, How many score of miles may we well ride 'Twixt hour and hour? Per. One score, 'twixt sun and sun, Madam's enough for you; and too much too. Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers, Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i'the clock's behalf: but this is foolery. Go, bid my woman feign sickness; say, She'll home to her father; and provide me presently A riding suit; no costlier than would fit A franklin's housewife. Pis. Madam, you're best consider. Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them, That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee: Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Wales. A mountainous count, with a cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; This gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bowe you To morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through, And keep their impious turbans on, without Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven! We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do. Gui. Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven! Bel. Now for our mountain sport; Up to yon hill, Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow, [Reads. That it is a place which lessens, and sets off. Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take And you may then revolve what tales I have toid me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war; me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cam- This service is not service, so being done, bria, at Milford-Haven. What your own love will, But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all Draws us a profit from all things we see: happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, And often, to our comfort, shall we find increasing in love, The sharded" beetle in a safer hold Than is a full-wing'd eagle. O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check; Richer than doing nothing for a babe; Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk. Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.7 LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. 0, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio? He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs May plod it in a week, why may not I Glide thither in a day?-Then, true Pisanio (Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord: who long'st,- 0, let me 'bare,-but not like me: yet long'st,- But in a fainter kind:-0, not like me; For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way, Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as To inherit such a haven: But, first of all, How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap That we shall make in time, from our hence-going, And our return, to excuse ;-but first, how get hence: 1 To take in a town, is to conquer it. 2 Confederate. 3 Crowd one word on another, as fast as pos- sible. Gui Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un- fledg'd, Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know not What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you That have a sharper known; well corresponding With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is A cell of ignorance; travelling abed; A poison for a debtor, that not dares To stride a limit.8 Arv. 4 A freeholder's. 5 Strut, walk proudly. What should we speak of 7. i. e. Compared with ours. 8 To overpass his bound. 6 Scaly-winged. 758 Acr ili. CYMBELINE. When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing: We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey; Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat: Our valour is, to chace what flies; our cage We make a quire, as doth the prison bird, And sing our bondage freely. Bel. How you speak! Did you but know the city's usuries, And felt them knowingly: the art o'the court, As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery, that The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the search; And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, Must court'sy at the censure:-O, boys, this story The world may read in me: My body's mark'd With Roman swords: and my report was once First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off: Then was I as a tree, Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather. Gui. Uncertain favour! Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft,) But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, I was confederate with the Romans: so, Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years, This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world: Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid More pious debts to heaven, than in all The fore-end of my time.-But, up to the moun- tains; This is not hunters' language :-He, that strikes The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast; To him the other two shall minister; levs. And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the val- [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little, they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive, They think they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them, In simple and low things to prince it, muon Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,- The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom The king his father call'd Guiderius,-Jove! When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out Into my story: say,-Thus, mine enemy fell; And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, re-sweats, Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pos- ture Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon At three, and two years old, I stole these babes Thinking to bar thee of succession, as Thou reft'st me of my lands Euriphile, Tou wast their nurse; they took thee for thei mother, And every day doonor to her grave. Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, They take for natural father. The game is up. [Ex. SCENE IV-Near Milford-Haven.. Enter Pi- sanio and Imogen. Imo. Thou told'st me when we came from horse, the place Was near at hand: Ne'er long'd my mother so To see me first, as I have now: Pisanio! Man! Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond self-explication: Put thyself Into a haviour' of less fear, ere wildness Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with A look untender? If it be summer news, Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st But keep that countenance still.-My husband's hand! That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-crafted him, And he's at some hard point.-Speak, man; thy tongue May take off some extremity, which to read Would be even mortal to me. Pis. Please you, read; And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd of fortune. Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play- ed the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies where- of lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak sur- mises; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take Let own away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Mil- ford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander; Whose edge is shaper than the sword; whose tongue Out venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam. Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false? To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature, To break it with a fearful dream of him, And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed? Is it? Pis. Alas, good lady! That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness?-Iachimo (Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!-Thy favour's good enough.-Some jay2 of Italy. O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows, 1 For behaviour. 2 Putto, in Italian, signifies both a joy and s whore. SCENE III. 759 CYMBELINE. Whose mother was her painting,' hath betray'd him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of his fashion; And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me!-0, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villany; not born, where't grows; But worn, a bait for ladies. Pis. Good madam, hear me. Inno. True honest men being heard, like false Eneas, Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's weeping Did scandal many a holy tear; to pity [ Pis. But to win time To lose so bad employment: in the which I have consider'd of a course; Good lady, Hear me with patience, Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak. I have heard, I am a strumpet; and mine ear, Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. Pis. I thought you would not back agair. Imo. Bringing me here to kill me. Pis. Then, madam Most like; Not so, neither; But if I were as wise as honest, then From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthu- My purpose would prove well. It cannot be, mus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd, From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest: Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him, A little witness my obedience: Look! I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike. Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a coward. Pis. Hence, vile instrument! Thou shalt not damn my hand. Imo. Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine, That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart; Something afore't:-Soft, soft; we ll no defence; Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? The scriptures of the royal Leonatus, All turned to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools Believe false teachers: Though those that are be- tray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor, Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, And make me put into contempt the suits Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find It is no act of common passage, but A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself, To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Pr'ythee, despatch: The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too. Pis. O gracious lady, Since I receiv'd command to do this business, I have not slept one wink. Imo. Do't, and to bed then. Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. Imo Wherefore then Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many miles, with a pretence? this place? Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour? The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, For my being absent; whereunto I never Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far, To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, The elected deer before thee? 1 Likeness. 2 Cowards. 3 The writings." But that my master is abus'd: Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, Hath done you both this cursed injury. Imo. Some Roman courtezan. Pis. No, on my life. I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it. Imo. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am Dead to my husband? Pis. If you'll back to the court,- Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me As fearful as a siege. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide. Imo. Pis. Where then? Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it: In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think There's livers out of Britain. Pis. I am most glad You think of other place. The ambassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be, But by self-danger; you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least, That though his actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear, As truly as he moves. Imo. O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, I would adventure. Pis. Well then, here's the point: You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear, and niceness, (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman is pretty self,) to a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan ; and forget Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein You made great Juno angry. Imo. I see into thy end, and am almost A man already. 4 Feedest or preyest on. Nay, be brief; 5 The sun. 760 ACT III. CYMBELINE Pis. First, make yourself but like one. | His war for Britain. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit Queen "Tis not sleepy business; ('Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. That answer to them: Would you, in their serving, Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus And with what imitation you can borrow Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd Wherein you are happy which you'll make him The duty of the day: She looks us like know, A thing more made of malice, than of duty; We have noted it. Call her before us; for We have been too slight in sufferance. If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless, With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad You have me, rich; and I will never fail Beginning, nor supply ment. Imo. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us: This attempt I'm soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell: Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box; I had it from the queen; What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea, Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper.-To some shade, And fit you to your manhood:--May the gods Direct you to the best! Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt. SCENE V-A room in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords. Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. Luc. Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; And am right sorry, that I must report ye My master's enemy. Cym. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike. Luc. So sir, I desire of you A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.- Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you! [Exit an Attendant Queen. Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady So tender of rebukes, the words are strokes, And strikes death to her. Re-enter an Attendant. Cym. Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd? Attend. Please you, sir Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be given to the loudest of noise we make. Queen My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, She should that duty leave unpaid to you, Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, Which daily she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory. Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, [Exit. Prove false! Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. Člo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days. Queen. Go, look after.-[Exit Cloten. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!-- He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious; But for her, Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that of To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is, fice; The due of honour in no point omit :- So, farewell, noble Lucius. Luc. Your hand, my lord. Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy. Luc. Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner; Fare you well. Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness! [Exeunt Lucius, and Lords. Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us, That we have given him cause. Clo. "Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely, Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: The powers that he already has in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 1. e. Wherein you are accomplished. 2 As for your subsistence abroad, vou may re y on me. To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either She being down, I have the placing of the British crown. Re-enter Cloten. How now, my son? Clo. "Tis certain, she is fled; Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none Dare come about him. Queen. All the better: May This night forestall him of the coming day! [Exit Queen. Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal; And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman;4 from every one The best she hath, and she of all compounded, Outsells them all: I love her therefore; But, Disdaining me, and throwing favours on The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment, That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point, I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools 3 Equal to. 4 Than any lady, than all ladies, than a womankind. SCENE VI. 761 CYMBELINE. Enter Pisanio. Shall-Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah? Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain, Where is thy lad, ? In a word; or else Thou art straightway with the fiends. Pis. valour, which will then be a torment to her con tempt. He on the ground, my speech of insult. ment ended on his dead body,-find when my lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will exe- cute in the clothes that she so praised,) to the court O, my good lord! I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter I will not ask again. Close villain, I'll have the secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many weights of baseness cannot A dram of worth be drawn. Pis. Alas, my lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? He is in Rome. Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer; No further halting; satisfy me home, What is become of her? Pis. 0, my all-worthy lord! Clo. All-worthy villain Discover where thy mistress is at once, At the next word,-No more of worthy lord,- Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Thy condemnation and thy death. Pis. Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. Be those the garments? Pis. Ay, my noble lord. Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford. Haven? Pis. She can scarce be there yet. Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that it the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shal ! tender itself to thee.-My revenge is now at Mil- ford; 'Would I had wings to follow it!-Come, and be true. [Exit. Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be, Then, sir, To him that is most true.-To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, [Presenting a letter. You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed Let's see't: I will pursue her Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his mecd! Even to Augustus' throne. This paper is the history of my knowledge, Touching her flight. Clo. Pis. Or this, or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this, May prove his travel, not her danger. [Aside. Clo. Humph! [Exit. SCENE VI.-Before the cave of Belarius. En- ter Imogen, in boy's clothes. Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one: Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me.-Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Thou wast within a ken: 0 Jove! I think, Foundations fly the wretched: such I mean, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told I Clo Sirrah, is this letter true? Pis. me, [Aside Sir, as I think. Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't-Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true ser- vice: undergo those employments, wherein I should I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie, have cause to use thee, with a serious industry, That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder, it, directly and truly; I would think thee an hon- When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness est man: thou shouldest neither want my means Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. Is worse in kings than beggars.-My dear lord! Pis. Well, my good lord. Thou art one o'the false ones: Now I think on thee, Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently My hunger's gone; but even before, I was and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare future At point to sink for food.-But what is this? of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the Here is a path to it: 'Tis some savage hold: course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine, mine. Wilt thou serve me? Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. Pis. Sir, I will. Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast Of hardiness is mother.-Ho! who's here? any of thy late master's garments in thy possession? If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage, Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging the same Take, or lend.-Ho!-No answer? then I'll enter. that he wore when he took leave of my lady and Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy mistress. Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy first service: go. Pis. Ishall my lord. [Exit. But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. Such a foe, good heavens! [She goes into the cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman,' and Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven: I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon: Even Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I, here, thou villain Posthumus, I will kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a The sweat of industry would dry, and die, Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match: time (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs that she held the very garment of Posthumus in Will make what's homely, savoury: Weariness more respect than my noble and natural person, to- Can snore upon a flint, when restive sloth gether with the adornment of my qualities. With Finds the down pillow hard.-Now, peace be nere, that suit upon my back, I will ravish her: First Poor house, that keep'st thyself! kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my 1 Best hunter. 2 Argument. Gui. I am throughly weary Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite 762 ACT IV. CYMBELINE. Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave; we'll brownze Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in; on that, Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. Bel. Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, Stay; come not in: [Looking in. So far as thou wilt speak it. Gui. Pray, draw near. But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy. Gui. What's the matter, sir? Ecl. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy! Enter Imogen. Imo. Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: Good troth, I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I found Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for meat: I would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal; and parted With prayers for the provider. Gui. Money, youth? Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those Who worship dirty gods. Imo. Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died, had I not made it. Bel. had Arv. The night to the owl, and the morn to the lark, less welcome. Imo. Thanks, sir. Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.-Rome. Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 1 Sen. This is the tenor of the emperor's writ: That since the common men are now in action Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians; And that the legions now in Gallia are Full weak to undertake our wars against The fallen off Britons; that we do incite The gentry to this business: He creates my Lucius pro-consul: and to you the tribunes, For this immediate levy, he commands His absolute commission. Long live Cæsar! Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces? 2 Sen. I see, you are angry: Whither bound? Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. Bel. What is your name? Imo. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman, who Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen in' this offence. Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, I should woo hard, but be your groom.-In honesty, I bid for you, as I'd buy. Arv. I'll make't my comfort, He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:- And such a welcome as I'd give to him, After long absence, such is yours:-Most welcome! Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. Imo. "Mongst friends! If brothers ?-'Would it had been so, that they Had been my father's sons! then had my prize Been less; and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus. Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 1 Sen. Ay. With those legions Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy Must be supplyant: The words of your commission Will tie you to the numbers, and the time Of their despatch. Tri. We will discharge our duty. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The forest near the cave. Cloten. [Exeunt. Enter Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds, meet, if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his Clo. I am near to the place where they should By this rude place we live in. Well encountered! garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who "Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it.-too? the rather (saving reverence of the word) fors Boys, bid him welcome. 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein Gui. Were you a woman, youth, I must play the workman. I dare speak it to my- self (for it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer: in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body are as well drawn as his : no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions: yet this im- perseverant thing loves him in my despite: What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour [Aside. be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her father; who may, haply, be a little Or I; whate'er it be, angry for my so rough usage: but my mother, What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my Bel. Hark, boys, commendations. My horse is tied up safe: Out, [Whispering, sword, and do a sore purpose: Fortune, put them into my hand! This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not [Exit. deceive me. Bel. He wrings at some distress. Gui. 'Would, I could free't! Arv. Imo. Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, That did attend themselves, and had the virtue Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by That nothing gift of differing2 multitudes,) Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! I'd change, my sex to be companion with them, Since Leonatus is faise. Bel. 1 In, for into. It sal Le so. 2 Unsteady. SCENE 11.--Before the cave. Enter from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imo- gen. Bel. You are not well; [To Imogen.] remain here in the cave; 3 i. e. Because. 4 In single combat. SCENE II. 763 CYMBELINE. We'll come to you after hunting. Aro. Are we not brothers? Imo. Brother, stay here: [To Imogen. So man and man should be; But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him. Imo. So sick I am not;-yet am I not well: But not so citizen a wanton, as To seem to die, ere sick: So please you leave me ; Stick to your journal' course: the breach of custom Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort To one not sociable: I'm not very sick, From so divine a temple, to commix With winds that sailors rail at. Gui. I do note, That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Mingle their spurs together. Arv. Grow, patience"! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root, with the increasing vine! Bel. It is great morning. Come; away.-Who's there? Enter Cloten. Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain Hath mock'd me:-1 am faint. Bel. Those runagates! Cloten, the son o'the queen. I fear some ambush. I saw him not these many years, and yet Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here: Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, Stealing so poorly. Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it: How much the quantity, the weight as much, As I do love my father. Bel. What? how? how? Arv, If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me In my good brother's fault: I know not why I love this youth; and I have heard you say, Love's reason's without reason; the bier at door, And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say, My father, not this youth. Bel. O noble strain! [Aside. O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base: Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and grace. I am not their father; yet who this should be, Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.- 'Tis the ninth hour o'the morn. Arv. Imo. I wish ye sport. Arv. Brother, farewell. You health.-So please you, sir. Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard! Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court: Experience, 0, thou disprov'st report! The imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. I am sick still; heart-sick:-Pisanio, I'll now taste of the drug. Gui. I could not stir him: He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter I might know more. Bel. To the field, to the field:- We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest. Aro. We'll not be long away. Bel. For you must be our housewife. Imo. I am bound to you. Bel. Pray, be not sick, Well, or ill, And so shalt be ever. [Exit Imogen. This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears, he hath had Good ancestors. Arv. How angel-like he sings! Gui. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters; And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick, And he her dieter. Arv. Nobly he yokes A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh Was that it was, for not being such a smile; The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fy 1 Keep your daily course. 2 Imperial. 3 Well-born. I know 'tis he:-We are held as outlaws:-Hence. Gui. He is but one: You and my brother search What companies are near: pray you, away; Let me alone with him. [Exe. Bel. and Arv. Soft! What are you Clo. That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers? I have heard of such.-What slave art thou? Gui. More slavish did I ne'er, than answering A slave, without a knock. Clo. A thing Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain: Yield thee, thief. Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art; Why I should yield to thee? Clo. Know'st me not by my clothes? Thou villain base, Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee. Clo. My tailor made them not. Gui. Thou precious varlet, Hence then, and thank The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; I am loth to beat thee. Clo. Thou injurious thief, What's thy name? Hear but my name, and tremble. Gui. Clo. Cloten, thou villain. Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name. I cannot tremble at it; were't toad, or adder, spider, "Twould move me sooner. Clo. To thy further fear, Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know I'm son to the queen. Gui So worthy as thy birth. Clo. I'm sorry for't; not seeming Art not afear'd? Gui. Those that I reverence, those 1 fear; the wise: At fools I laugh, not fear them. Die the death: Clo. When I have slain thee with my proper hand I'll follow those that even now fled hence, And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads; Yield, rustic mountaineer [Exeunt fighting Enter Belarius and Arviragus. Bel. No company's abroad. Arv None in the world: You did mistake him, sure. 4 Spurs are the roots of trees. 764 ACT IV. CYMBELINE. Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 'Twas very Cloten. Arv. In this place we left them: I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell. Bel. Being scarce made up, I mean, to man, he had not apprehension Of roaring terrors: for the effect of judgment Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother. Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head. Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, There was no money in't: Not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none: But I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his. Bel. What hast thou done? Gui. I am perfect, what: cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the queen, after his own report; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore, With his own single hand he'd take us in,3 Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they grow, And set them on Lud's town. Bel. We are all undone. Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, But, that he swore to take, our lives? The law Protects not us: Then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; Play judge, and executioner, all himself; For4 we do fear the law? What company Discover you abroad? No single soul Bel. Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason, He must have some attendants. Though his humour Was nothing but mutation; ay, and that From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps, It may be heard at court, that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head: the which hearing (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so undertaking, he Art. 'Would I have done't, So the revenge alone pursued me;-Polydore, I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robb'd me of this deed; I would revenges That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. Bel. Well, 'tis done :- We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock; You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him. To dinner presently. Arv. [Exit. Poor sick Fidel>! I'll willingly to him: To gains his colour, I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise myself for charity. Bel. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweat head: and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful, That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught; Civility not seen from other; valour, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange What Cloten's being here to us portends; Or what his death will bring us. Gui. Re-enter Guiderius. Where's my brother? I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage For his return. [Solemn music. Bel. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! Gui. Is he at home? Bel. Gui. What does he dear'st mother He went hence even now. mean? since death of my It did not speak before. All solemn things Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. Is Cadwal mad? Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead in his If we do fear this body hath a tail More perilous than the head. Arv. Let ordinance I had no mind Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, My brother hath done well. Bel. To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness Did make my way long forth. Gui. With his own sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him; I'll throw't into the creek Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten: That's all I reck." [Exit. Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd: Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough. 1 Countenance. 2 I am well-informed what. 3 Conquer, subdue. 4 For, hecause. 5 Change, alteration Bel. arms. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for! Arv. The bird is dead, That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, Than have seen this. Gi. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself. Bel. O, melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare¹0 Might easiliest harbour in !-Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I, 9 Trifles. 6 Did make my walk tedious. 7 Care. 8 Regain, restore. 10 A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel. SCENE IL 765 CYMBELINE. Arv. Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy!- How found you him? Arv. Stark,' as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. Gui. Arv. Where? O'the floor; His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues2 from off my feet, whose rude- ness Answer'd my steps too loud. Gui. Why, he but sleeps: If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee. Arv. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddocká would, With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument!) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground" thy corse. Gui. Pr'ythee, have done; And do not play in wench-like words with that Which is so serious. Let us bury him, And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt.-To the grave. Arv. Say, where shall's lay him? Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. Arv. Be't so: And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, As once our mother; use like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. Gui. Cadwal, I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee: For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Than priests and fanes that lie. Arv. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: And, though he came our enemy, remember, He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust; yet reverence (That angel of the world) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin. [Exit Belarius. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; My father hath a reason for't. Arv. "Tis true. Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 1 Stiff. 2 Shoes plated with iron. 3 The red-breast. 4 Probably a corrupt reading for wither round thy corse. 5 Punished. SONG. Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, So,- Begin. Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Gui. Fear not slander, censures rash; Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan Both. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign" to thee, and come to dust. Gui. No exorciser harm thee! Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! Both. Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave !8 Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay him down. Bel. Here's a w flowers; but about midnight, more: The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:- You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.-- Come on, away: apart upon our knees. The ground, that gave them first, has them again; Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. [Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; Which is the way?- I thank you.-By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!-can it be six miles yet? I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow:-O, gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't.-I hope, I dream; For. so, I thought I was a cave-keeper. And cook to honest creatures: But, 'tis not so; "Twas but a bolt10 of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear: But if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye. fear'd gods, a part of it! The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is, Without me as within me; not imagin'd, felt. A headless man!-The garments of Posthumus! I know the shape of his leg; this is his hand; His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh; The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial11 face.- Murder in heaven?-How?-"Tis gone.-Pisanio, 7 Seal the same contract. 6 Judgment. 8 See W Collins's song at the end of the Play 9 This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity. 10 An arrow. 11 A face like Jove's 766 ACT IV. CYMBELINE. All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Conspir'd with that irregulous' devil, Cloten, Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read, Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio- From this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main-top!-0, Posthumus! alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Ah, me! where's that? Pisanio might have kill'd him at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be? sanio? Pi- 'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant, The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious And cordial to me, have I not found it Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home: This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: 0!- Give colour to thy pale cheek with thy blood, That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us; 0, my lord, my lord! Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, and Soothsayer. Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are here in readiness. Luc. a But what from Rome? Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, And gentlemen of Italy: most willing spirits, That promise noble service: and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Sienna's brother. Luc. When expect you them? Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind. Luc. numbers A very valiant Britain, and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain : Alas! There are no more such masters; I way wander From east to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master. 'Lack, good youth! Luc. Thou mov'st no less with thy complainings, than Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [Aside Thy name! Fidele. They'll pardon it. Say you, sir? Luc. Imo. Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same, Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith thy name. Will take thy chance with me? I will not say, Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, shall not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me. Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep With wild-wood leaves and weeds I have strew his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; And, leaving so his service, follow So please you entertain me. Luc. you, Ay, good youth; And rather father thee, than master thee. My friends, The boy hath taught us many duties; Let us Find out the prettiest dasied plot we can, This forwardness And make him with our pikes and partisans Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present A grave: Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd Be muster'd; bid the captain look to't. Now, sir, As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur-Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exe. SCENE III-A room in Cymbeline's palace Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. Cym. Again: and bring me word, how 'tis with her. pose? Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me vision: (1 fast, and pray'd for their intelligence,) Thus: I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends (Unless my sins abuse my divination,) Success to the Roman host. Luc. Dream often so, And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here, Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime It was a worthy building. How! a page!- Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather: For nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the boys face. Cap. He's alive, my lord. A fever with the absence of her son; A madness of which her life's in danger; Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort gone: my queen Upon a desperate bed; and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for the present: It strikes me, past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure, and Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee By a sharp torture. Pis. Sir, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will; But for my mistress, Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.-I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems, They crave to be demanded: Who is this, Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or, who he, That otherwise than noble nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? What art thou? I am nothing, or if not, Imo. Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 1 Lawless, licentious. 2. e. 'Tis a ready, opposite conclusion. Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your highness, Hold me your loyal servant. 1 Lord. Good my liege, The day that she was missing, he was here: I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,- There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will, no doubt, be found. Cym. 3 The west. The time's troublesome 4 her fingers. SCENE I. 767 CYMBELINE We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy [To Pisanio. Does yet depend. 1 Lord. So please your majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast; with a supply Of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent. Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen! I am amazed with matter.1 1 Lord. Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're ready: The want is, but to put those powers3 in motion, That long to move. Cym. I thank you: Let's withdraw: And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us: but We grieve at chances here. Away. [Exeunt. Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since I wrote him, Imogen was slain: "Tis strange: Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings; Neither know I What is betid to Cloten; but remain Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work: Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note" o'the king, or I'll fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit. SCENE IV.-Before the cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Gui. The noise is round about us. Bel. Let us from it. Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure? Gui. Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans Must or for Britons slay us; or receive us For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after. Bel. Sons, To have with courtesy your cradle promis'd, But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and The shrinking slaves of winter. Gui. Than be so, Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: I and my brother are not known; yourself, So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, Cannot be question'd. Arv. By this sun that shines, I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood, But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison? Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd To look upon the holy sun, to have The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining So long a poor unknown. By heavens, I'll go: In' you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, I'll take the better care; but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me, by The hands of Romans! Gui. Arv. So say I; Amen. Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys: If in your country wars you chance to die, That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie: Lead, lead.-The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn, [Aside. Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exe. ACT V. SCENE I-A field between the British and Ro- man camps. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you would take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves, For wrying but a little ?-O, Pisanio! Every good servant does not all commands: No bond, but to do just ones.-Gods! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. To the king's party there's no going; newness Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd Among the bands) may drive us to a render Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us That which we've done, whose answer would be Had liv'd to put on this: so had you sav'd death Drawn on with torture. Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, In such a time, nothing becoming you, Nor satisfying us. Arv. It is not likely, That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note," To know from whence we are. Bel. O, I am known Of many in the army: many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him From ny remembrance. And, besides, the king Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves; Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless Confounded by a variety of business. 2 Encounter. 4 Notice. 3 Forces. 5 Revolters. The noble Imogen to repent; and struck Me wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, al ack You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love To have them fall no more: you some permit To second ills with ills, each elder worse; And make them dread it to the doer's thrift. But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills, And make me bless'd to obey!-I am brought hither Among the Italian gentry, and to fight Against my lady's kingdom: "Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good hea- vens, Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight Against the part I come with; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown, 6 An account. 7 Noticing us. 8 Deviating from the right way. 9 Incite, instigate. 768 ACT V. CYMBELINE. Pitied nor hated, to the face of peri [Exit. An honest one, I warrant; wno deserv'd Myself I'll de licate. Let me take men know So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, More valour in me, than ry habite show. In doing this for his country;-athwart the lane, Gods, put the strength o't.è Lesnati in me! He, with two striplings (lads more like to run To shame the guise o'the world, I will begin The country base, than to commit such slaughter; The fashion, less without, and more within. Witn faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) SCENE II.-The same. Enter at one side, Lu-Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled, cius, Iachimo, and th: non army; at the Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: other side, the British urn; Leonatus Posthu- To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand, mus following it, like a poor soldier. They Or we are Romans, and will give you that march over, and go out. Alarums. Then en- Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save, ter again in skirm, Iachimo and Posthumus; But to look back in frown: stand, stand.-These he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then three, leaves him. Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, The princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me; Or could this carl,' A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me, In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken: then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but The villany of our fears. Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight! Three thousand confident, in act as many, (For three performers are the file, when all The rest do nothing,) with this word, Stand, stand, Accommodated by the place, more charming, With their own nobleness (which could have turn'd A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks, Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward But by example (O, a sin in war, Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look The way that they did, and to grin like lions Upon the pikes o'the hunters. Then began A stop i'the chaser, a retire; anon, A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made: and now our cowarde The life o'the need; having found the back-door (Like fragments in hard voyages,) became open Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty: rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lu-Those, that would die or ere resist,. are grown cius, Iachimo, and Imogen.. The mortal bugs o'the field. Lord. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy-A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! This was strange chance; self: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wink'd. Iach. 'Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another part of the field. Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear, Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, And vent it for a mockery? Here is one: Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane. Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. Post. 'Lack, to what end? For if he'll do, as he is made to do, Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: stand? Post. I did: Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Lord. I did. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd2 With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame. Lord. Where was this lane? Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd with turf: Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,- 1 Clown. 2 Block'd up. 3 A country-game called prison bars, vulgarly prison base. I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too. You have put me into rhyme. Lord. Farewell, you are angry. [Ext. Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble mise.y! To be i'the field, and ask what news, of me! To-day, how many would have given their honours To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't, And yet died too? I, in mine own wo charm'd, Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words, or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i'the war.-Well, I will find him: For being now a favourer to the Roman, No more a Briton, I have resum'd again The part I came in: Fight I will no more, But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is, 4 Terrors. SCENE IV. 769 CYMBELINE. Here made by the Roman; great the answer be Britons must take; For me, my ransom's death; On either side I come to spend my breath; Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen. Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers. 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken: 'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels. 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront' with them. 1 Cap. So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stana! who is there? Post. A Roman; Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds Had answer'd him, 2 Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog! A leg of Rome shall not return to tell, What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service As if he were of note: bring him to the king. Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: after which, all go out. SCENE IV.-A prison. Enter Posthumus, and two Gaolers. 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you; So, graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gao. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty; Yet am I better Than one that's sick o' the gout: since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd By the sure physician, death; who is the key To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art fetter'd More than my shanks, and wrists: You good gods, give me The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Is't enough, I am sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease ; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? I cannot do it better than in gyves,2 Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy, If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take No stricter render of me, than my all. I know, you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; that's not my desire: For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it: 'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers, If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! I'll speak to thee in silence. [He sleeps. Solemn music. Enter, as an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an mus, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round, as he lies sleeping. Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show Thy spite on mortal flies: With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, That thy adulteries Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw? I died, whilst in the womb he staid Attending nature's law. Whose father then (as men report, Thou orphans' father art,) Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart. Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, But took me in my throes: That from me was Posthúmus ript; Came crying 'mongst his foes, A thing of pity! Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, Moulded the stuff so fair, That he deserv'd the praise o'the world, As great Sicilius' heir. 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel; Or fruitful object be In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity? Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exil'd and thrown From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sweet Imogen? Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo, Slight thing of Italy, To taint his noble heart and brain With needless jealousy; And to become the geck4 and scorn O'the other's villany? 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, Our parents, and us twain, That, striking in our country's cause, Fell bravely, and were slain; Our fealty, and Tenantius' right, With honour to maintain. 1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform'd: Then Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due; Being all to dolours turn'd? Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; No longer exercise, Upon a valiant race, thy harsh And potent injuries: Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Take off his miseries. Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! Or we poor ghosts will cry To the shining synod of the rest, Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly. ancient Matron, his wife, and mother to Posthu-Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting 1 Encounter. 2 Fetters. 3 This scene is supposed not to be Shakspeare's, but foisted in by the Players, for mere show. upon an Eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. 4 The fool. 770 ACT V. CYMBELINE. Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: Be not with mortal accidents opprest; No care of yours it is, you know, 'tis ours. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Our temple was he married.-Rise, and fade!- He shall be lord of lady Imogen, And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away: no further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.- Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends. Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas'd." All. Thanks, Jupiter! Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest. [Ghosts vanish. Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grand- sire, and begot A father to me: and thou hast created A mother and two brothers: But (0, scorn!) Gone; they went hence so soon as they were born. And so I am awake.-Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favour, dream as I have done; Wake, and find nothing.-But, alas, I swerve: Many dream not to find, neither deserve, And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, That have this golden chance, and know not why. What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare one ! Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise. Post. So if I prove a good repast to the specta- tors, the dish pays the shot. Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the comfort is, you shall be called to no mcre payinents, fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sad- ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heavi- ness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-O the charity of a penny cord! it sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debtor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge:-Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and coun ters; so the acquittance follows. Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache: But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would change places with his officer: for, look you. sir, you know not which way you shall go. Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow. Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen him so pictur'd: you must either be di-. rected by some that take upon them to know, or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you will never return to tell one. Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your pris- oner to the king. Post. Thou bringest good news; I am called to be made free. Gaol. I'll be hanged then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.2 Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de- sire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself some of them too, that die against their wills; so unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced should I if I were one. I would we were all of by a piece of tender air; and when from a state- one mind, and one mind good; O, there were deso- ly cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being lation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment to the old stock, and freshly grow: then shall in't. Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plentu. 'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen Tongue, and brain not: either both or nothing: Or senseless speaking: or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy. Re-enter Gaolers. Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted, rather: ready long ago. Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cooked. 1 Hazard. 2 Forward. 3 Target, shield. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Cymbeline's tent. Enter Cymbe- line, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Wo is my heart, That the poor soldier, that so richly fought, Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepp'd before targe³ of proof, cannot be found: He shall be happy that can find him, if Our grace can make him so. Bel. I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing: Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. Cym. No tidings of him? SCENE V. 771 CYMBELINE. Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and | To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! living, But no trace of him. Cym. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; which I will add To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, [To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. By whom, I grant, she lives; "Tis now the time To ask of whence you are:report it. Bel. Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, Unless I add, we are honest. Cym. Bow your knees: Arise, my knights o'the battle: I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With dignities becoming your estates. Enter Cornelius and Ladies. There's business in these faces:-Why so sadly Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, And not o'the court of Britain. Cor. Hail, great king! To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead. Cym. Whom worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider, By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death Will seize the doctor too.-How ended she? Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Which being cruel to the worlu, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd, I will report, so please you: These her women Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finish'd. Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; cr.ly Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person. Cym. She alone knew this: And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that The Britions have raz'd out, though with the loss Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit, That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; So, think of your estate. Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Was yours by accident: had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods. Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth, A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: Augustus lives to think on't: And so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born, Let him be ransom'd: never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat,' so nurse-like: let his virtue join With my request, which, I'll make bold, your highness Cannot deny: he hath done no Briton harm, Though he have serv'd a Roman. save him, sir, And spare no Elcod beside. Cym. I have surely seen him; His favour is familiar to me.-- Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own.-I know not why, nor where- fore, To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: live: And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it ; Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to The noblest ta'en. love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she had 'Ta'en off by poison. O most delicate fiend! Cym. Who is't can read a woman?-Is there more! Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she had For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work Her son into the adoption of the crown. But failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless desperate; open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, Despairing, died. Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious, 1 Ready, dextrous. 2 Countenance. Imo. I humbly thank your highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet, I know, thou wilt. Imo. No, no: alack, There's other work in hand; I see a thing, Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself. Luc. The boy disd .ins me, He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their j. ys, That place them on the truth of girls and boys.- Why stands he so perplex'd? Cym. What would'st thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on î speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? Imo. He is a Roran; no more kin to me, Than 1 to your highness; who, being born your vassal, Am something nearer Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best. attention. What's thy name? Imo. Fidele, sir. Cym. Thon art my good youth, my page I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. [Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? 772 ACT V CYMBELINE. Arv. One sand another Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you? Gui. The same dead thing alive. Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us. Gui. But we saw him dead. Bel. Be silent; let's see further. Pis. It is my mistress: Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad. And, not dispraising whom he prais'd (thereiz He was as calm as virtue,) he began His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description Prov'd us unspeaking sots. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Cym. Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins, He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch! [Aside. Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd finger, to attain In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight, No lesser of her honour confident [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. Cym. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To Iach.] step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to him. Imo. My boon is, that this gentlemen may render Of whom he had this ring. Post. What's that to him? [Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours? Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cym. How! me? Than I did truly find her, stakes this rig. And would so, had it been a carbuncl Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, it Been all the worth of his car. Away to britain Post I in this design: Well may you, sir, Remember me at court, where I was taught Of your chaste daughter the wide difference. Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 'Gan in your duller Britain operate Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, That I return'd with similar proof enough To make the noble Leonatus mad, Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that By wounding his belief in her renown which Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, (0, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may Of secret on her person, that he could not grieve thee, As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my Methinks, I see him now,- lord? Cym. All that belongs to this. Iach. That paragon, thy daughter,- For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail' to remember,-Give me leave; I faint. Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more strive man, and speak. Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) (it was in Rome, accurs'd The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthúmus (What should I say? he was too good, to be Where ill men were; and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly, Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides, that book of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye:- Cym. Come to the matter. Tach I stand on fire: All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Pos- thumus (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover,) took his hint: 1 Sink into dejection. Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come !-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingenious: it is I That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, That kill'd thy daughter: villain-like, I lie; That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself " Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villain Be call'd, Posthumus Leonatus; and Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen! Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear. Post. Shall't have a play of this? Thou scornfu page, There lie thy part. Pis. [Striking her; she falls O, gentlemen, help, help You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: Help, help! Mine, and your mistress: 0, my lord Posthumus Mine honour'd lady! Cym. Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers on me? Pis. Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 2 Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself SCENE V. 773 CYMBELINE. To death with mortal joy. Pis. How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are. Cyn. Pis. Lady, The tune of Imogen! The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing; I had it from the queen. Cym. New matter still? Imo. Cor. It poison'd me. O gods!- I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat. Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me To temper poisons for her; still pretending The satisfaction of her knowledge, only In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose Was of more danger, did compound for her A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease The present power of life; but, in short time, All offices of nature should again Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. Bel. There was our error. My boys, Gui. This is sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded from you? Think, that y. u are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. Post. Till the tree die! Cym. I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth, Deny't again. Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. Cym. He was a prince. Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, If it could roar so to me: I cut off's head; And am right glad, he is not standing here To tell this tale of mine. Cym. I am sorry for thee: By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: Thou art dead. Imo. I thought had been my lord. Cym. That headless man Bind the offender, Stay, sir king. And take him from our presence. Bel. This man is better than the man he slew, As well descended as thyself; and hath More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens Had ever scar for.-Let his arms alone; They were not born for bondage. Cym. [To the Guard. Why, old soldier Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? Arv. In that he spake too far. Cym. And thou shalt die for't. Bel. We will die all three: But I will prove, that two of us are as good lady As I have given out him.-My sons, I must, For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, Though, haply, well for you. [Embracing him. Hang there like fruit, my soul, How now, my flesh, my child? What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me? Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling. Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not; [To Gui. and Arv. My tears that fall, I am sorry for't, my lord. You had a motive for't. Cym. Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Thy mother's dead. Imo. Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here so strangely : But her son Is gone, we know not how, nor where. Pis. My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discovered not which way she was gone, It was my instant death; By accident, I had a feigned letter of my master's Then in my pocket; which directed him To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts, With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate My lady's honour: what became of him, I further knew not. Gui. I slew him there. Cym. Let me end the story: Marry, the gods forfend!" 1 Mix, compound. 2 Forbid Arv. Ours. Gui. And our good his. Bel. Your danger is Have at it then.- By leave;-Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who Was call'd Belarius. Cym. What of him? he is A banish'd traitor. Bel. He it is that hath Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man; I know not how, a traitor. Cym. Take him hence; The whole world shall not save him. Bel. Not too hot: First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; And let it be confiscate all, so scon As I have receiv'd it. Cym. Nursing of my sons? Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee, Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, These two young gentlemen, that call me father, And think they are my sons, are none of mine. They are the issue of your loins, my liege, And blood of your begetting. Cym. How! my issue? Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd, Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes (For such, and so they are,) these twenty years Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't; Having receiv'd the punishment before, 774 ACT V. CYMBELINE. For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty Excited me to treason: Their dear loss, The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, Here are your sons again; and I must lose T'wo of the sweet'st companions in the world:- The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars. Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. The service that you three have done, is more Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children; If these be they, I know not how to wish A pair of worthier sons. Bel. Be pleas'd a while.- This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I can with ease produce. Guiderius had Cym. Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; It was a mark of wonder. Bel. This is he; Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: It was wise nature's end in the donation, To be his evidence now. Cym. O, what am I A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Rejoic'd deliverance more :-Bless'd may you be, That, after this strange starting from your orbs, You may reign in them now!-0 Imogen, Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. Imo. No, my lord; I have got two worlds by't.-O my gentle brother, Have we thus met? O never say hereafter, But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, When I was but your sister; I you brothers, When you were so indeed. Cym. Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. Did you e'er meet? And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died. Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. Cym. O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce' abridg- ment Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.2-Where? how liv'd you? And when came you to serve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers? how first met them? Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, And your three motives to the battle, with I know not how much more, should be demanded; And all the other by dependencies, From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, Will serve our long interrogatories. See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting Each object with a joy; the counterchange Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. Thou art my brother; So we'll hold thee ever. [To Belarius. Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, 1 Vehement, rapid. 2 i. e. Which ought to be rendered distinct by an ample narrative. To see this gracious season. Cym. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. Imo. I will yet do you service. My good master, Happy be you! Luc. Cym. The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. Post. 1 am, sir, The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd ;-That I was he, Speak, Iachimo; I had you down, and might Have made you finish. lach. I am down again: [Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; And here the bracelet of the truest princess, That ever swore her faith. Post. Kneel not to me: The power that I have on you, is to spare you; The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live, And deal with others better. Cym. We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; Pardon's the word to all. Arv. Nobly doom'd: You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother: Joy'd are we, that you are. Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it; let him show His skill in the construction. Luc. Sooth. Here, my good lord. Philarmonus,- Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, himself unknown, without seeking, find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air: and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be for- tunate, and flourish in peace and plenty. Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much: The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To Cymbeline. Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer We term it mulier: which mulier I divine, Is this most constant wife; who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air. Cym. This hath some seeming Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty. 3 Ghostly appearances. 4 Embrace. SCENE V. CYMBELINE, 775 Well, Cym. My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar, And to the Roman empire; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; Whom heavens, in justice (both on her and hers,) Have laid most heavy hand. Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Cæsar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west. Cym. Laud we the gods And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils; From our blessed altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: So through Lud's town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.- Set on there :-Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. [Exeunt. This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expense of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system. of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and ton gross for aggravation. JOHNSON. SUNG SONG, BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks his quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew: The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The red-breast oft at evening hours, Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds, and beating rain In tempest shake the sylvan cell; Or midst the chace on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lovely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed: Belov'd till life could charm no more; And mourn'd till pity's self be dead. YE TITUS ANDRONICUS. PERSONS REPRESENTED. sons to Tamora. Saturninus, son to the late emperor of Rome, and Alarbus, afterwards declared emperor himself. Chiron. Bassianus, brother to Saturninus; in love with Demetrius. Lavinia. Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, general against A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown, the Goths. Romans. Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the people; and Goths and Romans. brother to Titus. Lucius, Quintus, sons to Titus Andronicus. Martius, Mutius, Young Lucius, a boy, son to Lucius. Publius, son to Marcus the tribune.. Æmilius, a noble Roman. ACT I. SCENE I-Rome. Before the Capitol. The tomb of the Andronici appearing; the Tribunes and Senators aloft, as in the senate. Enter, be- low, Saturninus and his Followers, on one side; and Bassianus and his Followers, on the other; with drum and colours. Saturninus. NOBLE patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title' with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. Bas. Romans,-friends, followers, favourers my right,- Tamora, Queen of the Goths. Lavinia, daughter to Titus Andronicus. A Nurse, and a black Child. Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants. Scene, Rome; and the country near it Lives not this day within the city walls: He by the senate is accited? home, From weary wars against the barbarous Goths; That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms, Ten years are spent, since first he undertook This cause of Rome, and chastised with armis Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath retura'd Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant cons In coffins from the field; And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. Let us entreat,-By honour of his name, Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed, And in the Capitol and senate's right, Whom you pretend to honour and adore,- That you withdraw you, and abate your strength; Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, of Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's son, Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, Keep then this passage to the Capitol; And suffer not dishonour to approach The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, To justice, continence, and nobility: But let desert in pure election shine; And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft, with the crown. Mar. Princes that strive by factions, and by friends, Ambitiousiy for rule and empery,- Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy In thy uprightness and integrity, And so I love and honour thee and thine, Thy nobler brother Titus, and his sons, And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, That I will here dismiss my loving friends; And to my fortunes, and the people's favour, Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. [Exeunt the Followers of Bassianus. Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward ir. my right, thank you all, and here dismiss you all; I Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we And to the love and favour of my country stand A special party, have, by their comon voice, In the election for the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, For many good and great deserts to Rome; A nobler man, a braver warrior, 1 i. e Title to the succession 2 Summoned. Commit myself, my person, and the cause. [Exeunt the followers of Saturminus. Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, As I am confident and kind to thee. Open the gates, and let me in. Bas. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor. [Sat. and Bas. go into the capitol, and exeunt with Senators, Marcus, &c. SCENE II. 777 TITUS ANDRONICUS. SCENE II.-The same. Enter a Captain, and Draw near them then in being merciful: Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge; others. Cap. Romans, make way; The good Andronicus, Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Successful in the battles that he fights, With honour and with fortune is return'd, From where he circumscribed with his sword, And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. Flourish of trumpets, &c. Enter Mutius and Martius: after them, two men bearing a coffin, covered with black; then Quintus and Lucius. After them, Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora with Alarbus, Chiron, Demetrius, Aaron and other Goths, prisoners; Soldiers and People following. The bearers set down the coffin, and Titus speaks. Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me. These are their brethren, whom you Goths teheld Alive, and dead; and for their brethren slain, Religiously they ask a sacrifice: Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! Lo, as the bark that bath discharg'd her fraught, Returns with precious lading to the bay, From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, To re-salute his country with his tears; Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. Thou great defender of this Capitol,2 Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, Half of the number that king Priam had, Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead! These, that survive, let Rome reward with love; These, that I bring unto their latest home, With burial amongst their ancestors: To this your son is mark'd; and die he must, To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. Luc. Away with him! and make a fire straight; And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd. [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety! with Alarbus. Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive To tremble under Titus' threatening look. Then, madam, stand resolv'd; but hope withal, The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy With opportunity of sharp revenge Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, with their swords bloody. Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd Our Roman rites: Alarbus' lin.bs are lopp'd, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. sword. Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? Make way to lay them by their brethren. [The tomb is opened. There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars! O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, How many sons of mine hast thou in store, That thou wilt never render to me more? Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, That we may hew his linibs, and, on a pile, Ad manes fratum sacrifice his flesh, Before this earthly prison of their bones; That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.3 Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives, The eldest son of this distressed queen. Tam. Stay, Roman brethren; Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother's tears in passion for her son: And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 0, think my son to be as dear to me. Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, To beautify thy triumphs, and return, Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke: But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, For valiant doings in their country's cause? O! if to fight for king and common weal Were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood: Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 1 Freight. 2 Jupiter, to whom the Capitol was sacred. 3 It was supposed that the ghosts of unburied people appeared to solicit the rites of funeral. Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus Make this his latest farewell to their souls. [Trumpets sounded, and the coffins laid in the tomb. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, Secure from worldly chances and mishaps! Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, Here grow no damned grudges; here, are no storas No noise, but silence and eternal sleep: Enter Lavinia. In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long; My noble lord and father, live in fame! Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy I render, for my brethren's obsequies; Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens'applaud. Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!" Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturninus, Bassianus, and others. Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother, Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. Mar. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 4 Suffering. 5 He wishes that her life may be longer than his, and her praise longer than fame 178 ACT 1. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, That in your country's service drew your swords: But safer triumph in this funeral pomp, That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness,1 And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed. Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, This parliament of white and spotless hue; And name thee in election for the empire, With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: Be candidates then, and put it on, And help to set a head on headless Rome. Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, Than his, that shakes for age and feebleness: What! should I don³ this robe, and trouble you? Be chosen with proclamations to-day; To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life, And set abroad new business for you all? Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, In right and service of their noble country: Give me a staff of honour for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world: Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. Mart. Titus,thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune,canst thou tell? Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. Sat. Romans, do me right; Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor: Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good That noble-minded Titus means to thee! Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee The people's hearts, and wean them from them- selves. Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, But honour thee, and will do till 1 die; My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, I will most thankful be: and thanks, to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed. Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, I ask your voices, and your suffrages; Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, And gratulate his safe return to Rome, The people will accept whom he admits. Tit. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make, That you create your emperor's eldest son, Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope, Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth, And ripen justice to this common weal: Then if you will elect by my advice, Crown him, and say,-Long live our emperor! Mar. With voices, and applause of every sort, Patricians, and plebeians, we create Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor; And say,-Long live our emperor Saturnine! [A long flourish. Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done To us in our election this day, I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: And for an onset, Titus, to advance Thy name, and honourable family, Lavinia will I make my empress, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: 1 The maxim alluded to is, that no man can be pronounced happy before his death. Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee? Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and, in this match I hold me highly honour'd of your grace: And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,- King and commander of our common-weal, The wide world's emperor,-do I consecrate My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners: Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, Rome shall record; and when I do forget The least of these unspeakable deserts, Romans, forget your fealty to me. Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an em- peror; ¡To Tamora. To him that, for your honour and your state, Will use you nobly, and your followers. Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to choose anew. Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance; Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome: Princely shall be thy usage every way. Rest on my word, and let not discontent Daunt all your hopes; Madam, he comforts you, Can make you greater than the queen of Goths. Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? Lav. Not I, my lord; sith true nobility Warrants these words in princely courtesy. Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go. Ransomless here we set our prisoners free: Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mino. [Seizing Lavinia. Tit. How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord? Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, To do myself this reason and this right. [The emperor courts Tamora in dumb show. Mar. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: This prince in justice izeth but his own. Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard? Treason, my lord; Lavinia is surpris'd. Sat. Surpris'd! By whom? Bas. By him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. [Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back Mut. My lord, you pass not here. Tit. What, villain bey [Titus kills Mutias Help, Lucius, help. Barr'st me my way in Rome? Mut. Re-enter Lucius. Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than so In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine My sons would never so dishonour me: Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. Luc. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, That is another's lawful promis'd love. (Exit Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not 2 A robe. 3 i. e. Do on, put 5 Since. 4 The sun's. SCENE II. 779 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock. I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Confederates all thus to dishonour me. Was there none else in Rome to make a stale¹ of, But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. Tit O monstrous! what reproachful words are these? Sat But go thy ways: go give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: A valiant son-in law thou shalt enjoy; One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. Tit These words are razors to my wounded heart. Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths,- That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,- If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, And will create thee emperess of Rome. Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud choice? And here I swear by all the Roman gods, Sith priest and holy water are so near, And tapers burn so bright and every thing In readiness for Hymeneus stand,- I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, Or climb my palace, till from forth this place I lead espous'd my bride along with me. my Tam. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, She will a handmaid be to his desires, A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon :-Lords, ac- company Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: There shall we cónsummate our spousal rites. [Exeunt Saturninus, and his followers; Ta- mora, and her Sons; Aaron and Goths. Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride ;- Titus, when wert thou wont to talk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. Mar. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done! In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. Tit. No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,- Nor th u, nor these, confederates in the deed What hath ishonoured all our family; Unworthy br. ther, and unworthy sons! Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; Give Mutius burial with our brethren. Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb. This monument five hundred years hath stood, Which I have sumptuously re-edified: Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors, Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls:- Bury him where you can, he comes not here. Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you: My nephew Mutus' deeds do plead for him; He must be buried with his brethren. Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will pany. Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite? Mar. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee To pardon Mutius and to bury him. Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: My foes I do repute you every one: So trouble me no more, but get you gone. Mart. He is not with himself, let us withdraw. Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. [Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. Mar. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead. Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak. Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. Mar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,- Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all, Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son Did graciously plead for his funerals. Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, Be barr'd his entrance here. Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise:- The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw, To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!- Well, bury him, and bury me the next. [Mutius is put into the tomb. Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb!- All. No man shed tears for noble Mutius; He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. Mar. My lord,-to step out of these dreary dumps,- How comes it that the subtle queen of Goths Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome? Tit. I know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is; Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell: Is she not then beholden to the man That brought her for this high good turn so far? Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, Saturninus, at tended; Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, and Aaron: At the other, Bassianus, Lavinia, and others. Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize; God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. Bas. And you of yours, my lord: I say no more, Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave. Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own, My true-betrothed love, and now my wife? But let the laws of Rome determine all; Mean while I am possess'd of that is mine. Sat. 'Tis good, sir: You are very short with us; But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may, Answer I must, and shall do with my life. Only thus much I give you grace to know, By all the duties that I owe to Rome, Tit. And shall? What villain was it spoke that That, in the rescue of Lavinia, word? 1 A stalking-horse. accom-This noble gentleman, lord Titus here, Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd; With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 3 Invited. 2 A ruffler was a bully. 780 ACT II. TITUS ANDRONICUS In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath To be control'd in that he frankly gave: Receive him then to favour, Saturnine; That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds; 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me: Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine! Tam. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, Then hear me speak indifferently for all; And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. Sat. What! madam! be dishonour'd openly, And basely put it up without revenge? Tam. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome for- fend,' I should be author to dishonour you! But, on mine honour, dare I undertake For good lord Titus' innocence in all, Whose fury not dissembled, speaks his griefs: Then, at my suit, look graciously on him; Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.- My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, Dissemble all your griefs and discontents: You are but newly planted in your throne, Lest then the people, and patricians too, Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, And so supplant us for ingratitude (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,) Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: I'll find a day to massacre them all, And raze their faction, and their family, The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, To whom I sued for my dear son's life; And make them know, what 'tis to let a queen Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in vain. Aside. Come, come, sweet emperor,-come, Andronicus,- Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. Sat. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd. Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord: These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. Tam. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, A Roman now adopted happily, And must advise the emperor for his good. This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;- And let it be mine honour, good my lord, That I have reconcil'd your friends and you.- For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd My word and promise to the emperor, That you will be more mild and tractable.- And fear not, lords,-and you, Lavinia ;- By my advice, all humbled on your knees, You shall ask pardon of his majesty. Luc. We do; and vow to heaven, and to his high- ness, That, what we did, was mildly, as we might, Tend'ring our sister's honour, and our own. Mar. That on mine honour here I do protest. [Levinia, though you left me like a churl, I found a friend; and sure as death I swore, I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Come, if the emperor's court can least two brides You are my guest, Lavini, and your friends: This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. Tit. To-morrow, an it please your maje: ty, To hunt the panther and the hart with me, With horn and hound, we'll give your grace bon- jour. Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. ACT II. [Exe. SCENE I.-The same. Before the palace. Euter Aaron. Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft, Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash; Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach. As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora. Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, And mount her pitch; whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains; And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes, Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis;-this queen, This Syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, And see his shipwreck, and his common-weal's. Holla! what storm is this? Enter Chiron, and Demetrius, braving. Dem. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge, And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd; And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. Chi. Demetrius, thou dost overween in all; And so in this to bear me down with braves. 'Tis not the difference of a year, or two, Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate: I am as able, and as fit, as thou, To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;" And that my sword upon thee shall approve, And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. Aar. Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the peace. Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends! Sat. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.-Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath, Tam. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends: The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, I de remit these young men's heinous faults. Stand up. 1 Forbid 2 Favour. Till you know better how to handle it. Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw. Aar. Why, how now, lords? So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 3 This was the usual outcry for assistance when any riot in the street happened. 4 A sword worn in dancing. SCENE II. 781 TITUS ANDRONICUS. And maintain such a quarrel openly? Full well I wot' the ground of all this grudge; I would not for a million of gold, The cause were known to them it most concerns: Nor would your noble mother, for much more, Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. For shame, put up. Dem. Not I; till I have sheath'd My rapier in his bosom, and, withal, Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat, That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd,- Foul-spoken coward! that thunder'st with thy tongue, And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. Aar. Away, I say.- Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore, This petty brabble will undo us all.- Why, lords,-and think you not how dangerous It is to jut upon a prince's right? What, is Lavinia then become so loose, Or Bassianus so degenerate, That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd, Without controlment, justice, or revenge? Young lords, beware!-an should the empress know This discord's ground, the music would not please. Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world; I love Lavinia more than all the world. Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. Aar. Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome How furious and impatient they be, And cannot brook competitors in love? I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 3y this device. Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love. Aar. To achieve her!-How? Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange? She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won; She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. What, man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive,2 we know: Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge. Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. Dem. Then why should he despair, that knows to court it [Iside. With words, fair looks, and liberality? What, hast thou not full often struck a doe, And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? Aar. Why then, it seems, some certain snatch or so Ay, so the turn were serv'd. Would serve your turns. Chi. Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. Aar. 'Would you had hit it too; Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. Why, hark ye, hark ye,-And are you such fools, To squares for this? Would it offend you then That both should speed? Chi. Dem. So I were one. I'faith, not me. Nor me, That what you cannot, as you would, achieve, You must perforce accomplish as you may. Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and I have found the path. My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; There will the lovely Roman ladies troop The forest walks are wide and spacious; And many unfrequented plots there are, Fitted by kind" for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, And strike her home by force, if not by words: This way, or not at all stand you in hope. Come, come, our empress, with her sacred' wit, To villany and vengeance consecrate, Will we acquaint with all that we intend; And she shall file our engines with advice, That will not suffer you to square yourselves, But to your wishes' height advance you both. The emperor's court is like the house of fame, The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears: The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull; There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take your turns: There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye, And revel in Lavinia's treasury. Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits. Per Styga, per manes "ehor. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A forest near Rome. A lodge seen at a distance. Horns, and cry of hounds heard. Enter Titus Andronicus with hunters, &c. Mar- cus, Lucius, Quintus and Martius. Tit The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green. Uncouple here, and let us make abay, And wake the emperor and his lovely bride, And rouse the prince; and ring a hunter's peal, That all the court may echo with the noise. Sons, let it be your charge, as it ours, To tend the emperor's person carefully: I have been troubled in my sleep this night, But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. Horns wind a peal. Enter Saturnius, Tamora, Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius, and At- tendants. Tit. Many good morrows to your majesty; Madam, to you as many and as good!-- I promised your grace a hunter's peal. Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords, Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. Bas. Lavinia, how say you? Lav. I say no. I have been broad awake two hours and more. Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport-Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting. Mar. [To Tamora. I have dogs, my lord, Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, And climb the highest promontory top. Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game Aar. For shame, be friends; and join for that Makes way, and run like swallows o'the plain. you jar. "Tis policy and stratagem must do That you affect; and so must you resolve; 1 Know. 2 Slice. 3 Quarrel. 4 By nature. Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exe. 5 Sacred here signifies accursed: a Latinism. 50 782 ACT II TITUS ANDRONICUS. SCENE III-A desert part of the forest. Aaron, with a bag of gold. Aar. He, that had wit, would think that none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit' it. I had Enter | To see the general hunting in this forest? Tam. Saucy controller of our private step Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Acteon's: and the hound. Should drive upon thy new transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art! Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly, Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem; Which cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany; And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest,2 [Hides the gold. That have their alms out of the empress' chest. Enter Tamora. Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chaunt melody on every bush; The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And-whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once,- Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise: And-after conflict, such as was suppos'd The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds, and horns, and sweet melodious birds, Be unto us, as is a nurse's song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. Lav. Under your patience, gentle empere33, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted, that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-det 'Tis pity, they should take him for a stag. Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimza Doth make your honour of his body's hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester'd from all your train? Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness.-I pray you, let us hence, And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this. Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him no au long: Good king! to be so mightily abus'd! Tam. Why have I patience to endure all this? Enter Chiron and Demetrius. Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our graci mother, Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? Tam. Have I not reason, think you, to look pa?) Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place, A barren detested vale, you see, it is: The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe. Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. And, when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins," Would make such fearful and confused cries, any mortal body, hearing it, thee,-As Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly standing eye, My silence, and my cloudy melancholy? My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls, Even as an adder, when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs; Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark, Tamora,-the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in This is the day of doom for Bassianus; His Philomels must lose her tongue to-day: Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll:- Now question me no more, we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. Tam. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life? Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes; Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. Enter Bassianus and Lavinia. Bas. Who have we here? Rome's royal em peress, Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dan, habited like her; Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 1 Possess. 2 Disquiet. 3 See Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book VI Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me, they would bind me he.: Unto the body of a dismal vew; And leave me to this miserable death. And then they call'd me, foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terme That ever ear did hear to such effect. And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed: Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son. [Stabs Bassianus. Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my strength. [Stabbing him likewise. Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis; nay barbarcus Ta- mora! For no name fits thy nature but thy own! Tam. Give me thy poinard; you shall know, my boys, Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 4 Part. 5 Hedgehogs. SCENE IV. 783 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; | This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, [Exeunt. Tam. Farewell, my sons: see that you make her And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. Tam But when you have the honey you desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. Chi. I warrant you, madam; we will make that sure.- Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours. Lav. O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,- Tam. I will not hear her speak; away with her. Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. Dem. Listen, fair madam; Let it be your glory To see her tears: but be your heart to them, As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee: sure: Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Erit SCENE IV.-The same. Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius. Aar. Come on, my lords; the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep. Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodce. Mart. And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep a while. [Martius falls into the pit. Quin. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers? The milk, thou suck'dst from her, did turn to A very fatal place it seems to me :- marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.- Yet every mother breeds not sons alike; Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity. [To Chiron. Chi. What! would'st thou have me prove myself a bastard? Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now!) The lion mov'd with pity, did endure To have his princely paws par'd all away. Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! Tam. I know not what it means, away with her. Lav. O, let me teach thee: for my father's sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. Tam. Had thou in person ne'er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless:- Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent. Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; The worse to her, the better lov'd of me. Lav. O, Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, And with thine own hand kill me in this place: For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long; Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died. Tam. What begg'st thou then? fond woman, let me go. Lav. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more, That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: 0, keep me from their worse than killing lust, Ana tumble me into some loathsome pit: Where never man's eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer. Tam. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee:. No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. Dem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long. Lav. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall- Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth :-Bring thou her husband: [Dragging off Lav. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. Aar. [Aside.] Now will 1 fetch the king to find them here; That he thereby may give a likely guess, How these were they that made away his brother. [Exit Aaron. Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallow'd and blood-stain'd hole? Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear: A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death. Quin. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise: O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now Was I a child, to fear I know not what. Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument. Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of this pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood O brother, help me with thy fainting hand,- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath.- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. Quin. Thy hand once more: I will not loose agam, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. [Falls in 784 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT II. Enter Saturninus cnd Aaron. Sat. Along with me:-I'll see what hole is here, And what he is, that now is leap'd into it. Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth? Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus; Brought thither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead. Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. [Exeunt severally. SCENE V.-The same. Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, ravished; her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. Dem. So, now go tell, an' if thy tongue can speak, Sat. My brother dead? I know, thou dost but Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge, Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; "Tis not an hour since I left him there. Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, But, out alas! here have we found him dead. Enter Tamora, with attendants; Titus Andronicus, and Lucius. Tam. Where is my lord, the king? Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. Tam. Where is thy brother Bassianus? Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. Tam. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, [Giving a letter. The complot of this timeless' tragedy; And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. Sat. [Reads.] An if we miss to meet him hand- somely,- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis, we mean,- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him; Thou know'st our meaning: Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder tree," Which overshades the mouth of that same pit, Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. O, Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder tree: Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murder'd Bassianus here. Aar. My gracious 'ord, here is the bag of gold. [Showing it. Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Tit.] fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life:- Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; There let them bide, until we have devis'd Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. Tam. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered! Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them,- Sat. If it be proved! you see, it is apparent.- Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? Tam. Andronicus himself did take it up. Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail: For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow, They shall be ready at your highness' will, To answer their suspicion with their lives. Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: see, thou follow me. Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed. Tam. Andronicus I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 1 Untimely. 2 Orpheus. Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean- ing so; And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can scowl. Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her silent walks. Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. Enter Marcus. Mar. Who's this,-my niece, that flies away so fast? Cousin, a word; Where is your husband?- If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me! If I do wake, some planet strike me down, That I may slumber in eternal sleep! Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments, Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, And might not gain so great a happiness, As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me?- Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips. Coming and going with thy honest breath. But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee; And, lest thou should'st detect him, cut thy tongue. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,- As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,- Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face, Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so? O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, That I might rail at him to ease my mind! Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind: But, lovely, niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, That could have better sew'd than Philomel. O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, And make the silken strings delight to kiss them: He would not then have touch'd them for his life; Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony, Which that sweet tongue hath made, He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's2 feet. Come, let us go, and make thy father blind: For such a sight will blind a father's eye: One hour's storm will drown the fragrant neads, What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee, (0, could our mourning ease thy misery! [Exeunt SCENE I. 785 TITUS ANDRONICUS. ACT III. Enter Marcus and Lavinia. Mar. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; bring consuming sorrow to thine age. SCENE I.-Rome. A street. Enter Senators Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break; Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, with Martius I and Quintus, bound, passing on to the place of execution: Titus going before, pleading. Tit. Hear, me, grave fathers! noble tribunes,stay, For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; And for these bitter tears, which now you see Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; Be pitiful to my condemned sons, Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought! For two and twenty sons I never wept, Because they died in honour's lofty bed. For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write [Throwing himself on the ground. My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, &c., with the Prisoners. O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, That shall distil from these two ancient urns, Than youthful April shall with all his showers: In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still; In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. Enter Lucius, with his sword drawn. O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; And let me say, that never wept before, My tears are now prevailing orators. Luc. O, noble father, you lament in vain; The tribunes hear you not, no man is by, And you recount your sorrows to a stone. Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man, if they did hear, They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones; Who, though they cannot answer my distress, Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes; For that they will not intercept my tale: When I do weep, they humbly at my feet Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me; And, were they but attir'd in grave weeds, Rome could afford no tribune like to these. A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than stones: A stone is silent, and offendeth not; And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. Butwher'fore stand'st thou with thyweapon drawn? Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd My everlasting doom of banishment. Tit. O happy man! they have befriended thee. Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive, That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey, But me and mine: How happy art thou, then, From these devourers to be banished? But who comes with our brother Marcus here? 1 The River Nile. Tit. Will it consume me? let me see it then. Mar. This was thy daughter. Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. Luc. Ah me! this object kills me! Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon ner:- Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? What fool hath added water to the sea? Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, And now, like Nilus,' it disdaineth bounds.- Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too; For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; And they have nurs'd this wo, in feeding life; In bootless prayer have they been held up, And they have serv'd me to effectless use: Now, all the service I require of them Is, that the one will help to cut the other.- 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Mar. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed ? Mar. O, thus I found her, straying in the park, Seeking to hide herself, as doin the deer, That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. Tit. It was my deer; and he, that wounded her Hath hurt me more, than had he kill'd me dead: For now I stand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wilderness of sea; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when some envious surge Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Here stands my ctner son, a banish'd man; And here, my brother, weeping at my woes; But that, which gives my soul the greatest spura, 1s dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.-- Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, It would have madded me; What shall I do Now I behold thy lovely body so? Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears; Nor tongue. to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: Thy husband he is dead; and, for his death, Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this:- Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her: When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. Mar. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance, because she knows them innocent. Tit. If they did kill thy husband. then be joyful Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.- No, no, they would not do so foul a deed: Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.- Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips; Or make some sign how I may do thee ease Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain; Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks How they are stain'd? like meadows yet not dry With miry slime left on them by a flood? 786 ACT III. TITUS ANDRONICUS. And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, And make a brine-pit with our bitter tears? Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows Pass the remainder of our hateful days? What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues, Plot some device of further misery, To make us wonder'd at in time to come. Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief, See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. Mar. Patience, dear niece :-good Titus, dry thine eyes. Tit. Ah, Marcus. Marcus! brother, well I wot, Thy napkin' cannot drink a tear of mine, For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. Tit. Mark. Marcus, mark! I understand her signs: Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say That to her brother which I said to thee; His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. O, what a sympathy of wo is this? As far from help as limbo is from bliss? Enter Aaron. Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor, Aar. If that be call'd deceit. I will be honest, And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:- But I'll deceive you in another sort, And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass. [Aside [He cuts off Titus's hand. Enter Lucius and Marcus. Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is despatch'd.- Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand: Tell him, it was a hand that warded him From thousand dangers; bid him bury it; More hath it merited, that let it have. As for my sons, say, I account of them As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand, Look by and by to have thy sons with thee:- Their heads, I mean.-O. how this villany [Aside. Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exi Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, And bow this feeble ruin to the earth: If any power pities wretched tears, To that I call;-What, wilt thou kneel with me! [To Lavinis Sends thee this word,-That, if thou love thy sons, Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear 4. Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand, And send it to the king: he for the same, Will send thee hither both thy sons alive; And that shall be the ransom for their fault. Tit. O, gracious emperor! O, gentle Aaron! Did ever raven sing so like a lark, That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand: Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? Luc. Stay, father; for that noble hand of thine, That hath thrown down so many enemies, Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: My youth can better spare my blood than you; And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Mar. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome, And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? O, none of both but are of high desert: My hand hath been but idle; let it serve To ransom my two nephews from their death; Then have I kept it to a worthy end. Aar. Nay, come agree whose hand shall go along, For fear they die before their pardon come. Mar. My hand shall go. Luc. By heaven, it shall not go. Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son, Let me redeem my brothers both from death. Mar. And for our father's sake, and mother's care, Now let me show a brother's love to thee. Tit. Agree between you: I will spare my hand. Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. Mar. But I will use the axe. [Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both; Lend me thy hand and I will give thee mine. prayers; Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin din. And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, When they do hug him in their melting bosoms Mar. O, brother, speak of possibilities, And do not break into these deep extremes. Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom! Then be my passions bottomless with them. Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, Then into limits could I bind my woes: When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'e: flow? If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swollen face? And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ?5 I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow ? She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Then must my earth with her continual tears Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown d: For why? my bowels cannot hide her woes, But, like a drunkard, must I vomit them. Then give me leave; for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand. Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back; Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd: That wo is me to think upon thy woes, More than remembrance of my father's death. [Ex. Mar. Now let hot Etna cool in Sicily, And be my heart an everburning hell! These miseries are more than may be borne! To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, But sorrow flouted at, is double death. Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep & wound. And yet detested life not shrink thereat! 1 Know. 2 Handkerchief. 3 Sufferings. 4 The sky. 5 Stir, bustle SCENE II. 787 TITUS ANDRONICUS. That ever death should let life bear his name, Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! [Lavinia kisses him. Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless, As frozen water to a starved snake. Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? Mar. Now, farewell flattery: Die, Andronicus; Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two son's heads; Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here; Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Even like a stony image, cold and dumb. Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs: Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight The closing up of our most wretched eyes! Now is a time to storm; why art thou still; Tit. Ha, ha, ha! Thou map of wo, that thus dost talk in signs! To Lavinia When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans Or get some little knife between thy teeth, And just against thy heart make thou a hole; That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall, May run into that sink, and soaking in, Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. Mar. Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay Such violent hands upon her tender life. Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote al- ready? Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. What violent hands can she lay on her life? Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; [hour. To bid Æneas tell the tale twice o'er, Mar. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, And would usurp upon my watry eyes, And make them blind with tributary tears; Then which way shall I find revenge's cave? For these two heads do seem to speak to me; And threat me, I shall never come to bliss, Till all these mischiefs be return'd again, Even in their throats that have committed them. Come, let me see what task I have to do.- You heavy people, circle me about; That I may turn me to each one of you, And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. The vow is made.-Come, brother, take a head; And in this hand the other will I bear: Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things; Bear thou my hand; sweet wench, between thy teeth. As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight; Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: And, if you love me, as I think you do, Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. [Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; The woful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome! Farewell, proud Rome! till Lucius come again, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister; 0, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofure hast been! But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 0, handle not the theme, to talk of hands; Lest we remember still, that we have none.- Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk! As if we should forget we had no hands, If Marcus did not name the word of hands!- Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this :- Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;-- She says she drinks no other drink but tears, Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks; Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thoughts; In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, As begging hermits in their holy prayers; Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet, And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter, deep laments: Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Tit. Peace, tender sapling, thou art made of tears, And tears wilt quickly melt thy life away.- [Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kills't my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone; I see, thou art not for my company. If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs; And make proud Saturninus and his empress Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. SCENE II-A room in Titus's house. A ban-Poor harmless fly! quet set out. Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and That with his pretty buzzing melody, young Lucius, a boy. Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how, if that fly bad a father and mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings, [Exit. And buzz lamenting doings in the air? Tit. So, so; now sit: and look, you eat no more Than will preserve just so much strength in us As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. Marcus, unknit that sorrow wreathen knot; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, And cannot passionate our tenfold grief With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; And when my heart, all mad with misery, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, Then thus I thump it down.- 1 An allusion to brewing. Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd him. Mar. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly, Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. Tit. 0, 0, 0, Then pardon me for reprehending thee, For thou hast done a charitable deed. Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, Come hither purposely to poison me.- There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.- 2 Constant or continual practice. 788 ACT IV TITUS ANDRONICUS. Ah, sirrah!'- Yet I do think we are not brought so low, But that, between us, we can kill a fly, That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. My mother gave't me. Mar. For love of her that's gone. Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. Tit. Soft! see, how busily she turns the leaves; Mar. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on Help her :- him, He takes false shadows for true substances. Tit. Come, take away.-Lavinia, go with me: I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee Sad stories, chanced in the times of old.- Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The same. Before Titus's house. Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter young Lucius, Lavinia running after him. Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia Follows me every where, I know not why :- Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Mar. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? Tit. Fear her not, Lucius:-Somewhat doth she mean: See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee: Somewhither would she have thee go with her. Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator.2 Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess, Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her: For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, Extremity of griefs would make men mad; And I have read that Hecuba of Troy Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear; Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, And would not, but in fury, fright my youth: Which made me down to throw my books, and fly; Causeless, perhaps: But pardon me, sweet aunt: And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, I will most willingly attend your ladyship. Mar. Lucius, I will. [Lavinia turns over the books which Lucius has let fall. Tit. How now, Lavinia ?-Marcus, what means this? Some book there is that she desires to see :- Which is it, girl, of these ?-Open them, boy.- But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd; Come, and take choice of all my library, And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.- Why lifts she up her arms in sequence³ thus? Mar. I think, she means, that there was more than one Confederate in the fact:-Ay, more there was :- Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; 1 This was formerly not a disrespectful expression. 2 Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator. 9 Succession. 4 To quote is to observe. What would she find?-Lavinia, shall I read? This is the tragic tale of Philomel, And treats of 'l'ereus' treason, and his rape; And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. Mar. See, brother, see; note, how she quotes the leaves. Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpi is'd, sweet girl Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? - See, see!- Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt, (0, had we never, never, hunted there!) Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, By nature made for murders, and for rapes. Mar. O, why should,nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies! Tit. Give signs, sweet girl,-for here are none but friends,- What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed? Mar. Sit down, sweet niece ;-brother, sit down by me.- Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, Inspire me, that I may this treason find!-- My lord, look here;-Look here, Lavinia: This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, This after me, when I have writ my name Without the help of any hand at all. [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it with his feet and mouth. Curs'd be that heart, that fore'd us to this shift!- Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last, What God will have discover'd for revenge: Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, That we may know the traitors, and the truth' [She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it with her stumps, and writes. Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? Stuprum-Chiron-Demetrius. Mar. What, what!-The lustful sons of Tamora Performers of this heinous, bloody deed? Tit. Magne Dominator poli, Tam lentus audis scelera ? tam lentus vides? Mar. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although, I know There is enough written upon this earth, To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel, And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope And swear with me,--as with the woful feere," And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame, Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,- That we will prosecute, by good advice, Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, And see their blood, or die with this reproach. Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how. But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware. The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once, She's with the lion deeply still in league, And lulls him while she playeth on her back, And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list. You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, And with a gad' of steel will write these words, And lay it by: the angry northern wind 5 Pitiless. 6 Husband. 7 The point of a spear. SCENE II. 789 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Will blow these sands, like sybil's leaves, abroad, And where's your lesson then?-Boy, what say you? Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with lines, That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick. But were our witty empress well a-foot, Mar. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. For this ungrateful country done the like. Boy. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; Lucius, I'll fit thec; and withal, my boy Shall carry from me to the empress' sons Presents, that I intend to send them both: Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grand- sire. Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. Lavinia, come :-Marcus, look to my house; Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on. [Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, And not relent, or not compassion him? Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy; That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield: But yet so just, that he will not revenge :- Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! [Exit. Aside But let her rest in her unrest awhile.- And now, young lords, was't not a happy star Led us to Rome, strangers, and, more than so, Captives, to be advanced to this height? It did me good, before the palace gate To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius? Did you not use his daughter very friendly? Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames. At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. Dem. Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods For our beloved mother in her pains. Aar. Pray to the devils; the gods have given us [Aside. Flourish. Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? o'er. Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. Dem. Soft; who comes here? SCENE II.-The same. A room in the palace. Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moor child in her Enter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at one door; at another door, young Lucius, and an Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them. Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; He hath some message to deliver us. Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand father. Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, I greet your honours from Andronicus ;- And pray the Roman gods, confound you both. [Aside. Dem. Gramercy,' lovely Lucius: What's the news? Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it please you, My grandsire, well-advis'd, hath sent by me The goodliest weapons of his armoury, To gratify your honourable youth, The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say; And so I do, and with his gifts present Your lordships, that whenever you have need, You may be armed and appointed well: And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody vil- lains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. Dem. What's here? A scroll; and written round about? Let's see; Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus, Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu. Chi. O, tis a verse in Horace; I know it well: I read it in the grammar long ago. Aar. Ay, just!-a verse in Horace :-right, you have it. Now, what a thing it is to be an ass! Here's no sound jest! the old man hath found their guilt; 1 1. e. Grand merci; great thanks. Nur. arms. Good-morrow, lords: O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor? Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all, Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! Now help, or wo betide thee evermore! Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? Nur. O, that which I would hide from Heaven's eye, Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace ;- She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. Aar. To whom? Nur. Aar. I mean, she's brought to bed. Well, God A devil. Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam; a joyful issue. Give her good rest! What hath he sent her? Nur. Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue: Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. Aar. Out, out, you whore! is black so base a hue?- Sweet biowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. Dem. Villain, what hast thou done? Aar. Canst not undo. Chi. Done! that which thou Thou hast undone our mother. Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone, Wo to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice? Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! Chi. It shall not live. Aside. Aar. It shall not die. Nur. Aaron, it must: the mother wills it so. Aar. What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I Do execution on my flesh and blood. 790 ACT IV. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Dein. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point; Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon despatch it. Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. [Takes the child from the Nurse, and draws. Stay, murderous villains? will you kill your brother? Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, That shone so brightly when this boy was got, He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point, That touches this my first-born son and heir! I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,' With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! Coal black is better than another hue, In that it scorns to bear another hue: For all the water in the ocean Can never turn a swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood. Tell the emperess from me, I am of age To keep mine own; excuse it how she can. Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? Aar. My mistress is my mistress: this, myself; The vigour, and the picture of my youth: This, before all the world, do I prefer ; This, maugre, all the world, will I keep safe, Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death. Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy." Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: rie, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing The close enacts and counsels of the heart! Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer:" Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father; As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own. He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed Of that self-blood that first gave life to you: And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were, He is enfranchised and come to light: Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, Although my seal be stamped in his face. Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the emperess? Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, And we will all subscribe to thy advice; Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. My son and I will have the wind of you: Keep there: Now talk at pleasure of your safety. [They sit on the ground. Dem. How many women saw this child of his? Aar. Why, so, brave lords; When we all join in league, I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor, The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.- But, say again, how many saw the child? Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself, And no one else, but the deliver'd empress. Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself: Two may keep counsel, when the third's away: To the empress; tell her, this I said :- [Stabbing her. Weke, weke !-so cries a pig, prepar'd to the spit. Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this? 1 A giant, the son of Titan and Terra. 2 Hercules. 3 In spite of. Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy: Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours? A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no, lords, no. And now be it known to you my full intent. Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman, His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; His child is like to her, fair as you are: Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, And tell them both the circumstance of all; And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, And be received for the emperor's heir, And substituted in the place of mine, To calm this tempest whirling in the court; And let the emperor dandle him for his own. Hark ye, lords; ye see, that I have given her physic, [Pointing to the Nurse. And you must needs bestow her funeral; The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms. This done, see that you take no longer days, But send the midwife presently to me. The midwife, and the nurse, well made away, Then let the ladies tattle what they please. Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air With secrets. Dem. For this care of Tamora, Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. [Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing off the Nurse. Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies, There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, And secretly to greet the empress' friends.- Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence For it is you that puts us to our shifts: I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, And cabin in a cave; and bring you up To be a warrior, and command a camp. SCENE III.-The same. A public place. Enter Titus, bearing arrows, with letters at the ends of them; with him Marcus, young Lucius, and other Gentlemen, with bows. [Exit. Tit. Come, Marcus, come;-Kinsmen, this is the way:- Sir boy, now let me see your archery; Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight: Terras Astræa reliquit : Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets; Happily you may find her in the sea; Yet there's as little justice as at land:- No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; 'Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade, And pierce the inmost centre of the earth: Then, when you come to Pluto's region, I pray you, deliver him this petition: Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid; And that it comes from old Andronicus, Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.- Ah, Rome!-Well, well; I made thee miserable, What time I threw the people's suffrages On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.- Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all, And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd; This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case, To see thy noble uncle thus distract? Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, By day and night to attend him carefully And feed his humour kindly as we may 4 i. e. Ignominy. 6 Contrive, bargain with. 5 Complexion. SCENE IV. 791 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Till time beget some careful remedy. Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters? What, Have you met with her? Pub. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word, If you will have revenge from hell, you shall: Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, So that perforce you must needs stay a time. Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. I'll dive into the burning lake below, And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.- Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we; No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size: But metal, Marcus; steel to the very back; Yet wrung' with wrongs, more than our backs can bear: And sith there is no justice in earth nor hell, We will solicit heaven; and move the gods, To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs: Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Mar- [He gives them the arrows. Ad Jovem, that's for you:-Here, ad Apollinem :- Ad Martem, that's for myself;- Here, boy, to Pallas;-Here, to Mercury: cus. To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine,- You were as good to shoot against the wind.- To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid: O'my word, I have written to effect; There's not a god left unsolicited. in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl, betwixt my uncle and one of the empe- rial's men. Mar. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to the emperor from you. Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor with a grace? all Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in my life. Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, But give your pigeons to the emperor: By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. Hold, hold;-meanwhile, here's money for thy charges. Give me a pen and ink.- Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication? Clo. Ay, sir. Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first approach, you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look for your reward. l'il be at hand: see that you do it bravely. Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it, Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant:- And when thou hast given it to the emperor, Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. Clo. God be with you, sir; I will. Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go:-Publius, follow [Exeunt. me. Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the SCENE IV.-The same. Before the palace. court: We will afflict the emperor in his pride. Til. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it.Pallas. Mar. My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. Mar. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the ram's horns in the court; And who should find them but the empress' villain? She laugh'd and told the Moor, he should not choose But give them to his master for a present. Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, Lords, and others; Saturninus, with the arrows in his hand, that Titus shot. Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever seen An emperor of Rome thus overborne, Troubled, confronted thus: and, for the extent Ofegal justice, us'd in such contempt? My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods, However these disturbers of our peace Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd But even with law, against the wilful sons Of old Andronicus. And what an if His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? And now he writes to heaven for his redress : Tit. Why, there it goes: God give your lord- See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury; ship joy. Enter a Clown, with a basket and two pigeons. News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter? Clo. Ho! the gibbet-maker? he says, that he hath taken them down again, for the man must not be hanged till the next week. Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? Clo. Av, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? Clo. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there; God forbid, I should be so bld to press to heaven 1 Strained. 2 Since. 3 Revenge. 4 Dress, furniture. This to Apollo; this to the god of war: Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! What's this, but libelling against the senate, And blazoning our injustice every where? A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? As who would say, in Rome no justice were. But, if I live, his feign'd ecstasies Shall be no shelter to these outrages: But he and his shall know, that justice lives In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep, He'll so awake, as she in fury shall Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. Tam. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 5 The clown means to sav plebeian tribune i. e. tribune of the people. 6 Equal. 792 ACT V. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his When as the one is wounded with the bait, heart: And rather comfort his distressed plight, Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, [Aside. For these contempts.-Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze' with all: But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise, Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.- Enter Clown. How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us? Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be im- perial. Tam. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. Clo. 'Tis he.-God, and Saint Stephen, give you good den:-I have brought you a letter, and a couple of pigeons here. [Saturninus reads the letter. Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. Clo. How much money must I have? Tam. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. Clo. Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs! Shall I endure this monstrous villany? I know from whence this same device proceeds; May this be borne ?-as if his traitorous sons, That died by law for murder of our brother, Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully.- Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege :- For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man; Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.. Enter Emilius. What news with thee, Æmilius? Emil. Arm, arm, my lords; Rome never had more cause! The Goths have gather'd head; and, with a power Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil, They hither march amain, under conduct Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do As much as ever Coriolanus did. Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? These tidings nip me; and I hang the head As flowers with frost, or grass beat down storms. Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach: 'Tis he the common people love so much; Myself hath often overheard them say (When I have walked like a private man,) That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, with And they have wish'd that Lucius were their em- peror. Tam. Why should you fear? is not your city strong? Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius; And will revolt from me, to succour him. The other rotted with delicious feed. Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. Tam. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear With golden promises; that, were his heart Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.- Go thou before, be our embassador; [To Æmilius Say, that the emperor requests a parley Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. Sat. Æmilius, do this message honourably: And if he stand on hostage for his safety, Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. Emil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit Emilius Tam. Now will I to that old Andronicus; And temper him, with all the art I have, To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, And bury all thy fear in my devices. Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. [Exeunt ACT V. SCENE I.-Plains near Rome. Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and colours. Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, I have received letters from great Rome, Which signify, what hate they bear their emperor, And how desirous of our sight they are. Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs; And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath,4 Let him make treble satisfaction. 1 Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great An- dronicus, Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort; Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,- Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, Led by their master to the flower'd fields,- And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him. Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, with his child in his arms. 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd, To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; And as I earnestly did fix mine eye Upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard a child cry underneath a wall: Tam. King, be thy thoughts imperious,2 like thy I made unto the noise; when soon I heard name. Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby; Knowing that with the shadow of his wings, He can at pleasure stint³ their melody: Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome. Then cheer thy spirit: for know, thou emperor, I will enchant the old Andronicus, With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep; 1 Flatter. 2 Imperial. 3 Stop. 4 Harm. The crying babe controll'd with this discourse: Peace, tawny slave; half me, and half thy dam! Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, Villain, thou might'st have been an emperor: But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, They never do beget a coal-black calf. Peace, villain, peace!-even thus he rates the babe,- For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. With this my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him SCENE I. 793 TITUS ANDRONICUS. Surpris'd him suddenly; and brought him hither, To use as you think needful of the man. Luc. O worthy Goth! this is the incarnate devil, That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand: This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye:1 And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face? Why dost not speak? What! deaf? No; not a word? A halter, soldiers; hang him on this tree, And by his side his fruit of bastardy. Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl; A sight to vex the father's soul withal. Get me a ladder. Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instract them: As sure a card as ever won the set:- That codding spirit had they from their mother, That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me. As true a dog as ever fought at head.- Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. i train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay: I wrote the letter that thy father found, And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, Confederate with the queen and her two sons; And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand; And, when I had it, drew myself apart, And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall, LA ladder brought which Aaron is obliged to When, for his hand he had his two sons' heads: Aar. ascend. Lucius, save the child: And bear it from me to the empress. If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things, That highly may advantage thee to hear: If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, I'll speak no more; But vengeance rot you all! Luc. Say on; and, if it please me which thou speak'st, Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure thee, Lucius, "Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak: For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, Acts of black night, abominable deeds, Complots of mischief, treason; villanies Ruthful to hear, vet piteously perform'd: And this shall all be buried by my death, Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. Luc. Tell on thy mind; I say, thy child shall live. Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin. Luc. Who should I swear by? thou believ'st no god; That granted, how canst thou believe an oath? Aar. What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not: Yet, for I know thou art religious, And hast a thing within thee, called conscience; With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, Which I have seen thee careful to observe,-- Therefore I urge thy oath ;-For that, I know, An idiot holds his bauble for a god, And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears; To that I'll urge him :-Therefore, thou shalt vow By that same god, what god soe'er it be, That thou ador'st and hast in reverence,- To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up; Or else I will discover nought to thee. Luc. Even by my god, I swear to thee, I will. dar. First, know thou, I begot him on the em- press. Luc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman! Aar. Tut, Lucius? this was but a deed of charity, Te that which thou shalt hear of me anon. Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus: They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, And cut her hands; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st. Luc. O, detéstable villain! call'st thou that trim- ming? Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd; and 'twas Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 1 Alluding to the proverb, A black man is a pearl in a fair woman's eye.' Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, That both mine eyes were rainy like to his, And when I told the empress of this sport, She swounded almost at my pleasing tale, And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses. Goth. What! canst thou say all this, and never blush? Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more, Even now I curse the day (and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse,) Wherein I did not some notorious ill: As kill a man, or else devise his death; Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself: Set deadly enmity between two friends; Make poor men's cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and haystacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead. Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things, As willingly as one would kill a fly; And nothing grieves me heartily indeed, But that I cannot do ten thousand more. Luc. Bring down the devil; for he must not die So sweet a death, as hanging presently. Aar. If there be devils, would I were a devil, To live and burn in everlasting fire; So I might have your company in hell, But to torment you with my bitter tongue! Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let nim speak no more. Enter a Goth. Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, Desires to be admitted to your presence. Luc. Let him come near.- Enter Emilius. Welcome, Æmilius, what's the news from Rome? Emil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, The Roman emperor greets you all by me: And, for he understands you are in arms, He craves a parley at your father's house; Willing you to demand your hostages, And they shall be immediately deliver'd. i Goth. What says our general? Luc. Æmilius, let the emperor give his pledges Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 794 ACT V TITUS ANDRONICUS. [Exeunt. And we will come.-March away.' SCENE II.-Rome. Before Titus's house. ter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, disguised. Tam. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, I will encounter with Andronicus; And say, I am Revenge, sent from below, To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; Tell him, Revenge is come to join with him, And work confusion on his enemies. Enter Titus, above. Tit. Good lord, how like the erpress' sons they are! En-And you, the empress! But we worldly men Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee: And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, I will embrace thee in it by and by. [They knock. Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? Is it your trick, to make me ope the door; That so my sad decrees may fly away, And all my study be to no effect? You are deceiv'd: for what I mean to do, See here, in bloody lines I have set down; And what is written shall be executed. Tam. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. Tit. No; not a word: How can I grace my talk, Wanting a hand to give it action? Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more. Tam. If thou didst know me, thou would'st talk with me. Tit. I am not mad; I know thee well enough: Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines; Witness these trenches, made by grief and care; Witness the tiring day, and heavy night; Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: Is not thy coming for my other hand? Tam. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; She is thy enemy, and I thy friend: I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom, To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. Come down, and welcome me to this world's light: Confer with me of murder and of death; There's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, No vast obscurity, or misty vale, Where bloody murder, or detested rape, Can couch for fear, but I will find them out; And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. Tit. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me, To be a torment to mine enemies? Tam. I am; therefore come down, and welcome me. Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stand; Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, Stab them, or tear them on the chariot wheels; And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner, And whirl along with thee about the globes. Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet, To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, And find out murderers in their guilty caves: And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel Trot, like a servile footman, all day long; Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, Until his very downfall in the sea. And day by day I'll do this heavy task, So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. Tam. These are my ministers, and come with me. Tit. Are they thy ministers? what are they call'd? Tum. Rapine and murder; therefore called so. 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 1 Perhaps this is a stage-direction, crept into the text. [Exit Titus, from above. Tam. This closing with him fits his lunacy : Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits, Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches. For now he firmly takes me for Revenge And, being credulous in this mad thought, I'll make him send for Lucius, his son; And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, I'll find some cunning practice out of hand, To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, Or, at the least, make them his enemies. See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. Enter Titus. Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee: Welcome, dread fury, to my woful house;- Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too:- How like the empress and her sons you are! Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor:- Could not all hell afford you such a devil?- For, well I wot, the empress never wags, But in her company there is a Moor; And, would you represent our queen aright, It were convenient you had such a devil: But welcome, as you are. What shall we do? Tam. What would'st thou have us do, Androni- cus? Dem. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape, And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. Tam. Show me a thousand, that hath done thee wrong, And I will be revenged on them all. Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome; And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer.- Go thou with him: and when it is thy hap, To find another that is like to thee, Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher.- Go thou with them; and in the emperor's court There is a queen, attended by a Moor; Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportion For up and down she doth resemble thee; I pray thee, do on them some violent death, They have been violent to me and mine. Tam. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. But would it please thee, good Andronicus, To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son, Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, And bid him come and banquet at thy house: When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, I will bring in the empress, and her sons, The emperor himself, and all thy foes; And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. What savs Andronicus to this device? Tit. Marcus, my brother!-'tis sad Titus calls. Enter Marcus. Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths: Bid him repair to me, and bring with him Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are: Tell him, the emperor and the empress too Feast at my house: and he shall feast with them. SCENE III. 795 TITUS ANDRONICUS. This do thou for my love; and so let him, As he regards his aged father's life. Mar. This will I do, and soon return again. Tam. Now will I hence about thy business, And take my ministers along with me. [Exit. Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me; Or else I'll call my brother back again, And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold The bason, that receives your guilty blood. You know, your mother means to feast with me, And calls herself, Revenge, and thinks me mad,- Hark, villains; I will grind your bones to dust. And with your blood and it, I'll make a paste, And of the paste a coffin' I will rear, And make two pasties of your shameful heads; And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, Tam. What say you, boys? will you abide, with Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. him, Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor, How I have govern'd our determin'd jest? Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair, And tarry with him, till I come again. [Aside. Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me mad; And will o'er-reach them in their own devices, A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside. Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. Tam, Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exit Tam. Tit. I know, thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell. Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.- Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine! Enter Publius, and others. Pub. What's your will? Tit. Pub. Know you these two? Th'empress' sons, I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. Tit. Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much de- ceiv'd; The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name: And therefore bind them, gentle Publius: Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them: Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, And now I find it; therefore bind them sure; And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. [Exit Titus.-Publius, &c. lay hold on Chiron and Demetrius. Chi. Villains, forbear; we are the empress' sons. Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- manded.- Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word: Is he sure bound? look, that you bind them fast. Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia; she bear- ing a bason, and he a knife. Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound;- Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me; But let them hear what fearful words I utter.- O villains, Chiron and Demetrius !/ Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud; This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. You kill'd her husband; and, for that vile fault, Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death: My hand cut off, and made a merry jest: Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more dear Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. What would you say, if I should let you speak? Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. This one hand yet is left to cut your throats; 1 Crust of a raised pye. This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd: And now prepare your throats.-Lavinia, come, [He cuts their throats Receive the blood: and, when that they are dead, Let me go grind their bones to powder small, And with this hateful liquor temper it; And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. Come, come, be every one officious To make this banquet; which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook, And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. [Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies. SCENE III.-The same. A pavilion, with tables, &c. Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with Aaron, prisoner. Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, That I repair to Rome, I am content. 1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what for- tune will. Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; Moor, Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, Till he be brought unto the empress' face, For testimony of her foul proceedings: And see the ambush of our friends be strong; I fear, the emperor means no good to us. Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth The venomous malice of my swelling heart! Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave!- Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.- [Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish. The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with Tribunes, Senators, and others. Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? Luc, What boots2 it then to call thyself a sun? Mar. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle : These quarrels must be quietly debated. The feast is ready, which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome; Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places. Sat. Marcus, we will. [Hautboys sound. The company sit down at table. Enter Titus dressed like a cook. Lavinia veiled, young Lucius, and others. Titus places the dishes on the table. Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord: welcome, dread queen; 2 Advantage, benefit. 3 i. e. Begin the parley. 796 ACT V. TITUS ANDRONICUS. Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; And welcome, all; although the cheer be poor, "Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus ? Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, To entertain your highness, and your empress. Tam. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus. Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. My lord the emperor, resolve me this; Was it well done of rash Virginius, To slay his daughter with his own right hand, Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd? Sat. It was, Andronicus. Tit. Your reason, mighty lord? Sat. Because the girl should not survive shame, And by her presence still renew his sorrows. Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, For me, most wretched, to perform the like:- Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, Or who hath brought the fatal engine in, That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.- My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel; Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, But floods of tears will drown my oratory, And break my very utterance; even i'the time When it should move you to attend me most, Lending your kind commiseration: Here is a captain, let him tell the tale; Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, That cursed Chiron and Demetrius Were they that murdered our emperor's brother; And they it were that ravished our sister: her For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded; Our father's tears despis'd; and basely cozen'd Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out, And sent her enemies unto the grave. Lastly, myself unkindly banished, [He kills Lavinia. And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die! Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind? Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind. I am as woful as Virginius was: And have a thousand times more cause than he To do this outrage;-and it is now done. Sat. What, was she ravish'd? tell, who did the deed. Tit. Will't please you eat; will't please your highness feed? Tum. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? Tit. Not I; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius: They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that rve; Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 'Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's sharp point. [Killing Tamora. Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. [Killing Titus. Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. [Kills Saturninus. A great tumult. The people in confusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius, and their partisans, ascend the steps fore Titus's house. Mar. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons Rome, By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, O, let me teach you how to knit again This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf. These broken limbs again into one body. be- of Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away, Do shameful execution on herself. But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, Grave witnesses of true experience, Cannot induce you to attend my words,- Speak, Rome's dear friend; [To Lucius.] as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, fo love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, The story of that baleful burning night, The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, To beg relief among Rome's enemies; Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend: And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you, That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood; And from her bosom took the enemy's point, Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. Alas! you know, I am no vaunter, I; My scars can witness, dumb although they are, That my report is just, and full of truth. But, soft; methinks, I do digress too much, Citing my worthless praise: O, pardon me; For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. Mar. Now is my turn to speak; Behold this child, [Pointing to the child in the arms of an Attendant. Of this was Tamora delivered; The issue of an irreligious Moor, Chief architect and plotter of these woes: The villain is alive in Titus' house, Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, Or more than any living man could bear. Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Ro- mans? Have we done aught amiss? Shew us wherein, And, from the place where you behold us now, The poor remainder of Andronici Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, And make a mutual closure of our house. Speak, Romans, speak; and, if you say, we shall, Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. Emil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, Lucius our emperor; for, well I know, The common voice do cry, it shall be so. Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail; Rome's royal emperor! Lucius, &c. descend. Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house; To an Attendant. And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, As punishment for his most wicked life. Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail; Rome's gracious governor! Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans; May I govern so To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her wo' When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy, But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,- SCENE III 797 TITUS ANDRONICUS. For nature puts me to a heavy task;- Stand all aloof:-but, uncle, draw you near, To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk:- O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, Kisses Titus. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, The last true duties of thy noble son! Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips: O, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and earn of us To melt in showers: Thy grandsire lov'd thee well: Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy; In that respect then, like a loving child, There let him stand, and rave and er or food: If any one relieves or pities him, For the offence he dies. This is our doom: Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fur dumb? I am no baby, I, that, with base prayers, I should repent the evils I have done; Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did, Would I perform, if I might have my will; If one good deed in all my life I did, I do repent it from my very soul. Luc. Some loving friends convey the empero hence, And give him burial in his father's grave: My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith Be closed in our household's monument. As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, Because kind nature doth require it so: Friends should associate friends in grief and wo: Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. Boy. O grandsire, grandsire! even with all my By whom our heavy haps had their beginning. heart Would I were dead, so you did live again!- O lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. Enter Attendants, with Aaron. No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, No mournful bell shall ring her burial; But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey: Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity; And, being so, shall have like want of pity. See justice done to Aaron, that darnn'd Moor, Then, afterwards, to order well the state; That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt 1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes; All the editors and critics agree in supposing Give sentence on this execrable wretch, That hath been breeder of these dire events. Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him. 51 this play spurious. I see no reason for differing from them; for the colour of the style is wholly different from that of the other plays. JOHNSON. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Antiochus, king of Antioch. Pericles, prince of Tyre. Helicanus, two lords of Tyre. Escanes, } Simonides, king of Pentapolis. Cleon, governor of Tharsus. Lysimachus, governor of Mitylene. Cerimon, a lord of Ephesus. Thaliard, a lord of Antioch. Philemon, servant to Cerimon. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Leonine, servant to Dionyza. Marshal. A Pandar, and his Wife. Boult, their servant. Gower, as chorus. The Daughter of Antiochus. Dionyza, wife to Cleon. Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. Lychorida, nurse to Marina. Diana. Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pi rates, Fishermen, and Messengers, &c. Scene, dispersedly in various countries.¹ (1) That the reader may know through how many regions the scene of this drama is dispersed, it is necessary to observe, that Antioch was the metropolis of Syria; Tyre a city of Phoenicia, in Asia; Tarsus, the metropolis of Cilicia, a country of Asia Minor; Mitylene, the capitol of Lesbos, an island in the Egean sea; and Ephesus, the capitol of Ionia, a country of the Lesser Asia. Enter Gower. ACT I. Before the palace of Antioch. To sing a song of old was sung, From ashes ancient Gower is come; Assuming man's infirmities, To glad your ear, and please your eyes. It hath been sung at festivals, On ember-eyes, and holy ales; And lords and ladies of their lives Have read it for restoratives: 'Purpose to make men giorious; Et quo antiquius, eo melius. If you, born in these latter times, When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes And that to hear an old man sing, May to your wishes pleasure bring, I life would wish, and that I might Waste it for you, like taper-light.- This city then, Antioch the great Built up for his chiefest seat; The fairest in all Syria; (I tell you what mine authors say :) This king unto him took a pheere,4 Who died and left a female heir, So buxom, blithe, and full of face, As heaven had lent her all his grace; With whom the father liking took, And her to incest did provoke: Bad father! to entice his own To evil, should be done by none. By custom, what they did begin, Was, with long use, accounts no sin. 1 Chorus, in the character of Gower, an an- cient English poet, who has related the story of this play in his Confessio Amantis. The beauty of this sinful dame Made many princes thither frame, To seek her as a bed-fellow, In marriage-pleasures play-fellow. Which to prevent, he made a law (To keep her still, and men in awe,) That whoso ask'd her for his wife, His riddle told not, lost his life: So for her many a wight did die, As yon grim looks do testify." What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit. SCENE I-Antioch. A room in the palace. Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large receiv'd The danger of the task you undertake. Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, Think death no hazard, in this enterprize. [Music. Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, For the embracements even of Jove himself; At whose conception (till Lucina reign'd,) Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, The senate-house of planets all did sit, To knit in her their best perfections. Enter the Daughter of Anticchus. Per. See, where she comes, apparell'd like the spring, Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king Of every virtue gives renown to men! Her face, the book of praises, where is read Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 5 Accounted. 6 Pointing to the scene of the palace gate at 2 i. e. That of old. 3 Whitsun-ales, &c. Antioch, on which the heads of those unfortunate 4 Wife, the word signifies a mate or companion. I wights were fixed. SCENE L 799 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath Could never be her mild companion. Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, That have inflam'd desire in my breast, To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, Or die in the adventure, be my helps, As I am son and servant to your will, To compass such a boundless happiness! Ant. Prince Pericles,- Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd; For death-like dragons here affright thee hard: Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view A countless glory, which desert must gain: And which, without desert, because thine eye Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire, Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance pale, That, without covering, save yon field of stars, They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist, For going on death's act, whom none resist. Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught My frail mortality to know itself, And by those fearful objects to prepare This body, like to them, to what I must: For death remember'd, should be like a mirror, Who tells us, life's but breath; to trust it, error. I'll make my will then; and as sick men do, Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling wo, Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did; So I bequeath a happy peace to you, And all good men, as every prince should do; My riches to the earth, from whence they came; But my unspotted fire of love to you. [To the Daughter of Antiochus. Thus ready for the way of life or death, I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, Scorning advice. Art. Read the conclusion then; Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed, As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. Daugh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- perous! In all, save that, I wish thee happiness! Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lists, Nor ask advice of any other thought But faithfulness, and courage. [He reads the riddle.] I am no viper, yet I feed On mother's flesh, which did me breed: I sought a husband, in which labour, I found that kindness in a father. He's father, son, and husband mild, I mother, wife, and yet his child. How they may be, and yet in two, As you will live, resolve it you. Sharp physic is the last: but O you powers! That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts, Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, [Takes hold of the hand of the princess. Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill: But I must tell you,-now, my thoughts revolt; For he's no man on whom perfections wait, That knowing sin within, will touch the gate. You're a fair viol, and your sense the stings: Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music, Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken; But, being play'd upon before your time, Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime: Good sooth, I care not for you. Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, For that's an article within our law, As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd; Either expound now, or receive your sentence. Per. Great king, Few love to hear the sins they love to act; 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. Who has a book of all that monarchs do, He's more secure to keep it shut, than shown; For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind," Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself; And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear: To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts Copp'd' hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is wrong'd By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't. Kings are earth's gods: in vice their law's their will; And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill? It is enough you know; and it is fit, What being more known grows worse, to smother is All love the womb that their first beings bred, Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found the meaning;- But I will gloze2 with him. [Aside.] Young prince of Tyre, Though by the tenor of our strict edíct, Your exposition misinterpreting, We might proceed to cancel of your days;" Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise: Forty days longer we do respite you; If by which time our secret be undone, This mercy shows, we'll joy in such a son: And until then, your entertain shall be, As doth befit our honour, and your worth. [Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, and Attend. Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin! When what is done is like a hypocrite, The which is good in nothing but in sight. If it be true that I interpret false, Then were it certain, you were not so bad, As with foul incest to abuse your soul; Where now you're both a father and a son, By your untimely claspings with your child (Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father ;) And she an eater of her mother's flesh, By the defiling of her parent's bed; And both like serpents are, who though they feet On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed." Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men Blush not in actions blacker than the night, Will shun no course to keep them from the light. One sin, I know, another doth provoke ; Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. Poison and treason are the hands of sin, Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame: Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Ext. Re-enter Antiochus. Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which we mean 1 Rising to a top or head. 2 Flatter, insinuate. 3 To the destruction of your life. 4 Whereas, 800 ACT I. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. To have his head. He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin In such a loathed manner: And therefore instantly this prince must die; For by his fall my honour must keep high. Who attends on us there? Thal. Enter Thaliard. Doth your highness call? Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our mind Partakes her private actions to your secresy; And for your faithfulness we will advance you. Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold; We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him; It fits thee rot to ask the reason why, Because we bid it. Say, is it done? Thal, "Tis done. Enter a Messenger. Ant. Enough; My lord, Lest your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit Messenger. As thou Ant. Wilt live, fly after: and, as an arrow, shot From a well-experienc'd archer, hits the mark His eye doth level at, so ne'er return, Unless thou say, prince Pericles is dead. Thal. My lord, If I Can get him once within my pistol's length, I'll make him sure: so farewell to your highness. [Exit. Ant. Thaliard, adieu! till Pericles be dead, My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. SCENE II.-Tyre. A room in the palace. Enter Pericles, Helicanus, and other Lords. Per. Let none disturb us: Why this charge of thoughts? The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, By me so us'd a guest is, not an hour, In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night (The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed me quiet! Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them, And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here: Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. Then it is thus: the passions of the mind, That have their first conception by mis-dread, Have after-nourishment and life by care; And what was first but fear what might be done, Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. And so with me;-the great Antiochus ('Gainst whom I am too little to contend, Since he's so great, can make his will his act,) Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence; Nor boots it me to say, I honour him, If he suspect I may dishonour him: And what may make him blush in being known, He'll stop the course by which it might be known; With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land, And with the ostent of war will look so huge, Amazement shall drive courage from the state; Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist, And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought offence: Which care of them, not pity of myself (Who am no more but as the tops of trees, Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend them,) Makes both my body pine, and soul to lauguish, And punish that before, that he would punish. 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast! 2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us, Peaceful and comfortable! Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience tongue. They do abuse the king, that flatter him. The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; To which that breath gives heat and stronger glow ing; Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order, When signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. He flatters you, makes war upon your life: Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please; I cannot be much lower than my knees. Per. All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook What shipping, and what lading's in our haven, And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Helicanus, thou Hast moved us: what see'st thou in our looks? Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, How durst thy tongue move anger to our face? Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence They have their nourishment? Per. To take thy life. Thou know'st I have power Hel. [Kneeling.] I have ground the axe myself; Do you but strike the blow. Per. Rise, pr'ythee, rise; Sit down, sit down; thou art no flatterer: I thank thee for it; and high heaven forbid, That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid! Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, What would'st thou have me do? Hel. With patience bear Such griefs as you do lay upon yourself. Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus; Who minister'st a potion unto me, That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself. Attend me then: I went to Antioch, Where, as thou know'st, against the face of death I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, From whence an issue I might propagate, Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys. Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder; The rest (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest; Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father Seem'd not to strike but smooth: but thou know'st this, 'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss, Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled; Under the covering of a careful night, Who seem'd my good protector; and being here, Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. I knew him tyrannous: and tyrants' fears Decrease not, but grow faster than their years. And should he doubt it (as no doubt he doth,) That I should open to the listening ear, How many worthy princes' blood were shed, To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,- To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, And make pretence of wrong that I have done him, When all for mine, if I may call't offence, Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence, Which love to all (of which thyself art one, Who now reprov'st me for it)-- SCENE III, IV. 801 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Hel. Alas, sir! Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks, Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts How I might stop this tempest, ere it came; And finding little comfort to relieve them, I thought it princely charity to grieve them. Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak, Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear, And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, Who either by public war, or private treason, Will take away your life. Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, Till that his rage and anger be forgot, Or destinies do cut his thread of life. Your rule direct to any; if to me, Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be. Per. I do not doubt thy faith; But could he wrong my liberties in absence- Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth, From whence we had our being and our birth. Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tharsus Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee; And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. The care I had and have of subjects' good, On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both: But in our obs¹ we'll live so round and safe, That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,2 Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Tyre. An ante-chamber in the palace. Enter Thaliard. Thal. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here must I kill king Pericles; and, if I do not, I um sure to be hang'd at home: 'tis dangerous. Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets. Now do I see he had some reason for it: for if a king bid a man be a villian, he is bound by the indenture of his oath to be one.-Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords. Hel. You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, Further to question of your king's departure. His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, Doth speak sufficiently, he's gone to travel. Thal. How! the king gone! Aside. Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied, Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, He would depart, I'll give some light unto you. Being at Antioch- Thal. What from Antioch? [Aside. Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not,) Took some displeasure at him; at least he judg'd so: And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, To show his sorrow, would correct himself; So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, With whom each minute threatens life or death. Thal. Well, I perceive [Aside. I shall not be hang'd now, although I would; But since he's gone, the king it sure must please, He 'scaped the land, to perish on the seas. But I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre! 1 In our different spheres. 2 Overcome. 3 To jet is to strut, to walk proudly. Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. Thal. From him I come With message unto princely Pericles: But, since my landing, as I have understood Your lord has took himself to unknown travels, My message must return from whence it came. Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since Commended to our master, not to us: Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,- As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Tharsus. A room in the Gov- ernor's house. Enter Cleon, Dicnyza, and At- tendants. Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, And by relating tales of others' griefs, See if 'twill teach us to forget our own? Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench it; For who digs hills because they do aspire, Throws down one mountain, to cast up a higher, O my distressed lord, even such our griefs; Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes, But like to groves, being tepp'd, they higher rise. Cle. O Dionyza, Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish? Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes Into the air: our eyes do weep, till lungs Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; that If heaven slumber, while their creatures want, They may awake their helps to comfort them. I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears Dio. I'll do my best, sir. Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government (A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets; Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the clouds, And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd, Like one another's glass to trim them by: Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, And not so much to feed on, as delight; All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, The name of help grew odious to repeat. Dio. O, 'tis too true.. Cle. But see what heaven can do! By this om change. These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air Were all too little to content and please, Although they gave their creatures in abundance, As houses are defil'd for want of use, They are now starv'd for want of exercise: Those palates, who, not yet two summers younger Must have inventions to delight the taste, Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it; Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, Thought nought too curious, are ready now, To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life: Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; Here many sink, vet those which see them fall, Have scarce strength .eft to give them buri-1. Is not this true? Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. Cle. O, let those cities, that of Plenty's cup And her prosperities so largely taste, With their superfluous riots, hear these ears! 4 To dress them by. 5 Nurse fondly. 802 ACT 11. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. Enter a Lord. Lord. Where's the lord governor? Cle. Here. Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste, For comfort is too far for us to expect. Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore, A portly sail of ships make hitherward. Cle. I thought as much, One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir, That may succeed as his inheriter; And so in ours: some neighbouring nation, Taking advantage of our misery, Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power,1 To beat us down, the which are down already; And make a conquest of unhappy me, Whereas no glory's got to overcome. Lord. That's the least fear; for, by the semblance Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace, And come to us as favourers, not as foes. Cle. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat, Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. But bring they what they will, what need we fear? The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there. Go tell their general we attend him here, To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, And what he craves. Lord. I go my lord.. [Exit. Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist;" If wars, we are unable to resist. Enter Pericles, with Attendants. Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, Let not our ships and number of our men. Be, like a beacon fir'd to amaze your eyes. We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, And seen the des lation of your streets: Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, But to relieve them of their heavy load; And these our ships you happily may think Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuff'd within, With bloody views, expecting overthrow, Are stor'd with corn, to make your needy bread, And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half dead. All. The gods of Greece protect you! And we'll pray for you. Per. Rise, I pray you, rise; We do not look for reverence, but for love, And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men. Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, The curse of Heaven and men succeed their evils! Till when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen,) Your grace is welcome to our town and us. Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast here a while, Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. ACT II. Enter Gower. [Exe. Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king His child, I wis, to incest bring; A better prince, and benign lord, 1 Forces. 3 Perhaps. 2 If he stands or peace. 4 Know. Prove awful th in deed and word Be quiet then, as men should be Till he hath pass'd necessity. I'll show you those in trouble's reign, Losing a mite, a mountain gain. The good in conversation' (To whom I give my benizon,") Is still at Tharsus, where each man Thinks all is writ he spoken can: And, to remember what he does, Gild his statue glorious: But tidings to the contrary Are brought your eyes; what need speak i? Dumb show. Enter at one door Pericles, talking with Cleon; all the train with them. Enter a. another door, a Gentleman with a letter to Peri- cles; Pericles shows the letter to Cleon; then gives the Messenger a reward, and knights him. Exeunt Pericles, Cleon, &c. severally. Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home, Not to eat honey, like a drone, From others' labours; forth he strive To killen bad, keep good alive; And, to fulfil his prince' desire, Sends word of all that haps in Tyre: How Thaliard came full bent with sin, And hid intent, to murder him; And that in Tharsus was not best Longer for him to make his rest: He knowing so, put forth to seas, Where when men been, there's seldom ease; For now the wind begins to blow; Thunder above, and deeps below, Make such unquiet, that the ship Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split; And he, good prinee, having all lost, By waves from coast to coast is tost: All perishen of man, of pelf, Ne aught escapen but himself; Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad, Threw him ashore, to give him glad: And here he comes: what shall be next, Pardon old Gower: this long's the text. [Exe. SCENE I.-Pentapolis. An open place by the sea-side. Enter Pericles, wet. Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven! Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man Is but a substance tha Lust yield to you; And I, as fits my nature, do obey you; Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath Nothing to think on, but ensuing death: Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes; And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. Enter three Fishermen. 1 Fish What, ho, Pilche! 1 2 Fish. Ho! come, and bring away the nets. 1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say! 3 Fish. What say you, master? 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll fetch thee with a wannion. 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I'm thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us, even now. 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help our- selves. 5 i. e. Conduct, behaviour. 6 Blessing. SCENE I. 803 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen. Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their labour! 3 Fish. Nay, inaster, said not I as much, when draw up the net. I saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled? they say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on them, they ne'er come, but I look to be wash'd. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land: the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich mi- sers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping, till they've swallow'd the whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all. Per. A pretty moral. 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry. 2 Fish. Why, man? 3 Fish. Because he should have swallow'd me too: and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good king Simonides were of my mind- Per. Simonides! 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey. Per. How from the finny subject of the sea These fishers tell the infirmities of men; And from their wat'ry empire recollect All that may men approve, or men detect! Peace be to your labour, honest fishermen. 2 Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's that? if it be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and nobody will look after it. Per. Nav, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast- 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast thee in our way! Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball For them to play upon, entreats you pity him; He asks of you, that never us'd to beg. 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them in our country of Greece, gets more with begging, than we can do with working. 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes then? Per. I never practis'd it. 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure; for here's nothing to be got now a-days, unless thou canst fish for't. Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know; But what I am, want teaches me to think on; A man shrunk up with cold: my veins are chill, And have no more of life, than may suffice To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help; Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead, For I am a man, pray see me buried. 1 Fish. Die, quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here; come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks, and thou shalt be welcome. Per. I thank you, sir. 1 Fish. Hark you, sir; do you know where you are ? Per. Not well. 1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called Pentapo- lis, and our king, the good Simonides. Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him? 1 Fish. Ay, sir; and he deserves to be so call'd, for his peaceable reign, and good government. Per. He is a happy king, since trom his subjects He gains the name of good, by his government. How far is his court distant from this shore? 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey; and I'll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her birth-day: and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world, to just and tour- nev2 for her love. Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, I'd wish to make one there. 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for his wife's soul. Re-enter the two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 2 Fish. Help, master, help; here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly come out. Ha! bcts on't, 'tis come at last, and 'tis turn'd to a rasty armour. Per. An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it. Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses, Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself; And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage Which my dead father did bequeath to me, With this strict charge (even as he left his life,) Keep it, my Pericies, it hath been a shield 'Twixt me and death (and pointed to this brace :3) For that it s'd me, keep it; in like necessity, Which gods protect thee from! it may defend thee, It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it; Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, Took it in rage, though, calm'd, they give't again; I thank thee for't; my shipwreck's now no ill, Since I have here my father's gift by will. 1 Frsh. What mean you, sir? Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth, For it was sometime target to a king; I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly, And for his sake, I wish the having of it; And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court, Where with't I may appear a gentleman; And if that ever my low fortunes better, I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest your debtor. 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? Per. I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms. 1 Fish. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give thee good on't! 2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we that made up this garment through the rough seama of the waters: there are certain condolements, 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could certain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll re- not beg. Per. I did but crave. 2 Fish. But crave? Then I'll turn craver too. and so I shall 'scape whipping. member from whence you had it. Per. Believe't, I will. Now, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel; And spite of all the rupture of the sea, Per. Why, are all your beggars whipp'd, then? This jewel holds his bidding on my arm; 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all Unto the value will I mount myself your beggars were whipp'd, I would wish no bet-Upon a courser, whose delightful steps ter office, than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.- 1 Pancakes. 2 To tilt, mock-fight. 3 Armour for the arm. 4 Keeping. 804 ACT II. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided Of a pair of bases.¹ Fish. We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself. Per. Then honour be but a gaol to my will, This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A public way, or plat- form, leading to the lists. A pavilion by the side of it, for the reception of the King, Princess, Lords, &c. Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords and Attendants. Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 1 Lord. They are, my liege; And stay your coming to present themselves. Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our daughter, In honour of whose birth these triumphs are, Sits here, like heauty's child, whom nature gat For me to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit a Lord. Thai. It pleaseth you, my father, to express My commendations great, whose merit's less. Sim. 'Tis fit it should be so; for princes are A model, which heaven makes like to itself: As jewels lose their glory, if neglected, So princes their renown, if not respected. "Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain The labour or each knight, in his device." The motto, In hac spe vivo. From the dejected state wherein he is, Sim. A pretty moral; He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his cut ward show Can any way speak in his just commend: For, by his rusty outside, he appears To have practis'd more the whipstock," than the lance. 2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished. 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust, Until this day, to scour it in the dust. Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan The outward habit by the inward man. But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw Into the gallery. [Exeunt. [Great shouts, and all cry, The mean knight! SCENE III.-The same. A hall of state.-A ban- quet prepared. Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords Knights, and Attendants. Sim. Knights, To say you are welcome, were superfluous. To place upon the volume of your deeds, As in a title-page, your worth in arms, Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, Since every worth in show commends itself. Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast: Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll per- You are my guests. form. Enter a Knight; he passes over the stage, and his Squire presents his shield to the Princess. Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer4 himself? Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; And the device he bears upon his shield Is a black Æthiop, reaching at the sun; The word, Lux tua vita mihi. Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. [The second Knight passes. Who is the second, that presents himself? Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father; And the device he bears upon his shield fuerça. Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady: The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulçura que per [The third Knight passes. Sim. And what's the third? Thai. The third, of Antioch; And his device, a wreath of chivalry: The word, Me pompa provexit apex. [The fourth Knight passes. Sim. What is the fourth? Thai. A burning torch, that's turned upside down: The word, Quod me alit, me extinguit. Sim. Which shows that beauty hath his power and will, Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. The fifth Knight passes. Thai. The fifth, a hand environed with clouds; Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried; The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. [The sixth Knight passes. Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which the knight himself With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd? Thai. He seems a stranger; but his present is A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; 1 A kind of loose breeches. 2 i. e. Return them notice. 3 Emblem on a shield. 5 The motto. Thai. But you, my knight and guest: To whom this wreath of victory I give, And crown you king of this day's happiness. Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours; And here, I hope, is none that envies it, In framing artists, art hath thus decreed, To make some good, but others to exceed; And you're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'the feast (For, daughter so you are,) here take your plice: Marshal the rest as they deserve their grace. Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simo- nides. Sim. Your presence glads our days; honour we love, For who hates honour, hates the gods above. Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. Per. Some other is more fit. 1 Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentle men, That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, Envy the great, nor do the low despise. Per. You are right courteous knights. Sim. Sit, sit, sir; Per. By Jove, I wonder that is king of thoughts, These cates resist me, she not thought upon. Thai. By Juno, that is queen Of marriage, all the viands that I eat Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat; Sure he s a gallant gentleman. Sim. A country gentleman: He's but He has done no more than other knights have done, Broken a staff or so; so let it pass. Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. Per. Yon king's to me, like to my father's pic- ture, 6 i. e. More by sweetness than by force. 7 Handle of a whip. 4 Offer. 8 i. e. These delicacies go against my stomach SCENE IV. 805 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Which tells me, in that glory once he was; Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, And he the sun, for them to reverence. None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, Did vail' their crown to his supremacy; Where now his soul's a glow-worm in the night, The which hath fire in darkness, none in light; Whereby I see that time's the king of men, For he's their parent, and he is their grave, And gives them what he will, not what they crave. Sim. What, are you merry, knights? 1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal pre- sence? Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim (As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,). We drink this health to you. Knights. We thank your grace. Sim. Yet pause a while; Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, As if the entertainment in our court Had not a show might countervail his worth. Note it not you, Thaisa? Thai. To me, my father? Sim What is it O, attend, my daughter; Princes, in this, should live like gods above, Who freely give to every one that comes To honour them: and princes, not doing so, Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd Are wonder'd at. Therefore to make's entrance more sweet, here say, We drink this standing bowl of wine to him. Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me, Unto a stranger knight to be so bold; He may my proffer take for an offence, Since men take women's gifts for impudence. Sim. How! Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me better. [Aside. Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know, Of whence he is, his name and parentage. Thai. The king, my father, sir, has drunk to you. Per. I thank him. Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely. Thai. And further he desires to know of you, Of whence you are, your name and parentage. Per. A gentleman of Tyre-(my name, Pericles; My education being in arts and arms;)- Who, looking for adventures in the world, Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles, A gentleman of Tyre, who only by Misfortune of the seas has been bereft Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore. Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune, And will awake him from his melancholy. Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles, And waste the time, which looks for other revels. Even in your armours, as you are address'd,2 Will very well become a soldier's dance. I will not have excuse, with saving, this Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads; Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. [The Knights dance. So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. Come, sit; 1 Lower. 2 Prepared for combat. 3 Dances. Here is a lady wants breathing too: And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre Are excellent in making ladies trip; And that their measures are as excellent. Per. In those that practice them they are, my lord. Sim. O, that's as much as you would be deny'd [The Knights and Ladies dance. Of your fair courtesy.-Unclasp, unclasp; Thanks, gentlemen, to all; All have done well, But you the best. [To Pericles.] Pages and lights, conduct These knights unto their several lodgings: Yours, sir, We have given orders to be next our own. Per. I am at your grace's picasure. Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love, For that's the mark I know you level at: Therefore each one betake him to his rest; To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exe. SCENE IV.-Tyre. A room in the Governor's house. Enter Helicanus and Escanes. Hel. No, no, my Escanes; know this of me,- Antiochus from incest liv'd not free; For which, the most high gods not minding longer To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, Due to this heinous, capital offence, Even in the height and pride of all his glory, When he was seated, and his daughter with him. In a chariot of inestimable value, A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk, That all those eyes ador'd them.4 ere their fall, Scorn now their hand should give them burial. Esca. 'Twas very strange. Hel. And yet but just; for though This king were great, his greatness was no guard To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. Esca "Tis very true. Enter three Lords. 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, Or council. has respect with him but he. 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without reproof. 3 Lord. Follow me then: Lord Helicane, a word. Hel. With me? and welcome: Happy day, my lords. 1 Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the top, And now at length they overflow their banks. Hel. Your griefs, for what? wrong not the prince you love. 1 Lord Wrong not yourself then, noble Helicane, But if the prince do live, let us salute him, Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. If in the world he live, we'll seek him out; If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there; And be resolv'd," he lives to govern us, Or dead, give cause to mourn his funeral, And leaves us to our free election. 2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest in our censure, And knowing this kingdom, if without a head, (Like goodly buildings left without a roof,) Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self, That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign, We thus submit unto,-our sovereign. All. Live, noble Helicane! Hel. Try honour's cause, forbear your suffrages; If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear. Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 4 Which adored them. 6 Judgment, opinion. 5 Satisfied. 806 ACT II. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. A twelvemonth longer, let me then entreat you To forbear choice i'the absence of your king; If in which time expir'd, he not return, I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. But if I cannot win you to this love; Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, And in your search spend your adventurous worth; Whom if you find, and win unto return, You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield; And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us, We with our travels will endeavour it. Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands; When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Pentapolis. A room in the palace. Enter Simonides, reading a letter, the Knights meet him. 1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you know, That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake A married life. Her reason to herself is only known, Which from herself by no means can I get. 2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? Sim. Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied her To her chamber, that it is impossible. One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery; This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, And on her virgin honour will not break it. 3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves. [Exeunt. Sim. So They're well despatch'd; now to my daughter's letter: She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight, Or never more to view nor day nor light. Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine; I like that well:-nay, how absolute she's in't, Not minding whether I dislike or no! Well, I commend her choice; And will no longer have it be delay'd. Soft, here he comes:-I must dissemble it. Enter Pericles. Per. All fortune to the good Simonides! Sim. To you as much, sir! I am beholden to you, For your sweet music this last night: my ears, I do protest, were never better fed With such delightful pleasing harmony. Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend; Not my desert. Sim. Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think, sir, of My daughter? Per. As of a most virtuous princess. Sim. And she is fair too, is she not? Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you; Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master, And she'll your scholar be; therefore, look to it. Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster. Sir, you are music's master. Sim. She thinks not so; peruse this writing else. Per. What's here! A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre? 1 Quenched. [Aside 'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. O, seek not to intrap, my gracious lord, A stranger and distressed gentleman, That never aim'd so high, to love your daughter, But bent all offices to honour her. Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and tho art A villain. Per. By the gods, I have not, sir. Never did thought of mine levy offence; Nor never did my actions yet commence A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. Sim. Traitor, thou liest. Per. Sim. Traitor! Ay, traitor, sir. Per. Even in his throat (unless it be the king, That calls me traitor, I return the lie. Sim. Now, by the gods, 1 do applaud his cour age. Aside. Per. My actions are as noble as ny thoughts That never relish'd of a base descent. I came unto your court, for honour's cause, And not to be a rebel to her state; And he that otherwise accounts of me, This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy. Sim. No!- Here comes my daughter, she can witness it. Enter Thaisa. Resolve your angry father, if my tongue Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair. Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe To any syllable that made love to you? Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, Who takes offence at that would make me glad? Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ?- I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside.] I'll tame you; Will you, not having my consent, bestow I'll bring you in subjection.- Your love and your affections on a stranger? (Who, for aught I know to the contrary, Or think, may be as great in blood as I) Hear, therefore, mistress: frame your will to mine,- And you, sir, hear you.-Either be rul'd by me, Or I will make you-man and wife.- [Aside. Nay, come; your hands and lips mus. seal it too. And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy;- And for a further grief,-God give you joy! What, are you both pleas'd? Thai. Yes, if you love me, Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it Sim. What, are you both agreed? Both. sir. Yes, 'please your majesty Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed, Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. ACT III. Enter Gower. [Exeunt Gow. Now sleep yslaked' hath the rout, No din but snores, the house about, Made louder by the o'er-fed breast Of this most pompous marriage-feast. The cat, with eyne of burning coal, Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole; And crickets sing at the oven's mouth, As the blither for their drouth. Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, Where, by the loss of maidenhead, A babe is moulded;-Be attent, SCENE I. 807 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. And time that is so briefly spent, With your fine fancies quaintly eche;' What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech. Dumb show. Having call'd them from the deep! O still thy deaf'ning, Thy dreadful thunders; gently quench thy nimble. Sulphureous flashes!-O how, Lychorida, How does my queen ?-Thou storm, thou! venom ously 10 Enter Pericles and Simonides at one door, with Attendants; a Messenger meets him, kneels, and Wilt thou spit all thyself?-The seaman's whistle gives Pericles a letter. Pericles shows it to Simon- Is as a whisper in the ears of death, ides; the Lords kneel to the former. Then enter Unheard.-Lychorida!-Lucina," O Thaisa with child, and Lychorida. Simonides Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle shows his daughter the letter; she rejoices: she To those that cry by night, convey thy deity and Pericles take leave of her father, and depart. Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs Then Simonides, &c. retire. Of my queen's travails!-Now, Lychorida-- Gow. By many a dearn2 and painful perch,3 Of Pericles the careful search, By the four opposing coignes,4 Which the world together joins, Is made, with all due diligence, That horse, and sail, and high expense, Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre (Fame answering the most strong inquire,) To the court of king Simonides Are letters brought; the tener these: Antiochus and his daughter's dead; The men of Tyris, on the head Of Helicanus would set on The crown of Tyre, but he will none: The mutiny there he hastes t'appease : Says to them, if king Pericles Come not, in twice six moons, home, He obedient to their doom, Will take the crown. The sum of this, Brought hither to Pentapolis, Y-ravished the regions round, And every one with claps 'gan sound, Our heir apparent is a king; Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing! Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre: His queen, with child, makes her desire (Which who shall cross?) along to go; (Omit we all their dole and wo;) Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, And so to sea. Their vessel shakes On Neptune's billow; half the flood Hath their keel cut; but fortune's moods Varies again; the grizzled north Disgorges such a tempest forth, That, as a duck for life that dives, So up and down the poor ship drives The lady shrieks, and. well-a-near! Doth fall in travail with her fear: And what ensues in this fell storm, Shall, for itself, itself perform. I nill relate; action may Conveniently the rest convey: Which might not what by me is told. In your imagination hold This stage, the ship, upon whose deck The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Exit. SCENE I.-Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea. Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges, Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 1 Eke out. 2 Lonely. 3 A measure. 4 Corners. 5 Help, or assist the search. 6 Disposition. 7 An exclamation equivalent to well-a-day. 8 I shall not. 9 This wide expanse. 10 Maliciously. Enter Lychorida, with an infant. Lyc. Here is a thing Too young for such a place, who if it had Conceit¹2 would die as I am like to do. Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. Per. How! how, Lychorida!" Lyc. Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm. Here's all that is left living of your queen.- A little daughter; for the sake of it, Be manly, and take comfort. Per. O you gods! Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, And snatch them straight away? We, here below Recall not what we give, and therein may Vie honour13 with yourselves. Lyc. Even for this charge. Per. Patience, good sir, Now, mild may be thy life! For a more blust'rous birth had never babe: Quiet and gentle thy conditions! For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world, That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows' Thou hast as chiding14 a nativity, As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, To herald thee from the womb: even at the first, Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,15 With all thou canst find here.-Now the good gods Throw their best eyes upon it! Enter two Sailors. 1 Sail. What courage, sir? God save you. Per. Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;16 It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, I would, it would be quiet. i Sail. Slack the bolins¹ there; thou wilt not, wilt thou? Blow, and split thyself. 2 Sail. But sea-room on the brine and cloudy billow kiss the moon, I care not. 1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard; the sea works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie, till the ship be cleared of the dead. Per. That's your superstition. 1 Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath been observed; and we are strong in earnest. Therefore briefly yield her; forshe must overboard straight. Per. Be it as you think meet. Most wretched queen! Lyc. Here she lies, sir. Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear, No light, no fire; the unfriendly elements Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 11 The goddess of child-bearing. 12 Thought 13 Contend with you in honour. 14 As noisy a one 15 Than thy entrance into life can requite. 16. Blast. 17 Bowlines, ropes of the sails, 808 ACT III PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze; Where, for a monument upon thy bones, And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale, And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper; My casket, and my jewels; and bid Nicander Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe Upon the pillow; hie thee, whiles I say A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. [Exit Lychorida. 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest heneath the hatches, caulk'd and bitum'd ready. Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say, what coast is this? 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. Per. Thither, gentle mariner, But immortality attends the former, Making a man a god. "Tis known, I ever Have studied physic, through which secret art, By turning o'er authorities, I have (Together with my practice,) made familiar To me and to my aid, the blest infusions That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; And I can speak of the disturbances That nature works, and of her cures; which gives me A more content in course of true delight Than to be thirsty after tottering honour, Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, To please the fool and death. 2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth Your charity, and hundreds call themselves Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it? Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd. 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. Per. O make for Tharsus. There will I visit Cleon, for the babe Cannot hold out to Tyrus; there I'll leave it At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner; I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's house. And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even Your purse, still open hath built lord Cerimon, Such strong renown as time shall never―― Enter two Servants with a chest. Serv. So; lift there. Cer. Serv. What is that? Sir, even now Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest ; Persons who have been shipwrecked. Cer. Philemon, ho! Enter Philemon. Phil. Doth my lord call? Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men; It has been a turbulent and stormy night, 'Tis of some wreck. Cer. Set 't down, let's look on it. 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. Cer. Whate'er it be, 'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight; If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold, It is a good constraint of fortune, that Serv. I have been in many; but such a night as It belches upon us. this, Till now I ne'er endur'd. Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return; There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary, And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and those who had been shipwrecked. Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Good-morrow, sir. 2 Gent. Good-morrow to your lordship. Cer. Why do you stir so early? 1 Gent. Sir, Gentlemen, Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, Shook, as the earth did quake; The very principals did seem to rend, And all to topple ;3 pure surprise and fear Made me to quit the house. 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early; "Tis not our husbandry." Cer. O, you say well. 1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, having Rich tire about you, should at these early hours Shake off the golden slumber of repose. It is most strange, Nature should be so conversant with pain, Being thereto not compell'd. Cer. I held it ever, Virtue and cunnings were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend; 1 Ever-burning. 2 The principals are the strongest rafters in the roof of a building. 2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitum'd!- Did the sea cast it up? Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, As toss'd it upon shore. Cer. Come, wrench it open; Soft, soft!-it smells most sweetly in my sense.. 2 Gent. A delicate odour. Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so,-up with it. O you most potent god! what's here? a corse? 1 Gent. Most strange! Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and treasur'd With bags of spices full! A passport too! Apollo, perfect me i'the characters! Here I give to understand, [Unfolds a scroll. [Reads (If e'er this coffin drive a-land,) I, king Pericles, have lost This queen, worth all our mundane" cost. Who finds her, give her burying, She was the daughter of a king: Besides this treasure for a fee, The gods requite his charity! If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart That even cracks for woe! This chanc'd to-night. 2 Gent. Most likely, sir. Cer. Nay, certainly to nht For look, how fresh she looks: They were o rough, That threw her in the sea, Make fire within; Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. Death may usurp on nature many hours, And yet the fire of life kindle again. 3 Tumble. 4 i. e. Economical prudence, early rising. Attire. 6 Knowledge. 7 Worldly. 5 SCENE III, IV. 809 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. The overpressed spirits. I have heard, Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, By good appliance was recovered. Enter a Servant. with boxes, napkins, and fire. Well said, well said: the fire and the cloths.- The rough and woful music that we have, Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. The vial once more;-how thou stirr'st, thou block? The music there.-I pray you give her air:- Gentlemen, This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth, Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranc'd Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow Into life's flower again! The heavens, sir, 1 Gent. Through you, increase our wonder, and set up Your fame forever. Cer. She is alive; behold Her eylids, cases to those heavenly jewels Which Pericles hath lost, Begin to part their fringes of bright gold; The diamonds of a most praised water Appear. to make the world twice rich. O live, And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, Rare as you seem to be! [She moves. Thai. O dear Diana, Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this? 2 Gent. Is not this strange? 1 Gent. Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours? Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her. Get linen; now this matter must be look'd to, For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come: And Esculapius guide us. Most rare. Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away. SCENE III.-Tharsus. A room in Cleon's house. Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lycho- rida, and Marina. Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands In a litigious peace. You, and your lady. Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods Make up the rest upon you! Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally, Dion. Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. O your sweet queen! That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought her hither, To have bless'd mine eyes! Per. We cannot but obey The powers above us. Could I rage and roar As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom, For she was born at sea, I have named so,) here I charge your charity withal, and leave her The infant of your care; beseeching you To give her princely training, that she may be Manner'd as she is born. Cle. Fear not, my lord, Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, (For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,) Must in your child be thought on. If neglection Should therein make me vile, the common body, By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty: But if to that my nature need a spur, The gods revenge it upon me and mine, To the end of generation! 1 Favour. 2 The common people. 3 Appear willful, perverse by such conduct. Per. I believe you, Your honour and your goodness teach me credit, Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, By bright Diana, whom we honour all, Though I show will in't. So I take my leave. Good madam, make me blessed in your care In bringing up my child. Dion. I have one myself, Who shall not be more dear to my respect, Than yours, my lord. Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge o'the shore; 4 Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and The gentlest winds of heaven. Per. I will embrace Your offer. Come, dear'st madam.-O, no tears, Lychorida, no tears: Look to your little mistress, on whose grace You may depend hereafter.-Come, my lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Ephesus. A room in Cerimon's house. Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, Lay with you in your coffer: which are now At your command. Know you the character ? Thai. It is my lord's. That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, Even on my yearning time; but whether there Delivered or no, by the holy gods, I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles, My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, A vestal livery will I take me to, And never more have joy. Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, Diana's temple is not distant far, Where you may 'bide until your date expire. Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine. Shall there attend you. Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all; Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. ACT IV. Enter Gower. Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, Welcom'd to his own desire. His woful queen leave at Ephess, To Dian there a votaress. Now to Marina bend your mind, Whom our fast growing scene must find At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd In music, letters; who hath gain'd Of education all the grace, [Exeunt Which makes her both the heart and place Of general wonder. But alack. That monster envy, oft the wrack Of earned praise, Marina's life Seeks to take off by treason's knife. And in this kind hath our Cleon One daughter, and a werch full grown. Even ripe for marriage fight; uus maid Hight Philoten: and it is said For certain in our story, she Would ever with Marina be: Be't when she weav'd the sleided" silk 1 Insidious waves that wear a treacherous ile 5 Groaning. 6 Called. 7 Untwisted. 810 ACT IV. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. With fingers long, small, white as milk; Or when she would with sharp neeld' wound The cambric, which she made more sound By hurting it; or when to the lute She sung, and made the night-bird mute, That still records2 with moan; or when She would with rich and constant pen Vail to her mistress Dian; still This Philoten contends in skill With absolute³ Marina: so With the dove of Paphos might the crow Vie feathers white. Marina gets All praises, which are paid as debts, And not as given. This so darks In Philoten all graceful marks, That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, A present murderer does prepare For good Marina, that her daughter Might stand peerless by this slaughter. The sooner her vile thoughts to stead; Lychorida, our nurse, is dead; And cursed Dionyza hath The pregnant instrument of wrath Prest for this blow. The unborn event I do commend to your content: Only I carry winged time Post on the lame feet of my ryhme; Which never could I so convey, Unless your thoughts went on my way.- Dionyza does appear, With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. SCENE 1.-Tharsus. An open place near the sea-shore. Enter Dionyza and Leonine. Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do it: 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon, To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom, Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be A soldier to thy purpose. Leon. I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly creature. Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her. Here Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. Thou art resolv'd? Leon. I am resolv'd. Enter Marina, with a basket of flowers. Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus of her weed, To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues, The purple violets, and marigolds, Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave, Mar. No, I pray you; I'll not bereave you of your servant. Dion. Come, come; I love the king your father, and yourself, With more than foreign heart. We every day Expect him here: when he shall come, and find Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted, He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve That excellent complexion, which did steal The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; I can go home alone. Mar. Well, I will go; But yet I have no desire to it. Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; Remember what I have said. Leon. I warrant you, madam. Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while; Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood. What! I must have a care of you. Mar. Thanks, sweet madam.- [Exit Dionyza. Is this wind westerly that blows? Leon. South-west. Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. Leon. Was't so? Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, But cry'd, good seamen! to the sailors, galling His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes; And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea That almost burst the deck, and from the ladder- tackle Wash'd off a canvas-climber: Ha! says one, Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry, They skip from stem to stern: the boatswain whis tles, The master calls, and trebles their confusion. Leon. And when was this? Mar. It was when I was born; Never was waves nor wind more violent. Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. Mar. What mean you? Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, I grant it: Pray; but be not tedious, For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn To do my work with haste. Mar. Why will you kill me? Leon. To satisfy my lady. Mar. Why would she have me kill'd? Now, as I can remember, by my troth, I never did her hurt in all my life; I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn While summer days do last. Ah me! poor maid, To any living creature: believe me, la, Born in a tempest, when my mother died, This world to me is like a lasting storm, Whirring me from my friends. Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour's' chang'd With this unprofitable wo! Come, come; Give me your wreath of flowers. Ere the sea mar it, Walk forth with Leonine; the air is quick there, Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come;- Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 1 Needle. 3 Accomplished, perfect. 2 Sings. 4 Prepared. 6 The earth 7 Countenance, look. 5 Ready. I never kill'd a mouse, or hurt a fly: I trod upon a worm against my will, But I wept for it How have I offended, Wherein my death might yield her profit, or My life imply her danger? Leon. My commission Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. Mar.. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. You are well-favour d, and your looks foreshow You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, When you caught hurt in parting two that fought Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now: Your lady seeks my life; come you between, And save poor me, the weaker. 8 i. e. Ere the sea, by the coming in of the tide mar your walk. 9 A ship-boy.. SCENE II, III. 811 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Leon. And will despatch. I am sworn, Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 1 Pirate. Hold, villain! [Leonine runs away 2 Pirate. A prize! a prize! 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. let's have her aboard suddenly. Come, [Exeunt Pirates with Marina. SCENE II.-The same. Re-enter Leonine. Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pi- ate Valdes; And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go: There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead, And thrown into the sea.-But I'll see further; Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, Not carry her aboard. If she remain, Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain. [Exil. SCENE III.-Mitylene. A room in a brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. Pand. Boult. Boult. Sir. Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart, by being too wenchless. Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. We have but poor three, and they can do no more than they can do; and with continual action are even as good as rotten. Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be us'd in every trade, we shall never prosper. Bawd. Thou say'st true: 'tis not the bringing up of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up some eleven- Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down again. But shall I search the market? Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- fully sodden. Pand. Thou say'st true; they are too unwhole- some o'conscience. The poor Transilvanian is dead, that lay with the little baggage. Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; she made him roast meat for worms:-but I'll go search the market. [Exit Boult. Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. Bard. Why, to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get when we are old? Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the com- modity; nor the commodity wages not with the danger; therefore, if in our youths we could pick up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giving over. Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. Pand. As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade; it's no calling:-but here comes Boult. Enter the Pirates, and Boult, dragging in Marina. Boult. Come your ways. [To Marina.]-My masters, you say she's a virgin? 1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. Boult. Master, I have gone thorough for this piece, you see: if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest. 1 i. e. Half-open. 2 Bid a high price for her. Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities? Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent good clothes; there's no further ne- cessity of qualities can make her be refused. Bawd. What's her price, Boult? Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces. Pand. Well, follow me, my masters; you shall have your money presently. Wife, take her in: instruct her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her entertainment. [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her; the colour of her hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her virginity; and cry, He that will give most shall have her first. Such a maidenhead were no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done as I command you. Boult. Performance shall follow. Exit Boult. Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow! (He should have struck, not spoke ;) or that these pirates (Not enough barbarous,) had not overboard Thrown me, to seek my mother! Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one? Mar. That I am pretty. Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part 1 you. Mar. I accuse them not. Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are like to live. Mar. The more my fault, To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. Mar. No. Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste gentle- men of all fashions. You shall fare well; you shall have the difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears? Mar. Are you a woman? Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be not a woman? Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. Bawd. Marry, whip thee, goslin: I think I shall have something to do with you. Come, you are a young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have you. Mar. The gods defend me! Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir you up.-Boult's returned. Enter Boult. Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market? Boult. I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs; I have drawn her picture with my voice. Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou find the inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort? Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me, as they would have hearkened to their father's testament. There was a Spaniard's mouth so watered that he went to bed to her very description. Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with his best ruff on. Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the French knight that cowers i'the hams? Bawd. Who? monsieur Veroles? Boult. Ay; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- clamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he would see her to-morrow. Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his dis 3 Bends. 812 Acr IV. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. case hither: here he does but repair it. I know, he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns Dion. Be one of those, that think The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, in the sun. And open this to Pericles. I do shanie Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a trav-To think of what a noble strain you are, eller, we should lodge them with this sign. And of how cow'd a spirit. Cle. Baud. Pray you, come hither a while. You have To such proceeding fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must Who ever but his approbation added, seem to do that fearfully, which you commit wil-Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow lingly to despise profit, where you have most gain. From honourable courses. To weep that you live as you do, makes pity in Dion. your lovers. Seldom, but that pity begets you a good opinion, and that opinion a mere¹ profit. Mar. I understand you not. Boult. O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practice. Bard. Thou say'st true, i'faith, so they must: for your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way to go with warrant. Boult. 'Faith some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if I have bargained for the joint, Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit. Boult. I may so. Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young one, I like the inanner of your garments well. Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town: re- port what a sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by custom. When nature framed this pièce, she meant thee a good turn; therefore say what a para- gon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring home some to-night. Bawd. Come your ways; follow me. Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. Diana, aid my purpose! Bawd. What have we to do with Diana! Pray you, will you go with us? [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Tharsus. A room in Cleon's house. Enter Cleon and Diony za. Dion. Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone ? Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon! Dion. You'll turn a child again. I think Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world, I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady, Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess To equal any single crown o'the earth, I'the justice of compare! O villain Leonine, Whom thou hast poison'd too! If thou had'st drunk to him, it had been a kindness Becoming well thy feet:2 what canst thou say, When noble Pericles shall demand his child? Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates, To foster it, nor ever to preserve. She died by night; I'll say so. Who can cross it? Unless you play the impious innocent,3 And for an honest attribute, cry out, She died by foul play. Cle. O, go to. Well, well, Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods Dake this worst. 1 An absolute, a certain profit. 3. e. Of a piece with the rest of thy exploit. An innocent was formerly a common appel- ation for ar idiot. Be it so then. Yet none does know but you, how she came dead, Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. She did disdain my child, and stood between Her and her fortunes: None would look on her, But cast their gazes on Marina's face; Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin," Not worth the time of day. It pierc'd me thorough And though you call my course unnatural, You not your child well loving, yet I find, It greets me, as an enterprize of kindness, Perform'd to your sole' daughter. Cle. Heavens forgive it Dion. And as for Pericles, What should he say? We wept after her hearse, And even yet we mourn: her monument Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs In glittering golden characters express A general praise to her, and care in us At whose expense 'tis done. Cle. Thou art like the harpy, Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face, Seize with an eagle's talons. Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies, But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt. Enter Gower, before the monument of Marina at Tharsus. Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short; Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't; Making (to take your imagination,) From bourn to bourn," region to region. By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime To use one language in each several clime, Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you To learn of me, who stand i'the gap to teach you The stages of our story. Pericles Is now again thwarting the wayward seas (Attended on by many a lord and knight,) To see his daughter, all his life's delight. Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, Old Helicanus goes along behind. Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have brought This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought; So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,) To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. Like motes and shadows see them move a while; Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. Dumb show. Enter at one door, Pericles, with his train; Cleon and Dionyza at the other. Cleon shows Pericles the tomb of Marina; where- at Pericles makes lamentation, puts on sackcloth and in a mighty passion departs. Then Cleor and Dionyza retire. Gow. See how belief may suffer by foul show! 4 A coarse wench, not worth a good-morrow. 5 Only. 6 Travelling. 7 From one boundary to another. SCENE V, VI. 813 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE This borrow'd passion stands for true old wo; And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, With sighs shot through, and biggest tears shower'd, Bawd. Now, the gods bless your honour! Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good o'er-health. Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs; He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears A tempest, which his mortal vessel' tears, And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit2 The epitaph is for Marina writ By wicked Dionyza. [Reads the inscription on Marina's monument. The fairest, sweet'st, and best, lies here, Who wither'd in her spring of year. She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter, On whom foul death hath made this slaughter, Marina was she call'd; and at her birth, Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o'the earth: Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd, Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd: Wherefore she does, (and swears she'll never stint") Make raging battery upon shores of flint. No visor does become black villany, So well as soft and tender flattery. Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, And bear his courses to be ordered By lady Fortune; while our scenes display His daughter's wo and heavy well-a-day, In her unholy service. Patience then, And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit. SCENE V-Mitylene. A street before the brothel. Enter, from the brothel, two Gen- tlemen. 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like? 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she being once gone. 1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there! did you ever dream of such a thing? 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy- houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing? 1 Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-The same. A room in the brothel. Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her, she had ne'er come here. Bawd. Fie, fie upon her; she is able to freeze the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the kindness of her profession, she has me her quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her pray- ers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll dis- furnish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers priests. Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me! Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but by the way to the pax. Here comes the lord Ly- simachus, disguised. Lys. You may so; 'tis the better for you that your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, wholesome iniquity? Have you that a man may deal withal, and defy the surgeon? Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would- but there never came her like in Mitylene. Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou would'st say. Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well enough. Lys. Well; call forth, call forth. Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but- Lys. What, pr'ythee? Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. Enter Marina. Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk; -never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not a fair creature? Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voy- age at sea. Well, there's for you;-leave us. Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave; a word, and I'll have done presently. Lys. I beseech you, do. Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an honourable man. [To Marina, whom she takes aside. Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him. Bawd. Next, he is the governor of this country, and a man whom I am bound to. Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound to him indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not. Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold. Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank- fully receive. Lys. Have you done? Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet; you must take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will leave his honour and her together. [Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult Lys. Go thy ways-Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade! Mar. What trade, sir? Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it. Lys. How long have you been of this profession? Mar. Ever since I can remember. Lys. Did you go to it so young? Were you a gamester at five, or at seven? Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims you to be a creature of sale. Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if such resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you the peevish baggage would but give way to cus-are of honourable parts, and are the governor of tomers. Enter Lysimachus. Lys. How now? How a dozen of virginities? 1 His body. 3 The sea. 2 To know. 4 Never cease. this place. Lys. Why, hath your principai made known unto you, who I am? Mar. Who is my principal? 5 How much? what price? 6 A wanton. 52 814 ACT V. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Mar. Hark, hark, you gods! Lys. Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds! Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard than she is, she shall be ploughed. something of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. Come, come. Mar. If ye were born to honour, show it now; If put upon you, make the judgment good That thought you worthy of it. Lys. How's this? how's this ?-Some more;- be sage. Mar. For me, That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune Hath plac'd me here within this loathsome sty, Where, since I came, diseases have been sold Dearer than physic,-O that the good gods Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, Though they did change me to the meanest bird That flies i'the purer air! Lys. I did not think Thou could'st have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou could'st. Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would she had never come within my doors! Marry hang you! She's born to undo us. Will you not go the way of woman-kind? Mary come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays! [Exit Bawd. Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me. Mar. Whither would you have me? Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. Boult. Come now, your one thing. Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress. Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, Since they do better thee in their command. Thou hold'st a place, for which the painedst fiend Of hell would not in reputation change: Thou'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystrel That hither comes inquiring for his tib; To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for Is liable; thy very food is such thee: Perséver still in that clear way thou goest, And the gods strengthen thee! Mar. The gods preserve you. Lys. For me, be you thoughten That I came with no ill intent; for to me The very doors and windows savour vilely. Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.- Hold; here's more gold for thee.- A curse upon him, die he like a thief, As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. Boult. What would you have me? go to the wars, would you; where a man may serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to buy him a wooden one? Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth; Serve by indenture to the common hangman; Any of these ways are better yet than this: For that which thou professest, a baboon, Could he but speak, would own a name too dear: That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou hear'st O that the gods would safely from this place from me, It shall be for thy good. [As Lysimachus is putting up his purse, Boult enters. Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper! Your house, But for this virgin that doth prop it up, Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away! [Exit Lysimachus. Boult. How's this? We must take another course with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope, shall undo a whole nousenold, let me be gelded like a spaniel. Come your ways. Mar. Whither would you have me? Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common hangman shall execute it. Come your way. We'll have no more gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say. Re-enter Bawd. Bawd. How now! what's the matter? Boult. Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. Bawd. O abominable! Boult. She makes our profession as it were to stink afore the face of the gods. Bawd. Marry, hang her up forever! Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a snowball; saying his prayers too. Bawd. Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure: crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable. Cope or canopy of heaven. 2 Paltry fellow. I Deliver me! Here, here is gold for thee. If that thy master would gain aught by me, Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance, With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast; And I will undertake all these to teach. I doubt not but this populous city will Yield many scholars. Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, And prostitute me to the basest groom That doth frequent your house. Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can place thee, I will. Mar. Bu, amongst honest women? Boult. Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them. But since my master and mistress have bought you, there's no going but by their consent; therefore I will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them trac- table enough. Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways. [Exeunt, ACT V. Enter Gower. Gow. Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances Into an honest house, our story says. She sings like one immortal, and she dances As goddess-like to her admired lays : Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld" com- poses Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry; That even her art sisters the natural roses : 3 Learned men. 4 Needle. SCENE I. 815 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry: That pupils lacks she none of noble race, Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place; And to her father turn our thoughts again, Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost; Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd God Neptune's annual feast to keep; from whence Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies, His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense; And to him in his barge with fervour hies. In your supposing once more put your sight; Of heavy Pericles think this the bark: Where, what is done in action, more, if might, Shall be discover'd; please you, sit, and hark. [Exit. Hel. Behold him, sir: [Pericles discovered.] this was a goodly person, Till the disaster, that, one mortal' night, Drove him to this. Lys. Sir, king, all hail! the gods preserve you; Hail, Hail, royal sir! Hel. It is in vain; he will not speak to you. 1 Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I durst wager, Would win some words of him. Lys. "Tis well bethought, She, questionless, with her sweet harmony And other choice attractions, would allure, And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,* Which now are midway stopp'd; She, all as happy as of all the fairest, Is, with her fellow maidens, now within The leafy shelter that abuts against Mity-The island's side. SCENE I-On board Pericles' ship, off lene. A close pavilion on deck, with a curtain [He whispers one of the attendant Lords.- before it; Pericles within it, reclined on a couch. Exit Lord, in the barge of Lysimachus. A barge lying beside the Tyrian vessel. Enter Hel. Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel, That bear's recovery's name. But, since your kind- the other to the barge; to them Helicanus. Tyr. Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus? He can resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mitylene. O, here he is. Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene; And in it is Lysimachus the governor, Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentlemen. Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls. Enter two Gentlemen. 1 Gent. Doth your lordship call? Hel. Gentlemen, There is some of worth would come aboard; I pray you, To greet them fairly. [The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the barge. ness We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you fur That for our gold we may provision have, ther, Wherein we are not destitute for want, But weary for the staleness. Lys. O, sir, a courtesy, For every graff would send a caterpillar, Which if we should deny, the most just God And so inflict our province.-Yet once more Let me entreat to know at large the cause Of your king's sorrow. Hel. But see, I am prevented. Sit, sir, I will recount it; Enter, from the barge, Lord, Marina, and a young Lady. Lys. O, here is The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one! Enter, from thence, Lysimachus and Lords; the Is't not a goodly presence? Tyrian Gentlemen, and the two Sailors. Tyr. Sail. Sir, This is the man that can, in aught you would, Resolve you. Lys. Hail, reverend sir! The gods preserve you! Hel. And you, sir, to out-live the age I am, And die as I would do. You wish me well. Lys. Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs, Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, I made to it, to know of whence you are. Ilel. First, sir, what is your place? Hel. A gallant lady. Lys. She's such, that were I well assur'd she came Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish No better choice, and think me rarely wed. Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty Expect even here, where is a kingly patient: If that thy prosperous artificial feat Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay As thy desires can wish. Mar. Sir, I will use My utmost skill in his recovery, Provided none but I and my companion Lys. I am governor of this place you lie before. Be suffer'd to come near him. Hel. Sir, Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; A man, who for this three months hath not spoken To any one, nor taken sustenance, But to prorogue' his grief. Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature? Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat; But the main grief of all springs from the loss Of a beloved daughter and a wife. Lys. May we not see him, then? Hel. You may, indeed, sir, But bootless is your sight; he will not speak To any. Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. 1 To lengthen or prolong his grief. Lys. And the gods make her prosperous! [Mar. sings. Lys. Come, let us leave her, Mark'd he your music? See, she will speak to him. Mar. No, nor look'd on us. Lys. Mar. Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear:- Per. Hum! ha! Mar. I am a maid, My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, But have been gaz'd on, comet-like: she speaks, My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. Though wayward fortune did malign my state, My derivation was from ancestors. 2 Destructive. 3 i. e. Ears. 816 ACT V. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: But time hath rooted out my parentage, And to the world and awkward casualties Bound me in servitude.-I will desist; But there is something glows upon my cheek, And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak. [Aside. Per. My fortunes -parentage-good parentage- To equal mine;-was it not thus? what say you? Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parent- age, You would not do me violence. Per. I do think so. I pray you, turn your eyes again upon me.- You are like something that-What country woman? Here of these shores? Mar. No, nor of any shores : Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am No other than I appear. Per. I am great with wo, and shall deliver weep- ing. My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows; Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight; As silver-voic'd; her eyes as jewel-like, And cas'd as richly: in pace another Juno; Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech.-Where do you live? Mar. Where I am but a stranger; from the deck You may discern the place. Per. Where were you bred? And how achiev'd you these endowments, which You make more rich to owe?! Mar. Should I tell my history, 'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. Per. Pr'ythee speak; Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace For the crown'd truth to dwell in: I'll believe thee, And make my senses credit thy relation, To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends? Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, (Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou cam'st From good descending? So indeed I did. Mar. Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine, If both were open'd. Mar. Some such thing indeed I said, and said no more but what my thoughts Did warrant me was likely. Per. Tell thy story; If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act. What were thy friends? How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin? Or here I'll cease. Per. Nay, I'll be patient; Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, To call thyself Marina. Mar. The name Marina, How! a king's daughter? Was given me by one that had some power; My father, and a king. Per. And call'd Marina? Mar. You said you would believe me; But, not to be a troubler of your peace, I will end here. Per. But are you flesh and blood? Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy? No motion ?2-Well; speak on. Where were you born? And wherefore call'd Marina? Mar. For I was born at sea. Call'd Marina, Per. At sea? Thy mother? Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king; Who died the very minute I was born, As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft Deliver'd weeping. Per. O, stop there a little! This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be. My daughter's buried. [Aside.] Well:-where were you bred? I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, And never interrupt you. Mar. You'll scarce believe me; 'twere best I did give o'er. Per. I will believe you by the syllable Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:- How came you in these parts? where were you bred? Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me; Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, A crew of pirates came and rescued me; Brought me to Mitylene. But now, good sir, Whither will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be, You think me an impostor; no, good faith; am the daughter to king Pericles, If good king Pericles be. I Per. Ho, Helicanus ! Hel. Calls my gracious lord? Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, Most wise in general: Tell me, if thou canst, What this maid is, or what is like to be, That thus hath made me weep? Hel. Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, Speaks nobly of her. Lys. I know not; but She would never tell Her parentage; being demanded that, She would sit still and weep. Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir; Give me a gash, put me to present pain; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither, Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget: Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, And found at sea again! O Helicanus, Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud As thunder threatens us. This is Marina.- What was thy mother's name? tell me but that, Patience, good sir, For truth can never be confirm'd enough, Recount, I do beseech thee; come, sit by me. Mar. My name, sir, is Marina. Per. O, I am mock'd, And thou by some incensed god sent hither To make the world laugh at me. Mar. 1 Possess. 2. i. e. No puppet dress'd up to deceive me. SCENE II, III 817 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Though doubts did ever sleep Mur. What is your title? First, sir, I pray, Per. I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now (As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect,) My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of kingdoms, And another life to Pericles thy father. Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than To say, my mother's name was Thaisa? Thaisa was my mother, who did end, The minute I began. Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my child. Give me fresh garments. Mine own Helicanus, (Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been, By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all; When thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge, She is thy very princess.-Who is this? Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene, Who, hearing of your melancholy state, Did come to see you. Per. I embrace you, sir. Give me my robes; I am wild in my beholding. O heavens bless my girl! But hark, what music!- Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, How sure you are my daughter.-But what music? Hel. My lord, I hear none. Per. None? The music of the spheres: list, my Marina. Lys. It is not good to cross him; give him way. Per. Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear? Lys. Per. Most heavenly music: Music? my lord, I hear- [He sleeps. It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber Hangs on mine eye-lids; let me rest. Lys. A pillow for his head; [The curtain before the pavilion of Pericles is closed. So leave him all.-Well, my companion-friends, If this but answer to my just belief, I'll well remember you. [Exeunt Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina, and attendant Lady. SCENE II.-The same. Pericles on the deck asleep; Diana appearing to him as in a vision. Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus; hie thee thither, And do upon mine altar sacrifice. There, when my maiden priests are met together, Before the people all, Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife: To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, And give them repetition to the life. Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in wo: Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow. Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disappears. Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, ! will obey thee!-Helicanus! Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. Hel. Sir. Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike The inhospitable Cleon: But I am For other service first: toward Ephesus 1 Repeat a lively narrative of your adventures. 2 i. e. Regent of the silver moon. 4 Soon. 3 Swollen. Turn our blown³ sails: aftsoons I'll tell thee why. [To Helicanus, Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore And give you gold for such provision As our intents will need? Lys. With all my heart, sir; and when you come ashore, I have another suit. Per. You shall prevail, Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems You have been noble towards her. Lys. Per. Come, my Marina. Sir, lend your arm. [Exeunt Enter Gower, before the temple of Diana at Ephesus, Gow. Now our sands are almost run; More a little, and then done. This, as my last boon, give me (For such kindness must relieve me,) That you aptly will suppose What pageantry, what feats, what shows, What minstrelsy, and pretty din, The regent made in Mitylin, To greet the king. So he was thriv'd, That he is promis'd to be wiv'd To fair Marina; but in no wise, Till he had done his sacrifice, As Dian bade: whereto being bound, The interim, pray you, all confound. In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, And wishes fall out as they're will'd. At Ephesus, the temple see, Our king, and all his company. That he can hither come so soon. Is by your fancy's thankful boon. SCENE III.-The temple of Diana at Ephesus: Thaisa standing near the altar, as high priest- ess; a number of virgins on each side; Ceri mon and other inhabitants of Ephesus attending. Enter Pericles, with his train; Lysimachus, Helicanus, Marina, and a lady. [Exit. Per. Hail Dian; to perform thy just command, I here confess myself the king of Tyre; Who, frighted from my country, did wed The fair Thaisa, at Pentapólis. At sea in childbed died she; but brought forth A maid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess, Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus Was nurs'd with Cleon; whom at fourteen years He sought to murder: but her better stars Brought her to Mitylene; against whose shore Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she Made known herself my daughter. Thai. Voice and favour!- You are you are-O royal Pericles!-[She faints. Per. What means the woman? she dies! help, gentlemen! Cer. Noble sir, If you have told Diana's altar true, This is your wife. Per. Reverend appearer, no; I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 'Tis most certain. Per. Cer. Look to the lady ;-0, she's but o'erjoy'd. Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was 5 i. e. Pericles. 6 Confound here signifies to consume. 7 i. e. Her white robe of innocence. 818 ACT V. PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and plac'd her Here in Diana's temple. Per. May we see them? Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house, Whither I invite you. Look! Thaisa is Recover'd. Thai. O, let me look! If he be none of mine, my sanctity Will to my sense¹ bend no licentious ear, But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, Are you not Pericles? Like him you speak, Like him you are: Did you not name a tempest, A birth, and death? Per. The voice of dead Thaisa! Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead, And drown'd. Per. Immortal Dian! Thai. Now I know you better.- When we with tears parted Pentapolis, The king, my father, gave you such a ring. [Shows a ring. Per. This, this: no more, you gods! your pre- sent kindness Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well, That on the touching of her lips I may. Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried A second time within these arms. Mar. My heart Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. [Kneels to Thaisa. Per. Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa; Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, For she was yielded there. Thai. Bless'd and mine own! Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen! Thai. I know you not. Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre, I left behind an ancient substitute. Can you remember what I call'd the man? I have nam'd him oft. Thai. 'Twas Helicanus then. Per. Still confirmation: Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. Now do I long to hear how you were found; How possibly preserv'd; and whom to thank, Besides the gods, for this great miracle. Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can From first to last resolve you. Per. Reverend sir, The gods can have no mortal officer More iike a god than you. Will you deliver How this dead queen re-lives? Cer. Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 1 Sensual passion. Where shall be shown you all was found with her, How she came placed here within the temple; No needful thing omitted. Per. Pure Diana! I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer My night oblations to thee. Thaisa, This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, This ornament2 that makes me look so dismal, Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form; And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, To grace thy marriage day, I'll beautify. Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, Sir, that my father's dead. Fer. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen, We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves Will in that kingdom spend our following days; Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay, To hear the rest untold-Sir, lead the way. [Exe. Enter Gower. Gow. In Antioch, and his daughter, you have heard Of monstrous lust the due and just reward: In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen (Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,) Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, Led on by heaven, and erown'd with joy at last. In Helicanus may you well descry A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty: In reverend Cerimon there well appears, The worth that learned charity aye wears. For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name Of Pericles, to rage the city turn; That him and his they in his palace burn. The gods for murder seemed so content To punish them; although not done, but meant. So on your patience evermore attending, New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending. [Exit Gower. That this tragedy has some merit, it were vain to deny; but that it is the entire composition of Shakspeare, is more than can be hastily granted. I shall not venture, with Dr. Farmer, to determine that the hand of our great poet is only visible in the last act, for I think it appears in several pas- sages dispersed over each of these divisions. 1 find it difficult, however, to persuade myself that he was the original fabricator of the plot, or the author of every dialogue, chorus, &c. STEEVENS. The story is of great antiquity; and is related by various ancient authors in Latin, French, and English. I will, my lord. 2 i. e. His beard. 3 i. e. The king of Antioch. 4 Ever. KING LEAR. Lear, king of Britain. King of France. Duke of Burgundy. Duke of Cornwall. Duke of Albany. Earl of Kent Earl of Gloster. Edgar, son to Gloster. Edmund, bastard son to Gloster. Curan. a courtier. Old Man, tenant to Gloster. Physician. Fool. Oswald, steward to Goneril. ACT I. PERSONS REPRESENTED. SCENE I-A room in state in King Lear's pal- ace. Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. Kent. I THOUGHT, the king had more affected the duke of Albany, than Cornwall. Glo. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears nt which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weigh'd, that curiosity' in neither can make choice of either's moiety.2 Kent. Is not this your son, my lord? Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. Kent. I cannot conceive you. An Officer, employed by Edmund. Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. Goneril, Regan, daughters to Lear. Cordelia, Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messen- gers, Soldiers, and Attendants. Scene, Britain Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants. Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster. Glo. I shall, my liege. [Exe. Glo. and Edm. Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there.-Know, that we have di- vided, In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburden'd crawl toward death.-Our son of Corn- wall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed; and had, in- Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, deed, sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a hus- Long in our court have made their amorous so- band for her bed. Do you smell a fault? journ, Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue And here are to be answer'd.-Tell me, my daugh of it being so proper. ters, Glo. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my ac- Interest of territory, cares of state,) count: though this knave came somewhat saucily Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most? into the world before he was sent for, yet was his That we our largest bounty may extend mother fair; there was good sport at his making, Where merit doth most challenge it.-Goneril, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.-Do you Our eldest-born, speak first. know this noble gentleman. Edmund? Gon. Edm. No, my lord. Sir, I Do love you more than words can wield the matter, Glo. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty; as my honourable friend. Edm. My services to your lordship. Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. better. Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. Glo. He hath been out nine years, nall again :-The king is coming. he and away [Trumpets sound within. 1 Most scrupulous nicety. 2 Part or division. 3 Handsome. A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. Cor. What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be si- lent. [Aside. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this 4 More secret. 5 Determined resolution KING LEAR. ACT. I. 820 With shadowy forests and with champains' rich'd, With picnteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issue Be this perpetual.-What says our second drughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find, she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short,-That I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find, I am alone felicitate³ In your dear highness' love. Cor. Then poor Cordelia! [Aside. And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More richer than my tongue. Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that confirm'd on Goneril.-Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, Strive to be interess'd: what can you say, to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. Cor. Nothing, my lord. Lear. Nothing? Nothing. Cor. Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more, nor less. Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. Cor. Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Half my love with him, half my care, and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. Lear. But goes this with thy heart? Cor. Her father's heart from her!-Call France ;- Who stirs? Call Burgundy.-Cornwall, and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty.-Ourself by monthly course, With reservation of a hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, 10 Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part between vou. [Giving the crown. Kent. Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,- Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man? Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness hun- our's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, check This hideous rashness: answer my life my judg- ment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound Reverbs" no hollowness. Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it; Thy safety being the motive. Lear. Out of my sight! Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank12 of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo,- Kent. Now, by Apollo king, Ay, good my lord. Tou swear'st thy gods in vain. Lear. So young, and so untender? Cor. So young, my lord, and true. Lear. Let it be so.-Thy truth then be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun; The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operations of the orbs, From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this," for ever. Scythian, The barbarous Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd, As thou my sometime daughter. Kent. Lear. Peace, Kent! Good my Lear. O, vassal! miscreant: [Laying his hand on his sworl. Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. Kent. Do; Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee, thou dost evil. Lear. Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance hear me !- Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentence and our power (Which nor our nature nor our place can bear ;) Our potency make good, take thy reward. liege,-Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Come not between the dragon and his wrath: I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery.-Hence, and avoid my sight! Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, [To Cordelia. The moment is thy death: Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revok'd. So be my grave my peace, as here I give 1 Open plains. 3 Made happy. 5 Perhaps. 2 Comprehension. 4 Value. 6 Kindred. 7 From this Time. 9 Titles. 11 10 8 His children. All other subjects. Reverberates. 12 The mark to shoot at. SCENE I. 821 KING LEAR. Kent. Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt| A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, Hath lost me in your liking. Better thou Lear. appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.- The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, [To Cordelia. That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!- And your large speeches may your deeds approve, France. Is it but this? a tardiness in nature, [To Regan and Goneril. Which often leaves the history unspoke, That good effects may spring from words of love.-That it intends to do?-My lord of Burgundy, Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; What say you to the lady? Love is not love, He'll shape his old course' in a country new. [Ex. When it is mingled with respects, that stand Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better. Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, and Attendants. Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. Lear. My lord of Burgundy, We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter; What, in the least Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love?2 Bur. Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. Lear. Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands; If aught within that little, seeming3 substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. Bur. Lear. Sir, I know no answer. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,4 Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, She is herself a dowry. Aloof from the entire point. 10 Will you have her? Bur. Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. Lear. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. Cor. Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. France. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.- Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.- Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: oath, Take her, or leave her? Bur. Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. Lear. Then leave her, sir; for by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth.-For you, great king, [To France. I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way, Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd Almost to acknowledge hers. France. This is most strange! That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour! Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd' affection Fall into taint:8 which to believe of her, Must be a faith, that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. Cor. I yet beseech your majesty (If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour: But even for want of that, for which I am richer; 1 Follow his old mode of life. 2 Amorous expedition. 3 Specious. Thou losest here, a better where' to find. Lear. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again :-Therefore be gone, Without our grace, our love, our benizon. 12. Come, noble Burgundy. [Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants. France. Bid farewell to your sisters. Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And, like a sister, am most loath to call Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him: But yet, alas! stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So farewell to you both. Let your study Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. Reg. Be, to content your lord; who hath receiv'd you At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited 13 cunning hides; Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! France. Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exeunt France and Cordelia Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our father will hence to-night. Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. 8 Reproach or censure. 5 Concludes not. 7 Former declaration of. 9 Because. 10 Who seeks for aught in love but love alone." 11 Place, 12 Blessing. 13 Folded, doubled. 4 Owns, is possessed of. 6 Turn. 822 ACT I. KING LEAR. Gen. You see how full of changes his age is; the for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for observation we have made of it hath not been lit-your over-looking. tle: he always loved our sister most; and with Glo. Give me the letter, sir. what poor judgment he hath now cast her off, ap- The contents, as in part I understand them, are to Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. pears too grossly. blame. Reg. "Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. them. Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him, as this from Kent's banishment. Glo. Let's see, let's see. Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he been but rash: then must we look to receive from wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. his age, not alone the imperfection of long-engraft-makes the world bitter to the best of our times, Glo. [Reads.] This policy and reverence of age, ed condition, but therewithal, the unruly way- wardness that infirm and choleric years bring with keeps our fortunes from us, till our oldness can not relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyrrany; who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered our father would sleep till I waked him, you should Come to me, that of this I may speak more. I loved of your brother, Edgar.-Humph--Conspi- enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the be. racy!-Sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue,-My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in ?- When came this to you? Who brought it? Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you, let us hit to- gether; If our father carry authority with such dis- positions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. Reg. We shall further think of it. Gon. We must do something, and i'the heat.2 [Exeunt. SCENE II-A hall in the Earl of Gloster's castle. Enter Edmund, with a letter. Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound: Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom; and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality, Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake?-Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, As to the legitimate: Fine word,-legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper :- Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter Gloster. Glo. Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler parted! And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd' his power! Confin'd to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad!"-Edmund! How now? what news? Edm. So please your lordship, none. [Putting up the letter. Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter. Edm. I know no news, my lord. Glo. What paper were you reading? Edm. Nothing, my lord. Glo. No? What needed then that terrible des- patch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself "Let's see: Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. Edm. It was not brought me, my lord, there's the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the case- ment of my closet. Glo. You know the character to be your bro- ther's? Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. Glo. It is his. Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but, I hope, his heart is not in the contents. Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? Edm. Never, my lord: But I have often heard him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. Glo. O villain, villain!-His very opinion in the letter!-Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish!-Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him ;-Abominable vil- lain!-Where is he? Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother, till you can derive from him better testi- mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, 10 if you violently proceed against him, mis- taking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour," and to no other pretence 12 of danger. Glo. Think you so? Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening. Glo. He cannot be such a monster. Edm. Nor is not, sure. loves him.-Heaven and earth!--Edmund, seek Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a let-business after your own wisdom: I would unstate ter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; myself, to be in a due resolution. 13 1 Qualities of mind. 2 Strike while the iron is hot. 3 The injustice. 4 The nicety of civil institution. 5 Yielded, surrendered. 6 Allowance. 7 Suddenly. 9 Weak and foolish. 8 Trial. 10 Whereas. 11 The usual address to a lord. 12 Design. 13 Give all that I am possessed of, to be cer- tain of the truth. SCENE III, IV. 823 KING LEAR. Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey¹ Jin him, that with the mischief of yo ar person it the business as I shall find means, and acquaint would scarcely allay. you withal. Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a conti nent' forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with ine to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: Pray you, go; there's my key:-If you do stir abroad, go armed. Edg. Armed, brother? Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- tend no good to us: Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself Scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friend ship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason: and the bond cracked between son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there's son Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best: go against father: the king falls from bias of nature; armed; I am no honest man, if there be any good there's father against child We have seen the best meaning towards you: I have tc. ou what I have of our time: Machinations, hollowness, treachery, seen and heard but faintly; nothing like the image and all ruinous disorders, follow us quietly to our and horror of it: Pray you, away. graves! Find out this villain. Edmund, it shall Edg. Shall I hear from you anon? lose thee nothing: do it carefully:-And the noble Edm. I do serve you in this business.- and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, hon- [Exit Edgar. esty!--Strange! strange! [Exit. A credulous father, and a brother noble, Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world! Whose nature is so far from doing harms, that, when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty of our behaviour,) we make guilty of our disasters, My practices ride easy!-I see the business.- the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were vil- Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: lains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exit. knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical pre- SCENE III-A room in the duke of Albany's dominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and palace. Enter Goneril and Steward. all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and leche- rous.-Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar- Enter Edgar. and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: My cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o'Bedlam.-O, these eclipses do por- tend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.5 Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you in? Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? Stew. Ay, madam. Gon. By day and night! he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every triffe:-When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say, I am sick :-- If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. Stew. He's coming, madam; I hear him. [Horns within. Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question; If he dislike it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man, That still would manage those authorities, That he hath given away!-Now, by my life Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd With checks, as flatteries,-when they are seen abus'd. Edg. Do you busy yourself with that? Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolu- tions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces Remember what I have said. and maledictions against king and nobles; need- Stew. Very well, madam. less diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation Gon. And let his knights have colder looks of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. among you; Edg. How long have you been a sectary astro- nomical? Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father ast? Edg. Why, the night gone by. Edm. Spake you with him? Edg. Ay, two hours together. Edm. Parted you in good terms! Found you no displeasure in him, by word or countenance? Edg. None at all. Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty, forbear his pre- sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth 1 Manage. 2 Following. 3 Traitors. 4 Great Bear, the constellation so named. 5. These sounds are unnatural and offensive in music. What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so; I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak ;-I'll write straight to my sister, To hold my very course :-Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt. SCENE IV-A hall in the same. Enter Kent disguised. Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd (So may it come!) thy master, whom thou lov'et, 6 For cohorts some editors read courts. 7 Temperate. 8 Disorder, disguise. 9 Effaced 824 ACT. 1. KING LEAR. Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attend- ants. Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get! it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what art thou? Kent. A man, sir. Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldest thou with us? Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem to serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse' with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldest thou? Kent Service. Lear Who wouldst thou serve? Kent. You. Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? But where's my fool? I have not seen him these two days. Knight. Since my young lady's going into France sir, the fool hath much pined away. Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well.- Go you, and tell my daughter, I would speak with her.-Go you, call hither my fool.- Re-enter Steward. O, you sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I sir? Stew. My lady's father. Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whoreson dog! you slave you cur! Stew. I am none of this, my lord; I beseech you pardon me. Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? [Striking him. Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball player. [Tripping up his heels. Lear. I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee. Kent. Come, sir, arise, away: I'll teach you dif- ferences; away, away: If you will measure your Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your coun- lubber's length again, tarry: but away: go to. tenance, which I would fain call master. Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority. Lear. What services canst thou do? Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- sage bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence. Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty-eight. Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me; if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.-Dinner, ho, dinner!-Where's my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither:- Enter Steward. You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? Stew. So please you,- [Exit. Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clot- poll back.-Where's my fool, ho ?-I think the world's asleep.-How now? where's that mongrel? Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when I call'd him? Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest manner, he would not. Lear. He would not! Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not en- tertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well in the general dependants, as in the duke himself also, and your daughter. Lear. Ha! sayest thou so? Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent, when I think your highness is wronged. Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception; I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness; I will look further into't.- Have you wisdom? so. [Pushes the Steward out. Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service. [Giving Kent money. Enter Fool. Fool. Let me hire him too ;-Here's my coxcomb. [Giving Kent his cap. thou? Lear. How now, my pretty knave? how dost Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. Kent. Why, fool? Fool. Why? For taking one's part that is out of favour: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: There, take my coxcomb: Why, this fellow has banished two of his daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb-How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs, and two daughters! Lear. Why, my boy? coxcombs myself: There's mine; beg another of Fool. If I gave them all my living,4 I'd keep my thy daughters. Lear. Take heed, sirrah; the whip. 5 Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady, the brach, may stand by the fire, and stink. Lear. A pestilent gall to me! Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. Lear. Do. Fool. Mark it, nuncle:- Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest," Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score. Lear. This is nothing, fool. Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd Estate or property. 1 Keep company. 2 Punctilious jealousy. 3 Design. 6 Ownest, possessest. 5 Bitch hound. 7 Believest. SCENE IV. 825 KING LEAR lawyer; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to; he will not believe a fool. [To Kent. Lear. A bitter fool! Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? Lear. No, lad; teach me. Fool. That lord, that counsel'd thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me,- Or do thou for him stand: The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there. Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? Foo. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching.-Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. Lear. What two crowns shall they be? Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i'the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg, When thou clovest thy crown i'the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back over the dirt: Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so. Fools had ne'er less grace' in a year; For wise men are grown foppish; And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. [Singing. Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches, Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep, And go the fools among. [Singing. Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. I no need to care for her frowning; now thou art en 03 without a figure: I am better than thou art now; am a fool, thou art nothing.-Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face [To Gon.] bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor rara, That's a sheal'd peascod.4 Weary of all, shall want some.- [Pointing to Lear. Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful. By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the faul Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep: Might in their working do you that offence, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 6 Which else were shame, the nen necessity Will call discreet proceeding. Fool. For you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it had its head bit off by his young. So out went the candle, and we were left darkling. Lear. Are you our daughter? Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would make use of that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught; and put away these dispositions, which of late transform you from what you rightly are. Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse ?-Whoop, Jug! I love thee. Lear. Does any here know me?-Why this is not Lear: does Lear walk thus ? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings are lethargied.-Sleeping or waking? -Ha! sure 'tis not so.-Who is it that can tell me who I am?-Lear's shadow? I would learn that; reason, I should be false persuaded I had daugh for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and ters.- Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman? Gon. Come, sir; This admiration is much o'the favour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you To understand my purposes aright: As you are old and reverend, you should be wise: Here do vou keep a hundred knights and squires; Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold, That this our court. infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust. Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. Make it more like a tavern or a brothel, Fool. I marvel. what kin thou and thy daugh-Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak ters are; they'll have me whipp'd for speaking For instant remedy: Be then desired true, thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying; and, some- By her, that else will take the thing she begs, times, I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had A little to disquantity your train; rather be any kind of thing, than a fool; and yet And the remainder, that shall still depend, I would not be thee. nuncle; thou hast pared thy To be such men as may besort your age, wit o'both sides, and left nothing i'the middle: And know themselves and you Here comes one of the parings. Enter Goneril. Lear. How now, daughter? what makes that frontlet on? Methinks, you are too much of late i'the frown. Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst 1 Favour. Lear. Darkness and devils!- Saddle my horses; call my train together.- Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee; Yet have I left a daughter. Gon. You strike my people; rabble, Make servants of their betters. and you disorder'd 4. A mere husk which contains nothing. 6 Well governed state. 2 Part of a woman's head-dress, to which Lear 5 Approbation. compares her frowning brow. 3 A cypher. 7 Stored. 8 Complexion. 9 Continue in service. 826 ACT 1. KING LEAR. Enter Albany. Lear. Wo, that too late repents,-O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? [To Alb.] Speak, sir.-Prepare my horses. Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child, Than the sea-monster! Alb. To Goneril. Pray, sir, be patient. Lear. Detested kite' thou liest: My train are men of choice and rarest parts, That all particulars of duty know; And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name.-O most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! Which, like an engine', wrenched my frame of nature From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Leat at this gate that let thy folly in, [Striking his head. And thy dear judgmen. out!-Go, go, my people. Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath mov'd you. Lear. It may be so, my lord.-Hear, nature, hear; Dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate2 body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen: that it may live, And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!-Away, away! Alb. Now, gods, that we adore, whereof this? [Exit. comes Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it. Re-enter Lear. Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap! Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, sir! Lear. I'll tell thee;-Life and death! I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus [To Goneril. That these hot tears, which break from me pertorce, Should make thee worth them.-Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father's curs Pierce every sense about thee !-Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out; And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay.-Ha! is it come to this? Let it be so:-Yet have I left a daughter, Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable; When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find, That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee. [Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. Gon. Do you mark that, my lord? Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,- 1 The rack. 2 Degraded. 4 Undressed. 3 Falling. Gon. Pray you, content.-What, Oswald, no! You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. [To the Fool. Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And suck a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter; So the fool follows after. [Exit. Gon. This man hath had good counsel:-A hun- dred knights! 'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep At point, a hundred knights. Yes, that on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, And hold our lives in mercy.-Oswald, I say!- He may enguard his dotage with their powers, Alb. Well, you may fear too far. Gon. Safer than trust: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart: What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister; If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have show'd the unfitness,-How now, Oswald? Enter Steward. What, have you writ that letter to my sister? Stew. Ay, madam. Gon. Take you some company and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own, As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness, and course of yours, Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom, Than prais'd for harmful mildness. Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell; Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. Gon. Nay, then- Alb. Well, well; the event. SCENE V.-Court before the same. Lear, Kent, and Fool. [Exeunt. Enter Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these let- ters: acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know, than comes from her demand out of the letter: If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before you. Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have de- Livered your letter. Exit. Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't not in danger of kibes? Lear. Ay, boy. Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall not go slip-shod. Lear. Ha, ha, ha! Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee kindly for though she's as like this as a crab is like an appie, vet I can tell what i can tell. Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy? Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands i'the middle of his face? Lear. No. Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. 5 Armed. 6 Liable to reprehension. SCENE I. 827 KING LEAR. - Lear. I did her wrong:- Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? Lear. No. Fool. Nor 1 neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. Lear. Why? Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. Lear. I will forget my nature.-So kind a father! -Be my horses ready? Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The rea- son why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a pretty reason. Lear. Because they are not eight? Fool. Yes, indeed: Thou would'st make a good fool. Lear. To take it again perforce!-Monster in- gratitude! Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time. Lear. How's that? Fool. Thou should'st not have been old, before thou hadst been wise. Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!--- Enter Gentleman. How now! Are the horses ready? Gent. Ready, my lord. Lear. Come, boy. Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. ACT II. [Exeunt. SCENE 1-A court within the castle of the Earl of Gloster. Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. Edm. Save thee, Curan. Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your fa- ther; and given him notice, that the duke of Corn- wall, and Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-night. Edm. How comes that? Cur. Nay, I know not: You have heard of the news abroad; I mean, the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? Edm. Not I; Pray you, what are they? Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany? Edm. Not a word. Cur. You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir. [Exit. Edm. The duke be here to-night? The better! Best! I Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall. He's coming hither; now, i'the night, i'the haste, And Regan with him; Have you nothing said Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany? Advise yourself. Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. Edm. I hear my father coming,-Pardon me:- In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you:- Draw: Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you well. Yield:-come before my father;-Light ho, here!- Fly, brother;-Torches! torches !-So, farewell.- [Exit Edgar. Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [Wounds his arm. Of my more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunk ards Do more than this in sport.-Father! father' Stop, stop! No help? Enter Gloster, and Servants with torches. Glo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain? Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand his auspicious mistress:- Glo. But where is he? Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund ? Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could- Glo. Pursue him, ho!-Go after.-[Exit. Serv.] By no means,-what? Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lord- ship; But that I told him, the revenging gods Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father;-Sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, lane'd mine arm: But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. Glo. Let him fly far: Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found-Despatch.-The noble duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes to night: That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks, By his authority I will proclaim it, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He, that conceals him, death. Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech threaten'd to discover him: He replied, Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny (As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce My very character,") I'd turn it all This weaves itself perforce into my business! My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queazy' question, Which I must act:-Briefness, and fortune, work!-To Brother, a word; descend:-Brother, I say; Enter Edgar. My father watches:-O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it. Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain' You have now the good advantage of the night:- Would he deny his letter?-I never got him. 1 Delicate. 2 Consider, recollect yourself. 3 Frighted. [Trumpets within 4 Chief. 5 Pitched, fixed. 6 Severe, harsh. 7 Hand-writing. 828 ACT. IL KING LEAR. Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes:- All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have due note of him: and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means To make thee capable.¹ Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now, my noble friend? since I came hither, (Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange news. Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd! Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life? He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar? Glo. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid? Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? Glo. It is too bad, too bad.- Edm. I know not, madam: Yes, madam, he was. Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected; 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, That, if they come to sojourn at my house, I'll not be there. Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.- Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. Glo. He did bewray2 his practice, and receiv'd This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. Corn. Is he pursued? Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is. Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please.-For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours; Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. Edm. Truly, however else. I shall serve you, sir, Glo. For him I thank your grace. - Corn. You know not why we came to visit you,- Reg. Thus out of season; threading dark-ey'd night. Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize,4 Wherein we must have use of your advice:- Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. Glo. Your graces are right welcome." I serve you, madam : [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Before Gloster's castle. Enter Kent and Seward, severally. Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'the mire. Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. Kent. I love thee not. Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. Stew. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. Kent. Fellow, I know thee. Stew. What dost thou know me for? Kent. A knave; a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three- suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking knave; a whore- son, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldest be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pan- der, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.5 Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee! Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me! Is it two days ago, since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'the moonshine of you; Draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger, draw. [Drawing his sword Stew. Away; I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king; and take Vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father: Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks :-draw, you rascal; come your ways. Stew. Help, ho! murder! help! Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. Stew. Help, ho! murder! murder! Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. Edm. How now? what's the matter? Part. Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master. Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; He dies that strikes again: What is the matter? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. Corn. What is your difference? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man? Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a paint- er, could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd, At suit of his grey beard,- Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the letter!-My lord, if you will give me leave, I will house? 1 i. e. Capable of succeeding to my land. 2 Betray. 3 Wicked purpose. 4 Weight. tread this unbolted" villain into morter, and daub 5 Titles. 6 A character in the old moralities. 7 Unrefined. SCENE III. 829 KING LEAR the wall of a jakes' with him.-Spare my grey Drew on me here. beard, you wagtail? Corn. Peace, sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence? Kent. Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege. Corn. Why art thou angry? Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain, Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, But Ajax is their fool. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend brag- gart, We'll teach you- Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn: Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king, On whose employment I was sent to you: You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Stocking his messenger. Which are too intrinse2 t'unloose: smooth every Against the grace and person of my master, 3 passion That in the natures of their lords rebels; Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.- A plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? Glo. Say that. How fell you out? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave. Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his offence? Kent. His countenance likes me not. Corn. Fetch forth the stocks: As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too. Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, You should not use me so. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will [Stocks brought out. Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour Our sister speaks of:-Come, bring away the stocks Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so: His fault is much, and the good king his master Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches, For pilferings, and most common trespasses, Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill, That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or Should have him thus restrain'd. hers. Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain; I have seen better faces in my time, Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant. This is some fellow, Corn. Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb, Quite from his nature: He cannot flatter, he!- An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth: An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plain- ness Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Than twenty silly" ducking observants, That stretch their duties nicely. Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspéct, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front,- Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis- commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. Corn. What was the offence you gave him? Stew. Never any: I It pleas'd the king his master, very late, To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd, And put upon him such a deal of man, That worthy'd him, got praises of the king For him attempting who was self-subdu'd; And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 1 Privy. 2 Perplexed. 3 Disown. 4 The bird called the king-fisher, which, when dried and hung up by a thread, is supposed to turn his bill to the point from whence the wind blows. 5 In Somersetshire, where are bred great quan- tities of geese. Corn. I'll answer that Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, For following her affairs.--Put in his legs.-- [Kent is put in the stocks. Come, my good lord; away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall. Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee. Kent. Pray do not, sir: I have watch'd, and travell'd hard; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: Give you good morrow! Glo. The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. [Exit. Kent. Good king, that must approve the common saw !9 Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st. To the warm sun! Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter!-Nothing almost sees miracles, But misery;-I know 'tis from Cordelia ; Who hath most fortunately been inform'd Of my obscured course; and shall find time From this enormous state,-seeking to give Losses their remedies:-All weary and o'erwatch'd, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy wheel! [He sleeps. SCENE III-A part of the heath. Edgar. Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd; 6 i. e. Pleases me not. Ente 7 Simple or rustic. 8 i. e. Ajax is a fool to them. 9 Saving or proverb. 830 Аст II. KING LEAR. And, by the happy hollow of a tree, Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place, That guard, and most unusual vigilance, Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape, That ever penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth; Blanket my loins; elf' all my hair in knots; And with presented nakedness outface The winds, and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans,3 sometime with pray- ers, Enforce their charity.-Poor Turlygood! poor Tom! That's something yet;-Edgar I nothing am. [Ex. SCENE IV.-Before Gloster's castle. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger. Gent. As I learn'd, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove. Kent. Hail to thee, noble master! Lear. How! Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No, my lord. Fool. Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads; dogs, and bears, by the neck; monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.5 Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here? It is both he and she, Kent. Your son and daughter. Lear. No. Kent. Yes. Lear. No, I say. Kent. I say, yea. Kent. Yes, they have. Lear. No, no; they would not. Lear. By Jupiter, I swear no. Kent. By Juno, I swear ay. Lear. They durst not do't; They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage: Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, Coming from us. Kent. My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness' letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that show'd My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Goneril his mistress, salutations; Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read: on whose contents, They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse; 1 Hair thus knotted, was supposed to be the work of elves and fairies in the night. 2 Skewers. 3 Curses. 1 A quibble on crewel, worsted. Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks: And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, (Being the very fellow that of late Display'd so saucily against your highness,) Having more man than wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries: Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. Fathers, that wear rags, Do make their children blind; But fathers, that bear bags, Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Ne'er turns the key to the poor.- But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours' for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. heart! Lear. O, how this mothers swells up toward my Hysterica passio! down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy element's below!-Where is this daughter? Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. Lear. Follow me not; [Exit. Stay here. Gent. Made you no more offence than what you sneak of? Kent. None. How chance the king comes with so small a train? Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it. Kent. Why, fool? Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring in the winter. Ail that follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for forn, Will pack, when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry, the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly: The knave turns fool, that runs away; The fool no knave, perdy. Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool? Fool. Not i'the stocks, fool. Re-enter Lear, with Gloster. Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick! they are weary? They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches; The images of revolt and flying off! Fetch me a better answer. Glo. My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the duke; How unremoveable and fix'd he is In his own course. Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloster, Gloster. I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife, The old word for stockings. 6 People, train, or retinue. 7 A quibble between dolours and dollare 8 The disease called the mother. SCENE IV. 831 KING LEAR. Glo. Well my good lord, I have inform'd them so. Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man? Glo. Ay, my good lord. Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands her service: Are they inform'd of this ?-My breath and blood!- Fiery? the fiery duke ?-Tell the hot duke, that- No, but not yet:-may be, he is not well: Infirmity doth still neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves, When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind To suffer with the body: I'll forbear; And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indispos'd and sickly fit For the sound man.-Death on my state! wherefore [Looking on Kent. Should he sit here? This act persuades me, That this remotion' of the duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth: Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum, Till it cry-Sleep to death. Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Exit. Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart!-but, down. Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels, when she put them i'the paste³ alive; she rapp'd 'em o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down, wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that in pure kindness to his horse, butter'd the hay. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. Lear. Good morrow to you both. Corn. Hail to your grace! [Kent is set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your highness. Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what reason I have to think so: if thou should'st not be glad, I would divorce thee from thy mother's tomb, Sepúlchring an adultress.-O, are you free? [To Kent. Some other time for that.-Beloved Regan, Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,- [Points to his heart. I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe, Of how deprav'd a quality--O Regan! Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope, You less know how to value her desert, Than she to scant4 her duty. Lear. Say, how is that? Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least Would fail her obligation: If, sir, perchance, She have restrained the riots of your followers, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As clears her from all blame. Lear. My curses on her! Reg. O, sir, you are old; Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discerns your state Retter than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you, That to our sister you do make return; Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. Lear. Do you but mark how this becomes the house.* Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. Reg. Good sir, no more: these are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister. Lear. Never, Regan: She hath abated me of half my train; Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: - All the stor❜d vengeances of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness! Corn. Fie, fie, fie! Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride! Reg. O the blest gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse; Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burn: "Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my coming in; thou better know'st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd. Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. [Trumpets within. Lear. Who put my man i'the stocks? Corn. What trumpet's that? Enter Steward. Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter, That she would soon be here.-Is your lady come? Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:- Out, varlet, from my sight! Corn. What means your grace? Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know of't.-Who comes here! O heavens, Enter Goneril. If you do love old men, if your sweet sway Allow" obedience, if yourselves are old, Make it your cause; send down, and take my part! Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?- [To Goneril. O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have 1 offended? All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, And dotage terms so. Lear. O, sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold?-How came my man i'the stocks? Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders Ask her forgiveness ? Deserv'd much less advancement. Lear. You! did you? 1 Removing from their own house. 2 Artifice. 3 Crust of a pye. 4 Be wanting in. 5 The order of families. 6 Contract my allowances. 7 Approve. 832 ACT. II. KING LEAR. Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so, If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me; I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o'the air; To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,- Necessity's sharp pinch!-Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot:-Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. Gon. At your choice, sir. Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad; I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: We'll no more meet, no more see one another:- But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh, Which I must needs call inine: thou art a boil, A plague-sore, an embossed2 carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: Mend when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure: I can be patient; I can stay with Regan; I, and my hundred knights. Reg. Not altogether so, sir; I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister; For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to think you old, and so- But she knows what she does. Lear. Is this well spoken now? Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers? Is it not well; What should you need of more? Yea, of so many? sith³ that both charge and danger Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house, Should many people, under two commands,. Hold amity? 'Tis bard; almost impossible. Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at- tendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine? Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack you, We could control them: If you will come to me (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you To bring but five and twenty; to no more Will I give place or notice. Lear. I gave you all- Reg. And in good time you gave it. Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; But kept a reservation to he follow'd With such a number: What, must I come to you With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? Reg. And speak it again, my lord; no more with me. Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- favour'd, When others are more wicked; not being the worst, Stands in some rank of praise:-I'll go with thee; [To Goneril. Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, And thou art twice her love. Gon. Here me, my lord; What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house, where twice so many Have a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear O. reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest things superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beasts: thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm.-But, for true need.- You heavens give me that patience, patience I need! You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger! O. let not women's weapons, water drops, Stain my man's cheeks!-No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall-1 will do such things,- What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You thing, I'll weep; No, I'll not weep:-- I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I'll weep:--O, fool. I shall go mad! [Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool. Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Storm heard at a distance. This house Reg. Is little; the old man and his people cannot Be well bestowed. Gon. 'Tis his own blame; he hath put Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower. Gon. So am I purpos'd. Where is my lord of Gloster? Re-enter Gloster. Corn. Follow'd the old man forth :--he is re- turn'd. Glo. The king is in high rage. Corn. Whither is he going? Glo. He calls to horse; but will I know not whither. Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads him- self. Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about There's scarce a bush. Reg. O, sir. to wilful men, The injuries that they themselves procure, Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors, He is attended with a desperate train; And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abus d, wisdom bids fear. Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night; My Regan counsels well: come out o'the storm. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I-A heath. A storm is heard, with. thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and e Gentleman, meeting. Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather? War. 2 Swelling. 3 Since. 4 Instigate. SCENE II. 833 KING LEAR Gent. One minded like the weather, most un-You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout quietly. Kent. I know you; where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful element: Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change, or cease: tears his white hair; Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt couriers" to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o'the word! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man! Fool. O nuncle, court holy-waters in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o'door.-Good This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would nuncle, in and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all. Kent. Gent. None but the fool; His heart-struck injuries. Kent. But who is with him? who labours to out-jest Sir, I do know you, And bare upon the warrant of my art,2 Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be cover'd With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; Who have (as who have not, that their great stars Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less; Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes; Or the hard rein which both of them have borne Against the old kind king; or something deeper, Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;4- [But, true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already, Wise in our negligence, have secret feet In some of our best ports, and are at point To show their open banner.-Now to you: If on my credit you dare build so far To make your speed to Dover, you shall find Some that will thank you, making just report Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow The king hath cause to plain. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer This office to you.] Gent. I will talk further with you. Kent. No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more Than my out wall, open this purse, and take What it contains: If you shall see Cordelia, (As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring; And she will tell you who your fellow' is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! I will go seek the king. Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet; That, when we have found the king (in which your pain That way; I'll this ;) ne that first lights on him, Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.-Another part of the heath. Storm continues. Enter Lear and Fool. Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! blow! rage! 1 Whose dugs are drawn dry by its young. 2 Which teaches us to find the mind's con- struction in the face.' 3 Snuffs are dislikes, and packings, underhand contrivances. 4 Samples. 5 Companion. a night pities neither wise men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription;9 why then, let fall Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man ;- But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul! Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has a good head-piece.. The cod-piece that will house, Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse ;- So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe What he his heart should make, Shall of a corn cry w And turn his sleep to wake. -for there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. Enter Kent. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing. Kent. Who's there? Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's a wise man, and a fool. Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night, Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies Gallow 10 the very wanderers of the dark, And make them keep their caves: Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such greans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry The affliction, nor the fear. Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother' o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwaipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Thou perjur'd, and thou simular12 man of virtue, That art incestuous: Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming13 Hast practis'd on man's life!--Close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and cry These dreadful summoners grace. 14-I am a man, 6 Quick as thought. 7 Avant couriers, French 8 A proverbial phrase for fair words. 9 Obedience. 10 Scare or frighten. 11 Blustering noise. 13 Appearance. 14 Favour. 12 Counterfeit. 834 ACT III. KING LEAR. More sinn'd against, than sinning. Kent. Alack, bare-headed! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; Repose you there: while I to this hard house (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd; Which even but now, demanding¹ after you, Denied me to come in,) return, and force Their scanted courtesy." - Lear. My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself.-Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel, Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee. Fool. He that has a little tiny wit,- With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,- Must make content with his fortunes fit; For the rain it raineth every day. 2 Lear. True, my good boy.-Come, bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : When priests are more in word than matter; When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors' tutors; No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors: When every case in law is right; No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; When slanders do not live in tongues; Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; When usurers tell their gold i'the field; The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit SCENE IV-A part of the heath, with a hovel Enter Lear, Kent, and Fooi. Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter; The tyranny of the open night's too rough For nature to endure. Lear. [Storm still. Let me alone. Kent. Good, my lord, enter here. Lear. Wilt break my heart? Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that the conten- tious storm Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fix'd, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear: But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the mind's free, The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind Doth from my senses take all feeling else, Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, For lifting food to't? But I will punish home : No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out!-Pour on; I will endure :- In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!- Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,- O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more o'that,- Kent. Good, my lord, enter here. Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease; This tempest will not give me leave to ponder And bawds and whores do churches build;-On Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion. Then comes the time, who lives to see't, That going shall be us'd with feet. things would hurt me more.-But I'll go in: In, boy: go first.-[To the Fool.] you houseless poverty.- Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.- [Fool goes in. This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are, his time. SCENE III-A room in Gloster's castle. Gloster and Edmund. [Exit. That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, Enter Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en un-Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just. Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this natural dealing: When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him. Edm. Most savage, and unnatural! Glo. Go to; say you nothing: There is division between the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have received a letter this night;-'tis dangerous to be spoken;-I have locked the letter in my closet: these injuries the king now bears will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king. I will seek him, and privily relieve him: go you, and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived: If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the king my old master must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful. [Exit. Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke Instantly know; and of that letter too:- This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses; no less than all: 1 Inquiring. 2 Part of the Clown's song in Twelfth Night. Edg. [Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! [The Fool runs out from the hovel. Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. Help me, help me! Kent. Give me thy hand.-Who's there? Fool. A spirit, a spirit; he says his name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'the straw? Come forth. Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me !- Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this? Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and througd flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog anh quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, 3 A force already landed. SCENE III. 835 KING LEAR. and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; wild field were like an old lecher's heart: a small made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-spark, all the rest of his body cold.-Look, here horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own comes a walking fire. shadow for a traitor:-Bless thy five wits! Tom's Edg. This is the foul fiend Fibbertigil bet: he a-cold.-O, do de, do de, do de.-Bless thee from begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he whirlwinds, star-blasting and taking! Do poor gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and T'om some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes; makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and There could I have him now,-and there,-and hurts the poor creature of earth. there, and there again, and there. [Storm continues. 1 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to| this pass?- Could'st thou save nothing? Didst thou give them ali? Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed. Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters! Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have sub- du'd nature To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.- Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters. Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's-hill ;- Halloo, halloo, loo, loo! Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. Edg. Take heed of the foul fiend: Obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array: Tom's a-cold. Lear. What hast thou been? Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap,2 served the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one, that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it: Wine loved I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured the Turk: False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand: Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rust- ling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women: Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. -Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: Says suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin, my boy, my boy, sessa; let him trot by. Saint Withold's footed thrice the wold, He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her alight, And her troth plight, And, aroint' thee, witch, aroint thee! Kent. How fares your grace? Enter Gloster, with a torch. Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek? Glo. What are you there? Your names? Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tything to tything, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear,-- But mice, and rats, and such small deer, Have been Tom's food for seven long year. Beware my follower :-Peace, Smolkin;10 peace, thou fiend! Glo. What, hath your grace no better company? Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman; Modo he's called, and Mahu.¹¹ Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, That it doth hate what gets it. Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer To obey in all your daughters' hard commands: Though their injunction be to bar my doors, And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you; Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready. Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher :- What is the cause of thunder? Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; Go into the house. Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord, His wits begin to unsettle. Glo. Canst thou blame him? [Storm still continues. Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.-Is man no more than this? Consider him well: Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume:- Ha! here's three of us are unsophisticated!-Thou His daughters seek his death;-Ah, that good art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.-Off, off, you lendings:-Come; unbutton [Tearing off his clothes. Focl. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; this is a naughty night to swim in.-Now a little fire in a here.3 1 To take is to blast, or strike with malignant influence. 2 It was the custom to wear gloves in the hat, as the favour of a mistress. 3 The words unbutton here, are probably only a marginal direction crept into the matter. 4 Diseases of the eye. Kent! He said it would be thus :-Poor banish'd man! Thou say'st, the king grows mad: I'll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself: I had a son, Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life, 5 A saint said to protect his devotees from the disease called the night-mure. 6 Wild downs, so called in various parts of England. 8 i. e. The water-newt. 9 A tything is a division of a county. Name of a spirit. 11 The chief devil. 7 Avaunt. 10 836 ACT. Ilt KING LEAR. But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend,- No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, [Storm continues. The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this! I do beseech your grace,- Lear. O, cry you mercy, Noble philosopher, your company. . Edg. Tom's a-cold. Fool. No; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son: for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son a gentleman before him. Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spit Come hissing in upon them :- Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel: keep thee oath. warm. Lear. Come, let's in all. Kent. Lear. This way, my lord. With him; I will keep still with my philosopher. Kent. Good my lord, sooth him; let him take the fellow. Glo. Take him you on. Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us. Lear. Come, good Athenian. Glo. Hush. No words, no words: Edg. Child' Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still,-Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a. British man. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-A room in Gloster's castle. Enter Cornwall and Edmund. Corn. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his house. Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of. Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a re- proveable badness in himself. Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the ad- vantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not, or not I the detector! Corn. Go with me to the duchess. Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand. Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension. Edm. [Aside.] If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully.-I will perse- vere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood. Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. SCENE VI-A chamber in a farm-house, ad- joining the castle. Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully: I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to his impatience:-The gods reward your kind- ness! [Exit Gloster. Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent,2 and beware the foul fiend. Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad- man be a gentleman, or a yeoman? Lear. A king, a king! 1 Child is an old term for knight. Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight:- Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;-. [To Edgar. Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.]-Now you she foxes !-- Edg. Look, where he stands and glares!- Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam? Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me :- Fool. Her boat hath a leak, And she must not speak Why she dares not come over to thee. Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly, for two white herrings. Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee. Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd: Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions! Lear. I'll see their trial first:-Bring in the evi- Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; dence.- [To Edgar. And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fooi. Bench by his side :-You are of the commnission, Sit you too. [To Kent. Edg. Let us deal justly. Sleepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sheep be in the corn; And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, Thy sheep shall take no harm. Pur! the cat is grey. take my oath before this honourable assembly, she Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here kick'd the poor king her father. Fool. Come hither, mistress; Is your name Gon- eril? Lear. She cannot deny it. Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim What store her heart is made of. Stop her there: Arms, arms, sword, fire!-Corruption in the place; False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? Edg. Bless thy five wits! Kent. O pity!-Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain ? Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much, They'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside Lear. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me Edg. Tom will throw his head at them :- Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite; Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym;" Or bobtail like, or trundle-tail; Tom will make thee weep and wail: 3 Edgar is speaking in the character of a great 2 Addressed to the fool, who was anciently man, who thinks he sees the fiend. called an innocent. 4 Brook or rivulet. 5 A blood-hound. SCENE VII. 837 KING LEAR. For, with throwing thus my head, Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market-towns:-Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. keep you our sister company; the evenges we a bound to take upon your traitorous father, are not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and in- telligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister;-fare- well, my lord of Gloster.3 Enter Steward. Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in na- ture, that makes these hard hearts?--You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments: you will How now? Where's the king. say, they are Persian attire; but let them be, changed. [To Edgar. Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest a while. Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains: So, so, so: We'll go to supper i'the morn- ing: So, so, so. Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. Re-enter Gloster. Glo. Come hither, friend: Where is the king my master? Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone. Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms; I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him: There is a litter ready; lay him in't, And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master: If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life, With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss: Take up, take up; And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct. Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps:- This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure.-Come, help to bear thy master; Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. Come, come, away. [Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing off the King. Glo. Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers, suffers most i'the mind; Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind: But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, When that, which makes me bend, makes the king bow; He childed, as I father'd !-Tom, away: Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray,2 When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king! Lurk, lurk. [Exit. SCENE VII-A room in Gloster's castle. En- ter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and Ser- vants. Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him this letter-the army of France is landed: -Seek out the villian Gloster. [Exeunt some of the Servants. Reg. Hang him instantly. Gon. Pluck out his eyes Corn. Leave him to my displeasure.-Edmund, 1 The great events that are approaching. 2 Betray, discover. Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence : Some five or six and thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; Who, with some other of the lord's departments, Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast To have well-armed friends. Corn. Get horses for your mistress. Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. [Exeunt Goneril and Edmund. Corn. Edmund, farewell.-Go, seek the traitor Gloster, Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. Though well we may not pass upon his life [Exeunt other Servants. Without the form of justice; yet our power Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men May blame, but not control. Who's there; The traitor? Re-enter Servants, with Gloster. Reg. Ingrateful fox! 'tis he. Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. Glo. What means your graces?-Good my friends, consider You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends. Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. Reg. Hard, hard:-O filthy traitor! Glo. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none. Corn. To this chair bind him:-Villain, thou shalt find- [Regan plucks his beard. Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done To pluck me by the beard. Reg. So white, and such a traitor! Glo. Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin, Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host; With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? France? Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom? Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak. Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, And not from one oppos'd. Corn. Reg. Cunning. And false. Corn. Where hast thou sent the king? To Dover. Wherefore Glo. Reg. To Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at thy peril- 3 Meaning Edmund, invested with his father's titles. 4 Inquirers. 5 6 Deceitful. 7 Live. Bend to our wrath. 8 Features. 838 ACT IV. KING LEAR. Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer! that. Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course. Reg. Wherefore to Dover? Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up, And quench'd the stelled' fires; yet, poor old heart, He holp the heavens to rain. If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time, Thou should'st have said, Good porter, turn the key; All cruels else subscrib'd:-But I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children. Corn. See it shalt thou never :-Fellows, hold the chair: Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. [Gloster is held down in the chair, while Corn- wall plucks out one of his eyes, and sets his foot on it. Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old, Give me some help :-O cruel! O ye gods! Reg. One side will mock another; the other too. Corn. If you see vengeance,- Serv. Hold your hand, my lord. I have serv'd you ever since I was a child; But better service have I never done you, Than now to bid you hold. Reg. How now, you dog! Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I'd shake it on this quarrel: What do you mean? Corn. My villain! [Draws, und runs at him. Serv. Nay, then come on, and take the chance of anger. [Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded. Reg. Give me thy sword.-[To another Servant.] A peasant stand up thus! [Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him. Serv. O, I am slain!-My lord, you have one eye left [Dies. To see some mischief on him :-0! Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it:-Out, vile jelly! Where is thy lustre now? [Tears out Gloster's other eye, and throws it on the ground. Glo. All dark and comfortless.-Where's son Edmund ? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, To quit this horrid act. Reg. my Out, treacherous villain! Thou cail'st on him that hates thee: it was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us; Who is too good to pity thee. Glo. Then Edgar was abus'd. O my follies! Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him! Reg Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover. How is't, my lord? How look you? 1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, If this man comes to good. If she live long, 2 Serv. And, in the end, meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters. 1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam To lead him where he would; his roguish madness Allows itself to any thing. 2 Serv. Go thou; I'll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs, To apply to his bleeding face. him! ACT IV. Now, heaven help [Exeunt severally. SCENE I.-The heath. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be con- temn'd, Than still conteinn'd, and flatter'd. To be worst, The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace! The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts.-But who comes here? Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. My father, poorly led?-World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age. Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these forescore years. Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone: Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee they may hurt. Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes, I stumbled when I saw: Full oft 'tis seen, Our mean secures us; and our mere defects Prove our commodities.-Ah, dear on Edgar The food of thy abused father's wrath! Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I'd say, I had eyes again! Old Man. How now? Who's there? Edg. [Aside.] O gods! Who is't can say, I am at the worst? I am worse than e'er I was. Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: The worst is not, So long as we can say, This is the worst. Old Man. Fellow, where goest? Glo. Is it a beggar-man? Old Man. Madman and beggar too. Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. last night's storm I such a fellow saw; Which made me think, a man a worm: My son Came then into my mind; and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him: 1 have heard more since: Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt: Follow me, lady.-I'the Turn out that eyeless villain;-throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: Untimely comes this hurt; Give me your arm. [Exit Cornwall, led by Regan:-Servants unbind Gloster, and lead him out. 1 Starred. 2 Yielded, submitted to the necessity of the oc- casion. 3 Requite. 4 Laid open. 5 Madman. As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport. 6 i. e. It is better to be thus contemned and know it, than to be flattered by those who secretly contemn us. 7 In hope. 8 Changes. SCENE II. 839 KING LEAR. Edg. Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others. [Aside.]-Bless thee, master! How should this be?-When I inform'd him, then he ca. I'd me sot; And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out:- What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him What like, offensive. Gon. Glo. Is that the naked fellow? Old Man. Ay, my lord. Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake, Thou wilt overtake us, hence a mile or twain, I'the way to Dover, do it for ancient love; And bring some covering for this naked soul, Whom I'll entreat to lead me. Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. Glo. 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; Above the rest, be gone. Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, Come on't what will. Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. [Exit. Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold-I cannot daub' it fur- ther. [Aside. Glo. Come hither, fellow. Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must.-Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. Then shall you go no further. To Edmund. It is the cowish terror of his spirit, That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs, Which tie him to an answer: Our wishes, on the way, May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers: I must change arms at home, and give the distaff Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; [Giving a favour. Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air;- Conceive, and fare thee well. Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. Gon. My most dear Gloster! [Exit Edmund. O, the difference of man, and man! To thee A woman's services are due; my fool Usurps my bed. Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit Steward. Enter Albany. Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot- path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: Bless the good man from the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as, Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flib-Alb. bertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since You are not worth the dust which the rude wind possesses chamber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master! Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched, Makes the happier :-Heavens, deal so still! Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance,2 that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough.-Dost thou know Dover? Edg. Ay, master. Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep: Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear, With something rich about me: From that place I shall no leading need. Edg. Give me thy arm; Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. Gon. I have been worth the whistle.4 O Goneril! Blows in your face.-I fear your disposition: That nature, which contemns its origin, Cannot be border'd certain in itself;" She that herself will slivers and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither And come to deadly use. Gon. No more; the text is foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile. Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd? A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you mad- ded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? A man, a prince, by him so benefitted? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, Twill come, Humanity must perforce prey upon itself, Like monsters of the deep. Gon. Milk-liver'd man! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; SCENE II-Before the Duke of Albany's pal-Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Enter Goneril and Edmund; Steward Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st, meeting them. Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum? ace. Gon. Welcome, my lord; I marvel, our mild husband France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; Not met us on the way:-Now, where's your With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; master? Stew. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd: I told him of the army that was landed; He smil'd at it: I told him you were coming; His answer was, The worse: of Gloster's treachery, And of the loyal service of his son, 1 Disguise. Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still and cri'st, Alack! why does he so? Alb. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid, as in woman. Gon. O vain fool! 3 i. e. Our wishes on the road may be com- 2 ie. To make it subject to us, instead of pleted. acting in obedience to it. 4 Worth calling for. 5 Tear ofl. 840 ACT. IV. -KING LEAR. Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame, Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness To let these hands obey my blood,' They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones:-Howe'er thou art a fiend, A woman's shape doth shield thee. Gon. Marry, your manhood now! Enter a Messenger. Alb. What news? Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloster. Alb. Gloster's eyes! Sought to be king o'er her. Kent. O, then it mov'd her. Gent. Not to a rage; patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears Were like a better day: Those happy smiles, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes: which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, sorrow Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all Could so become it. Kent. Made she no verbal question ?2 Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name of father Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cried, Sisters! sisters!-Shame of ladies! sisters! Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re- Kent! father! sisters! What? i the storm? 'the morse, Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword To his great master: who, thereat enrag'd, Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: But not without that harmful stroke, which since Hath pluck'd him after. Alb. This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge!-But, O poor Gloster! Lost he his other eye? Mess. Both, both, my lord.- This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 'Tis from your sister. Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloster with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life: Another way, The news is not so tart.-I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his eyes? Mess. Come with my lady hither. Alb.. He is not here. Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness? Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him; And quit the house on purpose, that their punish- ment Might have the freer course. Alb. Gloster, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, And to revenge thine eyes.-Come hither, friend; Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The French camp near Dover. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason? Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, Which since his coming forth is thought of; which Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, That his personal return was most requir'd, And necessary. Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? Gent. The mareschal of France, Monsieur Le Fer. Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, 1 Inclination. 2 Discourse, conversation. 3 i. e. Let not pity be supposed to exist. 4 Dispositions. 5 Forces night? Let pity not be believed 13-There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour moisten'd: then away she started To deal with grief alone. Kent. It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions:4 Else one self mate and mate could not beget Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? Gent. No. Kent. Was this before the king return'd? Gent. No, since. Kent. Well, sir; The poor distress'd Lear is i'the town: Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers What we are come about, and by no means Will yield to see his daughter. Gent. Why, good sir? Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his ow unkindness, That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters,-these things sting His mind so venomously, that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia. Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot. Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, And leave you to attend him; some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up a while; When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go Along with me. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. A tent. Enter Corde- lia, Physician, and Soldiers. Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter," and furrow-weeds, With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.-A century send forth; Search every acre in the high grown field, And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]- What can man's wisdom do, In the restoring his bereaved sense? He, that helps him, take all my outward worth. Phy. There is means, madam: Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Are many simples operative, whose power 6 Important business. 7 Fumitory. 8 Charlocks SCENE V, VI. 84 KING LEAR. Will close the eye of anguish. Cor. All bless'd secrets, All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate, In the good man's distress!-Seek, seek for him; Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.' Enter a Messenger. Mess. Madam, news; The British powers are marching hitherward. Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them.-O dear father, It is thy business that I go about, Therefore great France My mourning, and important2 tears, hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right: Soon may I hear, and see him. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-A room in Gloster's castle. Enter Regan and Steward. Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth? Stew. Reg. In person there? Stew. Ay, madam. Himself Madam, with much ado: Your sister is the better soldier. Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home? Stew. No, madam. Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? Stew. I know not, lady. Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, To let him live; where he arrives, he moves All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to despatch His nighted life; moreover, to descry The strength o'the enemy. Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with us; The ways are dangerous. Stew. I may not, madarn; My lady charg'd my duty in this business. Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike, Something-I know not what :-I'll love thee much, Let me unseal the letter. Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your lady does not love her hus- band; I am sure of that: and at her late being here, She gave strange ciliads, and most speaking looks To noble Edmund: I know, you are of her bosom. Stew. I, madam? Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, know it: I Therefore, I do advise you, take this note: My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd; And more convenient is he for my hand, Than for your lady's :-You may gather more." If you do find him, pray you, give him this; And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare you well. 1 i. e. The reason which should guide it. 2 Importunate. 3. Inflated, swelling. 4 i. e. His life made dark as night. 5 A cast, or significant glance of the eve If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam; I would show What party I do follow. Reg. Fare thee well. [Exe. Enter SCENE VI-The country near Dover. Gloster, and Edgar, dressed like a peasant. Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill? Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how we la- bour. Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. Edg. Hark, do you hear the sea? Glo. Horrible steep: No, truly. Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imper... fect By your eyes anguish. Glo. So may it be, indeed: Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. Edg. You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I chang'd, But in my garments. Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place :-Stand still. -How fearful And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon' tall anchoring bark, Diminish'd to her cock;10 her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight: The murmuring surge, That on the number'd idle pebbles chafes, Cannot be heard so high:-I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. Glo. Set me where you stand. Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot Of the extreme verge: for el beneath the moon Would I not leap upright. Glo. Let go my hand. Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel Well worth a poor man's taking: Fairies, and gods, Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seems to go Glo. With all my heart. Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, Is done to cure it. Glo. O you mighty gods! This world I do renounce; and, in your sights, Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!- Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along. Gone, sir? Farewell.- Edg. And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft: Had he been where he thought, By this, had thought been past.-Alive, or dead-? 6 Observes what I am saying. 7 Infer more 8 Daws. 9 A vegetable gathered for pickling 10 Her cock-boat. 11 Tumble. 842 ACT IV KING LEAR. Ho, you sir! friend!-Hear you, sir?-speak! Thus might he pass indeed :-Yet he revives: What are you, sir? Glo. Away, and let me die. Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, fea- thers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe; Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound. Ten masts at each make not the altitude, Which thou hast perpendicularly fell; Thy life's a miracle: Speak yet again. Glo. But have I fallen, or no? Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn:2 Look up a-height;-the shrill-gorg'd' lark so far Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up. Glo. Alack, I have no eyes.- Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit, To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, And frustrate his proud will. Edg. Give me your arm: Up:-So;-How is't? Feel you your legs? You stand. Glo. Too weli, too well. Edg. This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o'the cliff, what thing was that Which parted from you? Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns whelk'd, and wav'd, like the enridged sea; It was some fiend; Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make thern honours Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. Glo. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear Affliction, till it do cry out itself, Enough, enough, and, die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man; often 'twould say, The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place. Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts.-But who comes here? Enter Lear fantastically dressed up with flowers. The safer sense will ne'er accommodate His master thus. Ay and no too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are not men o'their words: they told me I was every thing; 'Tis a lie; I am not ague-proof. Glo. The trick 10 of that voice I do well remember; Is't not the king? Lear. Ay, every inch a king: When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.- I pardon that man's life: what was thy cause? Adultery.- Thou shalt not die: Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son Was kinder to his father, than my daughters Got 'tween the lawful sheets. To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers.- Behold yon' simpering dame, Whose face between her forks presageth snow; That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure's name; The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, Though women all above: But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 12 Beneath is all the fiends'; there's hell, there's dark ness, There is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption;-Fie, fie, fie! pah; pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination: there's money for thee. Glo. O, let me kiss that hand! Lear. Let me wipe it first: it smells of mortality. Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to nought-Dost thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny13 at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cu- pid; I'll not love.-Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it. Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. Edg. I would not take this from report;-it is, And my heart breaks at it. Lear. Read. Glo. What, with the case of eyes? Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; I eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light: Yet am the king himself. Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! you see how this world goes. Glo. I see it feelingly. Lear. Nature's above art in that respect.-There's Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this your press-money. That fellow handles his bow world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears: like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard.-see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Look, look, a mouse; Peace, peace ;-this piece of Hark, in thine ear: Change places; and, handy- toasted cheese will do't.-There's my gauntlet: I'll dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?- prove it on a giant.-Bring up the brown bills.-Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? 0,well flown, bird!-i'the clout, i'the clout: hewgh! -Give the word.⁹ Edg. Sweet marjoram. Lear. Pass. Glo. I know that voice. Glo. Ay, sir. Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou might'st behold the great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand: Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Lear. Ha! Goneril!-with a white beard! They flatter'd me like a dog; and told me, I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind there. To say ay, and no, to every thing I said!-For 1 Thus might he die in reality. 2 i. e. This chalky boundary of England. 3 Shrill-throated. 4 Twisted, convolved. 5 The purest. 6 An arrow of a cloth-yard long 7 which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Battle-axes. 8 The white mark for archers to aim at. 9 The watch-word. 10 Likeness, manner. 11 Only. 12 Possess. 13 Look asquint. SCENE VI. 843 KING LEAR. Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks: Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes; And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not.-Now, now, now, now: Pull off my boots:-harder, harder; so. Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd! Reason in madness! Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, We wawl, and cry:-I will preach to thee; mark me. Glo. Alack, alack the day! Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come To this great stage of fools;-This a good block?' It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe A troop of horse with felt: I'll put it in proof; And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman with Attendants. Gent. O, here he is, lay hand upon him. Sir, Your most dear daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural food of fortune. Use me well; You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon, I am cut to the brains. Gent. You shall have any thing. Lear. No seconds? All myself? Why this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. Gent. Good sir,- Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom; What? I will be jovial; come, come; I am a king, My masters, know you that? Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an' you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. [Exit, running. Attendants follow. Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch Past speaking of in a king!-Thou hast one daugh- ter, Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to. Edg. Hail, gentle sir. Gent. Sir, speed you: What's your will? Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that, Which can distinguish sound. Edg. But, by your favor, How near's the other army? Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought. Edg. I thank you, sir; that's all. 3 1 Block anciently signified the head-part of a hat. 2 i. e. A man of tears. : Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is mov'd on. Edg. I thank you, sir. [Ex. Gent. Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me; Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please! Edg. Well pray you, father. Glo. Now, good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's blows: Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I'll lead you to some biding. Glo. Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benizon of heaven To boot, and boot! Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize! most happy! That eveless head of thine was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes.-Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly" thyself remember:-The sword is out That must destroy thee. Glo. Now let thy friendly hand [Edgar opposes. Wherefore, bold peasant, Put strength enough to it. Stew. Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; Lest that the infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bato be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with you. Stew. Out, dunghill! Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter vor your foins. ¹¹ [They fight: and Edgar knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me :-Villain, take my purse; If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; And give the letters, which thou find'st about me To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out Upon the British party :-O, untimely death! [Dies. Edg. I know thee well: A serviceable villain; As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, As badness would desire. Glo. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.- Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks cf May be my friends.-He's dead; I am only sorry He had no other death's-man.-Let us see: Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not: To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts; Their papers, is more lawful. 12 [Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remem- bered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conquerer: Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth 7 3 The main body is expected to be denied ev- ery hour. 8 4 Evil genius. 5 Blessing. 6 Reward. Quickly recollect the offences of thy life. Go your way. 9 Head. 10 Club. 11 Thrusts. 12 To rip their papers is more lawful. 844 ACT. IV. KING LEAR. whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your wife (so I would say,) and your affectionate servant, GONERIL. O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!- A plot upon her virtuous husband's life: And the exchange, my brother !-Here, in sands; Thee I'll rake up,' the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers: and, in the mature time, With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well, That of thy death and business I can tell. Cor. Had you not been their father, these whre flakes Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face To be expos'd against the warring winds? To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!") the With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog, [Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs; And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose. The knowledge of themselves. Re-enter Edgar. Edg. Give me your hand. Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I'H bestow you with a friend. [Exe. SCENE VII-A tent in the French camp. Lear on a bed asleep; Physician, Gentleman, and others, attending: Enter Cordelia and Kent. Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me. Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire; And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! 'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all.-He wakes; speak to him. Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'the grave:- Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead. I Cor. Lear. You are a spirit, I die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Sir, do you know me? know; When did you Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been ?-Where am I?-Fair day-light? am mightily abus'd.-I should even die with pity, To see another thus.-I know not what to say.- I will not swear, these are my hands:-let's see; feel this pin prick. "Would I were assur'd Of my condition. I I Cor. 0, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me: No, sir, you must not kneel. Lear. Pray, do not mock me: Be better suited:2 I am a very foolish fond old man, These weeds are memories of those worser hours; Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly, I pr'ythee, put them off. fear, I am not in my perfect mind. Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; Methinks, I should know you, and know this man: Yet to be known, shortens my made intent:4 Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant My boon I make it, that you know me not, What place this is; and all the skill I have Till time and I think meet. Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lay To be my child Cordelia. Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.-How does the king? [To the Physician. Phys. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature! The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up Of this child-changed father! Phys. So please your majesty, That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. Cor. And so I am, I am. Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know, you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and pro-You have some cause, they have not. ceed I'the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him. Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; Very well. I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Phys. Please you, draw near.-Louder the mu- sic there. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made! Kent. Kind and dear princess! 1 I'll cover thee (the dead steward) in the sands. 2 Dressed. 3 Memorials. 4 Intent formed. 5 French, enfurs per us. Cor. Lear. Am I in France? Kent. No cause, no cause. In your own kingdom, six Lear. Do not abuse me. Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, You see, is cur'd in him: and yet it is danger To make him even' o'er the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more, Till further settling. Cor. Will't please your highness walk? Lear. You must bear with me Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish [Exeunl Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and Attendants. Gent. Hold it true, sir. 6 Thin covering of hair. 7 To reconcile it to his apprehension. SCENE, IL 845 KING LEAR. That the duke of Cornwall was so slain? Kent. Most certain, sir. Gent. Who is conductor of his people? Kent. As 'tis said, The bastard son of Gloster. They say, Edgar, His banished son, is with the earl of Kent Report is changeable. Gent. In Germany. Kent. 'Tis time to look about; the powers' o'the kingdom Approach apace. Gent. The arbitrement2 is like to be a bloody. Fare you well, sir. [Exit. Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle! [Aside.] I will go. As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised. Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor, Hear me one word. Alb. I'll overtake you.-Speak. [Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers Soldiers, and Attendants. Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seem Kent. My point and period will be throughly I can produce a champion, that will prove wrought, Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. ACT V. [Exit. SCENE I.-The camp of the British forces, near Dover. Enter, with drums and colours, Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers, and others. Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold; Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught To change the course: He's full of alteration, And self-reproving:-bring his constant pleasure. [To an officer, who goes out. Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. Reg. Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you: Tell me, but truly,-but then speak the truth, Do you not love my sister? Edm. In honour'd love. Reg. 3ut have you never found my brother's way To the forefended place? Edm. That thought abuses you. Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. Reg. I never shall endure her: Dear my lord, Be not familiar with her. Edm. Fear me not: She, and the duke her husband,---- Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers. Gon. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister Should loosen him and me. [Aside. Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met.- Sir, this I hear,-The king is come to his daughter, With others, whom the rigour of our state Fore'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant: for this business, It touches us as France invades our land, Not bolds the king; with others, whom, I fear, Most just and heavy causes make oppose." Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. Reg. Why is this reason'd? Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy: For these domestic and particular broils Are not to question here. All. Let us then determine With the ancient of war on our proceedings. Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. Reg. Sister, you'll go with us? Gon. No. ! Forces. 2 Decision. 3 His settled resolution. What is avouched there: If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune love you! Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. Edg. I was forbid it. When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I'll appear again. Exit. Alb. Why, fare thee well; I will o'erlook thy paper. Re-enter Edmund. Here is the guess of their true strength and forces Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers. By diligent discovery ;-but your haste Is now urg'd on you. Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; Each jealous of the other, as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd, If both remain alive: To take the widow, Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; And hardly shall I carry out my side, 10 His countenance for the battle; which being done, Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use Let her, who would be rid of him, devise His speedy taking off. As for the mercy. Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia,- The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon: for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate. SCENE II-A field between the two camps. Alarum within. Enter, with drums and colours, Lear, Cordelia, and their forces; and exeunt Enter Edgar and Gloster. [Exit. Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree For your good host; pray that the right may thrive, If ever I return to you again, I'll bring you comfort. Glo. Grace go with you, sir! [Exit Edgar. Alarums; afterwards a retreat. Re-enter Edgar. Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away; King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en: Give me thy hand, come on. Glo. No further, sir; a man may rot even here. Edg. What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither: Ripeness is all:11 Come on. Glo. And that's true too. [Exeunt. 8 i. e. All designs against your life will have an end. 9 Be ready to meet the occasion. 4 Forbidden. 5 Imposes on you. i. e. Emboldens him. 7 Opposition. 10 i. e. Make my party good. 11 i. e. To be ready prepared is all. 846 ACT V. KING LEAR. queen; SCENE III-The British camp near Dover. Which do command them. With him I sent the Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Ed- mund; Lear and Cordelia, as prisoners; Offi- cers, Soldiers, &c. Edm. Some officers take them away: good guard; Until their greater pleasures first be known That are to censure¹ them. Cor. We are not the first, Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down; Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.- Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison: My reason all the same; and they are ready To-morrow, or at further space, to appear. Where you shall hold your session. At this time, We sweat, and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend; And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd By those that feel their sharpness:- The question of Cordelia, and her father, Requires a fitter place." Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, Not as a brother. Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinks, our pleasure might have been demanded, Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers; Bore the commission of my place and person; The which immediacy may well stand up, And call himself your brother. Gon. We two alone will sing like birds i'the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness: So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,- Who loses, and who wins: who's in, who's out ;-In his own grace he doth exalt himself And take upon us the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies: And we'll wear out, In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebb and flow by the moon. Edm. Take them away. Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, - The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He, that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven, And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; The goujeers shall devour them, flesh and fell,3 Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see them starve first. Come. [Exe. Lear and Cor. guarded. Edm. Come hither, captain; hark. Take thou this note; [Giving a paper.] go, follow them to prison: One step I have advanc'd thee; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes: Know thou this,-that men Are as the time is: to be tender-minded Does not become a sword:-Thy great employment Will not bear question;4 either say, thou'lt do't, Or thrive by other means. Offi. I'll do't, my lord. Edm. About it; and write happy, when thou hast done. Mark,-I say, instantly; and carry it so, As I have set it down. Offi. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; If it be man's work, I will do it. [Exit Officer. Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Offi- cers, and Attendants. Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain, And fortune led you well: You have the captives Who were the opposites of this day's strife: We do require them of you; so to use them, As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine. Edm. Sir, I thought it fit To send the old and miserable king To some retention, and appointed guard; Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side, And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 1 Pass judgment on them. 2 The French disease. 4 Admit of debate. 3 Skin. 5 To be discoursed of in greater privacy. More than in your advancement. Reg. Not so hot: In my rights, By me invested, he compeers the best. Gon. That were the most, if he should husband you. Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. Gon. Holloa, holloa! That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint." Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach.-General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine: Witness the world, that I create thee here My lord and master. Gon Alb. The let-alone Edm. Nor in thine, Alb. thine. Mean you to enjoy him? lies not in your good will. lord.. Half-blooded fellow, yes. Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title [To Edmund. Alb. Stay yet; hear reason:-Edmund, I arrest thee On capital treason; and, in thy arrest, This gilded serpent: [Pointing to Gon.]-For your I bar it in the interest of my wife; claim, fair sister, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict your bans. If you will marry, niake your love to me, My lady is bespoke. Gon. An interlude! Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster:-Let the trumpet sound: If none appear to prove upon thy person, Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, There is my pledge; [Throwing down a glove.] I'll prove it on thy heart, Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less Than I have here proclaim'd thee. Reg. Sick, O, sick! Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [.9side. Edm. There's my exchange: [Throwing down a glove,] what in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies: Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, On him, on you (who not?) I will maintain My truth and honour firmly. 6 Authority to act on his own judgment. 7 Alluding to the proverb: Love being jeal- ous makes a good eye look a squint. 8 The hindrance. SCENE III. 847 KING LEAR. Alb. A herald, ho! Edm. A herald, ho, a herald! Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge. Reg. This is mere practice, Gloster Gon. By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer But cozen'd and beguil'd. An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd, Shut your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it:-Hold, sir :- This sickness grows upon me. Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil :- Enter a Herald. No tearing, lady; I perceive, you know it. Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent. [Exit Regan, led. Come hither, herald!-Let the trumpet sound, And read out this. Offi. Sound, trumpet. [A trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of quality, or degree, within the lists of the army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the trumpet: He is bold in his defence. Edm Sound. Her. Again. Her. Again. Alb. [Gives the letter to Edmund. Gon. Say, if I do; the laws are mine, not Who shall arraign me for't? thine : Aiò. Know'st thou this paper? Gon. Most monstrous Ask me not what I know. [Exit Goneril. Alb. Go after her: she's desperate; govern her. [To an Officer, who goes out. Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have I done; And more, much more: the time will bring it out; [1 Trumpet. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou, [2 Trumpet. That hast this fortune on me? If thou art noble, [3 Trumpet. I do forgive thee. [Trumpet answers within Edg. Let's exchange charity. Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a trumpet. If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o'the trumpet. Her. What are you? Your name, your quality? and why you answer This present summons? Edg. Know, my name is lost; By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker bit: Yet am I noble as the adversary My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us: The dark and vicious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes. Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true, The wheel is come full circle; I am here. Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesv A royal nobleness:-I must embrace thee; Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of Did hate thee, or thy father! Gloster? I come to cope withal. Alb. Which is that adversary? Edm. Himself;-What say'st thou to him? Edg. Draw thy sword; Tnat, if my speech offend a noble heart, Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine. Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours, My oath and my profession: I protest,- Maugre thy strength, youth place, and eminence, Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune, Thy valour, and thy heart,-Thou art a traitor: False to thy gods, thy brother and thy father; Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince; And, from the extremest upward of thy head, To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, A most toa t-spotted traitor. Say thou No, This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak Thou liest. Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name; But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, What safe and nicely I might well delay By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn: Back do I toss these treasons to thy head; With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; Which (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) This sword of mine shall give them instant way, Where they shall rest forever. Trumpets, speak. [Alarum. They fight. Edmund f Alb. O save him, save him! 1 i. e. Valour. 2 Notwithstanding. 3 Because if his adversary was not of equal rank, Edmund might have declined the combat. I know it well. Edg. Alb. Worthy prince, Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father? Edg. By nursing them, my lord.--List" a brief tale;- And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!- The bloody proclamation to escape, That follow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness: That with the pain of death we'd hourly die, Rather than die at once!) taught me to shifts Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him, Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him my pilgrimage: But his flaw'd heart, (Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly. Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, And shall, perchance, do good: but speak you on: You look as you had something more to say. Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this. Edg. This would have seem'd a period To such as love not sorrow; but another, To amplify too much, would make much more, And top extremity. 4 Sample. 5 Stratagem. 6 Hear. 848 ACT V. KING LEAR. Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, Who having seen me in my worst estate, Shunn'd my abhor: 'd society; but then, finding Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong armis He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him, That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting His grief grew puissart, and the strings of life Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded, And there I left him tranc'd. Alb. But who was this? Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in dis- guise Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave. Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. Gent. Help! help! O help! Edg. Alb. What kind of help? Speak, man. Edg. What means that bloody knife? Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes; Who, man? speak. It came even from the heart of- Alb. Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister By her is poison'd; she confesses it. Edm. I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant. Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead! This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she forbid² herself. Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence a while. [Edmund is borne off. Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; Ed- gar, Officer, and others. Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-O you are men of stones; Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack:-0, she is gone for ever!- know when one is dead, and when one lives; She's dead as earth:-Lend me a looking-glass; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives. Kent. Is this the promis'd end?3 Edg. Or image of that horror? Alb. Fall, and cease! Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt. I Kent. Lear. Pr'ythee, away. Edg. O my good master! [Kneeling. Tis noble Kent, your friend. Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!- Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st?-Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman:- I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. Offi. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. Lear. Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion I would have made them skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me.-Who are you? Here comes Kent, sir. Mine eyes are none o'the best :-I'll tell you straight. Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated One of them we behold. Enter Kent. Edg. Alb. O! it is he. The time will not allow the compliment, Which very manners urges. Kent. I am come To bid my king and master aye¹ good night; Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of us forgot! Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia? See'st thou this object, Kent? The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. Kent. Alack, why thus? Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd; The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herself. Aib. Even so. Cover their faces. Edm. I pant for life: Some good I mean to do, Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,- Be brief in it,-to the castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time. Alb. Run, run, 0 run. Edg. To who, my lord? Who has the office? send Thy token of reprieve. Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, Give it the captain. [Exit Edgar. Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 1 For ever. 2 Destroyed herself. 3 The end of the world, or the horrible ci eum- stances preceding it. Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? Kent. The same; Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius ? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and rotten. Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man;- Lear. I'll see that straight. Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, Have follow'd your sad steps. Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark and deadly.- Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves And desperately are dead. Lear. Ay, so I think. Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is That we present us to him. Edg Very bootless." Enter an Officer. Offi. Edmund is dead, my lord. Alb. That's but a trifle here.- You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. Wat comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be applied: For us, we will resign, During the life of this old majesty, To him our absolute power:-You, to your rights; [To Edgar and Kent. 4 . e. Die; Albany speaks to Lear. 5 Useless. 6 i. e. Lear. SCENE III. 849 KING LEAR. With boot,' and such addition2 as your honours Have more than merited.-All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.-0, see, see! Lear. And my poor fool' is hang'd! No, no, no life: Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, nicely discr.minates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, he commonly neglects and con- founds the characters of ages, by mingling custom ancient and modern, English and foreign. My learned friend Mr. Warton, who has in The Adventurer very minutely criticised this play, re- marks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no and shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund more, Never, never, never, never, never! Fray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir.- Do you see this? Look on her,-look,-her lips,- Look there, look there!- [He dies. Edg. He faints!-My lord, my lord, Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break! Edg. Look up, my lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost:-0, let him pass! he hates him, That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present busi- ness Is general wo. Friends of my soul, you twain [To Kent and Edgar. Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; My master calls, and I must not say, no. Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long. [Exeunt, with a dead march. destroys the simplicity of the story. These objec- tiors may, I think, be answered by repeating, that the cruelty of the daughters is an historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series by dialogue and action. But I am not able to apologize with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered that our author well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is abundantly recompensed by the addi- tion of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opportu- nity which he gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. But though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, and what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet this conduct is justified by The Spectator, who blames Tate for giving Cordelia success and happi- ness in his alteration, and declares, that in nis opin- ion, the tragedy has lost half its beauty. Den- nis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of Cato, the town was poisoned with much false and abominable The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated criticism, and that endeavours had been used to among the dramas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous mis- which so much agitates our passions, and interests carry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct in- representation of the common events of human life: terests, the striking oppositions of contrary charac- but since all reasonable beings naturally love jus- ters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick tice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the obser- succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual vation of justice makes a play worse; or that, if tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no other excellencies are equal, the audience will not scene which does not contribute to the aggravation always rise better pleased from the final triumph of of the distress or conduct to the action, and scarce persecuted virtue. a line which does not conduce to the progress of the In the present case the public has decided. Cor So powerful is the current of the poet's delia, from the time of Tate, has always retired imagination, that the mind, which once ventures with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations within it, is hurried irresistibly along. could add any thing to the general suffrage, I might On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Cor- it may be observed, that he is represented accord-delia's death, that I know not whether I ever en- ing to histories at that time vulgarly received as dured to read again the last scenes of the play, till true. And, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon I undertook to revise them as an editor. the barbarity and ignorance of the age to which There is another controversy among the critics this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely concerning this play. It is disputed whether the as while we estimate Lear's manners by our own. prominent image in Lear's disordered mind be the Such preference of one daughter to another, or re-loss of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. signation of dominion on such conditions, would Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of Guinea by induction of particular passages, that the cruel- or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the men-ty of his daughters is the primary source of his dis- tion of his earls and dukes, has given us the a tress, and that the loss of royalty affects him only of times more civilized, and of life regulated by as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, softer manners; and the truth is, that though he so with great justness, that Lear would move our com- passion but little, did we not rather consider the injured father than the degraded king. 1 Benefit. 2 Titles. 3 Poor fool in the time of Shakspeare, was an expression of endearment. 4 Die. 5 Dr. Joseph Warton. 850 KING LEAR. The story of this play, except the episode of Ed-that it follows the chronicle; it has the rudiments mund, which is derived. I think, from Sidney, is of the play, but none of its amplifications; it first taken originally from Geoffrey of Monmouth, whom hinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in cir- Holinshed generally copied: but perhaps immedi- cumstances. The writer of the ballad added ately from an old historical ballad. My reason for something to the history, which is a proof that he believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, would have added more, if more had occurred to rather than the ballad to the play, is, that the bal-his mind; and more must have occurred if he had lad has nothing of Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, seen Shakspeare. which is toc striking to have been omitted, and JOHNSON. ROMEO AND JULIET. Escalus, prince of Verona. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince. Montague, heads of two houses, at variance with Capulet, each other. An Old Man, uncle to Capulet. Romeo, son to Montague. Mercutio, kinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo. Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. Friar John, of the same order. Balthazar, servant to Romeo. Sampson, 2 servants to Capulet. Gregory, Abram, servant to Montague. An Apothecary. Three Musicians. Chorus. Boy. Page to Paris. Peter. An Officer. Lady Montague, wife to Montague. Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. Juliet, daughter to Capulet. Nurse to Juliet. Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, re- lations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watch- men, and Attendants. Scene, during the greater part of the play, in Vero- na: once, in the fifth act, at Mantua. PROLOGUE. Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd, piteous overthrows Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could re- move, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. ACT I. SCENE I-A public place. Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with swords and bucklers. Sampson. GREGORY, o'my word, we'll not carry coals.' Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar. me. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:-there- fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men. Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maid- enheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.3 Enter Abram and Balthazar. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How? turn thy back and run? Sam. Fear me not. Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let ther take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is-bear it. to stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 1 A phrase formerly in use to signify the bear- ing injuries. 2 Poor John is hake, dried, and salted. 3 The disregard of concord is in character. 852 ACT 1. ROMEO AND JULIET. Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say-ay? Gre. No. Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? Abr. Quarrel, sir, no, sir. Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Enter Benvolio, at a distance. For this time, all the rest depart away: You, Capulet, shall go along with me; To know our further pleasure in this case, And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. [Exe. Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my mas- I drew to part them; in the instant came ter's kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remem-Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. ber thy swashing blow. [They fight. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Ben. Part, fools, put up your swords: you know Came more and more, and fought on part and part, not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Till the prince came, who parted either part. Enter Tybalt. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these less hinds? La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to-day? heart-Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. Turn thee. Benvolio, look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What, drawn and talk of peace? the word, I hate As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward. [They fight. Enter several Partizans of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs. 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Monta- gues! Enter Capulet, in his gown; and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter Montague and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince, with Attendants. Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear?-what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd' weapons to the ground, And near the sentence of your moved prince.- Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partizans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 1 Clubs! was the usual exclamation at an af- fray in the streets, as we now call Watch! Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sur Peer'd³ forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad Where,-underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's side,- So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood: That most are busied when they are most alone,- I, measuring his affections by my own,- Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself; Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out, And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you impórtun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor,, Is to himself-I will not say, how true- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter Romeo, at a distance. Ben. See, where he comes; So please you, ste, aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away, [Exeunt Montague and Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Is the day so young? Ben. But new struck nine. Rom. 2 Angry. Ah me! sad hours seem long 3 Appeared. SCENE II. 853 ROMEO AND JULIET. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them short. Ben. In love? Rom. Out- Ben. Of love? Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:- Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health; Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!- This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.- Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. [Going. Ben. Soft, I will go along; And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness,' who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no; But sadly tell me, who. Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:- Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!- In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marksman!-And she's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, 1 In seriousness. 2 i. e. What end does it answer. 3 Account, estimation. To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. Rom. 'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more: These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt SCENE II.-A street. Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before; My child is yet a stranger in the world, She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; And she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent, and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherits at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be Such amongst view of many, mine, being one, May stand in number, though in reckonings none Come, go with me ;-Go, sirrah, trudge about Whose names are written there, [Gives a paper.] Through fair Verona: find those persons out, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasures stay. [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must ; to the learned :--In good time. 4 To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare is to possess. 5 Estimation. 854 ACT. I. ROMEO AND JULIET. Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. Ben. For what, I pray thee? Rom. For your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad- man is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read. [Reads. Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Val- entine: Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daugh- ters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; [Gives back the note.] Whither should they come? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? Serv. To supper; to our house. Rom. Whose house? Serv. My master's. Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that be- fore. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eve, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires! And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,- Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun. Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye: But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you, shining at this feast, And she shall scants show well, that now shows best. Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt. I We still say in cant language,-To crack a bottle. 2 Weighed 3 Scarce, hardly. 4 To my sorrow. SCENE III-A room in Capulet's house. Enter CENE Lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, at twelve years old,- I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!- God forbid! where's this girl? what, Juliet! Enter Juliet. Jul. How now, who calls? Nurse. Jul. What is your will? Your mother. Madam, I am here La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave a while, We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again. I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. La. Cap. She's not fourteen. Nurse. And yet, to my teen She is not fourteen: To Lammas-tide? I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, be it spoken, I have but four,- How long is it now La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!- Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: But, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen: That shall she, marry; I remember it well. Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,- I never shall forget it,- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua:- Nay, I do bear a brain : 5-but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house 'twas no need, I trow To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years: For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about. For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband-God be with his soul! 'A was a merry man ;-took up the child: Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy-dam," The pretty wretch left crying, and said-y: To see now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said-Ay. La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay And yet I warrant, it had upon his brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; 5 i. e. I have a perfect remembrance or recol- lection. 6 The cross. 7 Holy dame, i. e. the blessed Virgin. 8 It stopped crying. SCENE IV. 855 ROMEO AND JULIET. 4 parious knock; and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age; I. Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said-Ay. Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace? Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme, I came to talk of :--Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hast suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years. That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;- The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world--Why, he's a man of wax.2 La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a1 flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith a very flower. La. Cap What say you? can you love the gen- tleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast: Read o er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margin of his eyes.$ This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride, For fair without the fair within to hide : That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story: So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. men. Nurse. No less? nay, beggar; women grow by La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent give strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served ap, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry. and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. 1 Favour. 2 Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax. 3 The comments on ancient books were al- ways printed in the margin. 4e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was want- ed to bind him. 5 i. e. Long speeches are out of fashion. 6 A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows. SCENE IV.A street. Enter Romeo, Mercu- tio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse! Or shall we on without apology? Ben. The date is out of such, prolixity: Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, We'll have no cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; After the prompter, for our entrance: Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure," and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch,8-I am not for this am- bling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Mer, Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a sole of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, cannot bound a pitch above dull wo: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.- Give me a case to put my visage in :- [Putting on a mask. A visor for a visor!-what care 1, What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes 10 with their heels; For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,- I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,- The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 1 Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so. Mer. I mean. sir, in delay, We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. Take our good meaning: for our judgment sits But 'tis no wit to go. Rom. And we mean well. in going to this mask; Mer. Why, may one ask? Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. And so did I. Rom. Well, what was yours? Mer. 7 A dance. That dreamers often lie. 8 A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers. 9 Observe. 10 It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes. 11 This is equivalent to phrases in common use-I am done, for it is over with me.. 856 ACT 1. ROMEO AND JULIET. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things SCENE V.-A hall in Capulet's house. Musi- true. Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with vou. She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an old alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies¹ Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams: Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazle-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:2 And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes; And, being thus frighted, swears a praver or two, And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, That plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage. This, this is she- Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace; Thou talk'st of nothing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air; And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. cians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher? 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. 1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, reinove the court-cupboard,4 look to the plate:-good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan! 2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready. 1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.- Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind. Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:- Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now? You are welcome, gentlemen: I have seen the day, That I have worn a visor; and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please ;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen.-Come, musicians play. A hall! a hall!6 give room, and foot it, girls. [Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.- Ab, sirral, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now, since last yourself and I Were in a mask? 2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not su much: 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir: His son is thirty. 1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Serv. I know not, sir. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our- Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! selves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives, Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels; and expire the term Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death: But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail!-On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum. 1 Atoms. [Exeunt. 2 A place in court. 3 i. e. Fairy-locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night. Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crowe, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :- 4 A cupboard set in a corner, like a beaufet on which the plate was placed. 5 Almond-cake. 7 The dance. 6 i. e. Make room. SCENE I. 857 ROMEO AND JULIET. Fetch me my rapier. boy-What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so? Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't? Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all this town, Here in my house, do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him. 1 Cap. He shall be endur'd; What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall ;-Go to ;- Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my soul- You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 1 Cap. Go to, go to, You are a saucy boy :-Is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe¹ you; I know what. You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time- Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox;2 go: Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for shame! I'll make you quiet; What! Cheerly, my hearts. Tyb. Patience, perforce with wilful choler meet- ing, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand [To Juliet. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,- My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for pray- ers' sake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again. Jul. You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. 1 Do you an injury. 2 A coxcomb. 3 A collation of fruit, wine, &c. Rom. What is her mother? Nurse. Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal: I tell you,-he, that can lay hold of her, Shall have the chinks. Rom. Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone: We have a trifling foolish banquet³ towards.- Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:- More torches here!-Come on, then let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleman? Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse. I know not.- Jul. Go, ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to he my wedding bed. Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse. What's this? what's this? Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet. Nurse. Anon, anon:- Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt. Enter Chorus. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die, And young affection gapes to be his heir; With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, Being held a foe, he may not have access And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means to meet, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I-An open place, adjoining Capulet's garden. Enter Romeo. Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio. Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Mer. He is wise; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: 4 Faith. 5 i. e. Himself. 858 ACT. II. ROMEO AND JULIET. Call, good Mercutio. Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.- Romeo! humours! madam! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove; Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid. '- He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape2 is dead, and I must conjure him.- I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her forehead, and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us. Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle, Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; That were some spite; my invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar-tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.- Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-beld; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? Ben. Go then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found. [Exeunt. Jul. Ah me! She speaks:- Rom. O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white up-turned wond'ring eyes. Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Ro- meo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? [Aside. Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ;- Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title:-Romeo, doffs thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself. Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel ? Rom. By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words SCENE II.-Capulet's garden. Enter Romeo. Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound; Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.-Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? [Juliet appears above, at a window. But, solt! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!- Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid,4 since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.- It is my lady; O, it is my love: O, that she knew she were!- She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it.- I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in the spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek. 1 Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar. 2 This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness. Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore? The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out : And what love can do, that dares love attempt, Therefore thy kinsmen are not let' to me. Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peri in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And, but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 3 Humid, moist. 4 A votary to the moon, to Diana. 5 Owns, possesses. 6 Do off. 7 Hindrance. 8 Unless thou love me. SELLE ROMEO AND JULIET. JULIET.-"Good night, good night : parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow." "Romeo and Juliet," Act II., Scene II. UNIV по OF CH SCENE III. 859 ROMEO AND JULIET. I would adventure for such merchandise.. Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny, What I have spoke; But farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say-Ay; And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou may'st think my haviour' light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange.2 I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me; And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,- Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by? Jul. Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. Rom. Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. I come, anon:-But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee,- Nurse. [Within.] Madam. Jul. By and by, I come :- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.. Rom. So thrive my soul, Jul. A thousand times good night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.- Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter Juliet, above. Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name Do not swear at all; Like softest music to attending ears! How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, If my heart's dear love- Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart, as that within my breast! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what pur- pose, love? Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. [Exit. [Nurse calls within. I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. Re-enter Juliet alone. Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed, If that thy bent of love be honourable, 1 Behaviour. 3 Free. Jul. Romeo! Rom. Jul. My sweet! Shall I send to thee? Rom. Jul. I will not fail: At what o'clock to-morrow At the hour of nine. 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company. Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone: 6 And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. Rom. I would, I were thy bird. Jul. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sor- row, That I shall say-good night, till it be morrow. [Exit. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!- 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell; His help to crave, and my dear hap' to tell. [Exit. SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar Laurence with a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light And fleckeds darkness like a drunkard reels 2 Shy. 4 Inclination. 6 Fetters. 7 Chance, fortune. 8 Spotted, streaked. 5 The male of the goshawk. 860 Аст II. ROMEO AND JULIET. From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's' wheels: Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must fill up this osier cage of ours, With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb:" And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find; Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace,2 that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometime's by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison has residence, and med'cine power: So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit. Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then- Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. Rom. And bad'st me bury love. Fri. Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love now, For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow; part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will; And, where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter Romeo. Rom. Good morrow, father! Benedicite! Fri. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?-- Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth, with unstuff'd brain, Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp❜rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right- Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's wo. Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou been then? Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy; Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded; both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin'd, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: When, and where, and how, We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us this day. The other did not so. Fri. O, she knew well, Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.' Fri. Wisely, and slow; they stumble, that rus fast. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A street. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?- Came he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. Mer. A challenge, on my life. Ben. Romeo will answer it. Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot tho- rough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;" And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? Mer. More than prince of cats," I can tell you. 0, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, dis- tance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentlema. of the very first house,-of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! the punto re- verso! the hay !" Ben. The what? Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! Jesu, a very good blade!-a very tall man!-a Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 1 The sun. 2 Virtue. Si. e. It is of the utmost consequence for me to be haзty. very good whore !-Why, is not this a lamentable 4 Arrow. 5 See the story of Reynard the fox. 6 By notes pricked down. 7 Terms of the fencing-school. SCENE IV. 86 ROMEO AND JULIET. thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!1 Enter Romeo. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:-O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-Marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.-Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop.2 You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. Good-morrow to you both. What coun- terfeit did I give you? Mer. The slip, sir, the slip;3 Can you not con- ceive. Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to say-such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning-to court'sy. Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. Rom. A most courteous exposition. Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. Rom. Pink for flower. Mer. Right. Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular. Rom. O single-soled' jest, solely singular for the singleness! Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail. Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. 6 Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chace, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose. Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Ro- meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great 1 In ridicule of Frenchified coxcombs. 2 Trowsers or pantaloons, a French fashion in Shakspeare's time. 3 A pun on counterfeit money, called slips. 4 Shoe, 5 Slight, thin. 6 A horse-race in any direction the leader chooses to take. 7 An apple. 8 Soft stretching leather. natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide his bauble in a hole. Ben. Stop there, stop there. Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale. against the hair. Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. Rom. Here's goodly geer! Enter Nurse and Peter. Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail! Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock. Nurse. Peter! Peter. Anon? Nurse. My fan, Peter.9 Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face: for her fan's the fairer of the two. Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. Mer. God ye good den, 10 fair gentlewoman. Nurse. Is it good den? Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick" of noon. Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath mads himself to mar. Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ;-For him self to mar, quoth'a ?-Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I can find the young Romeo? Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse. Nurse. You say well. Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i'faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confi- dence with you. Ben. She will indite him to some supper. Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! Rom. What hast thou found? Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, 12 And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent: But a hare that is hoar, Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither. Rom. I will follow you. Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. 13 [Exe. Mer. and Ben. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, what saucy merchant14 was this, that was so full of his ropery ? Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and 9 It was the custom for servants to carry the lady's fan. 10 Good even. 12 Hoary, mouldy. The burden of an old song. 11 Point. 13 14 A term of disrespect in coatradistinction to 15 Roguery. gentlemen. 862 ACT. II. ROMEO AND JULIET. twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt- gills: I am none of his skains-mates:1-And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!-Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- tress. I protest unto thee,- Nurse. Good heart! and, i'faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse. I will tell her, sir,-that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift2 This afternoon; And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. Rom. Go to; I say, you shall. Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey- wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee; And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell!-Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell!-Commend me to thy mistress. Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!-Hark you, sir. Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Rom. Commend me to thy lady. Nurse. Ay, a thousand times-Peter! Pet. Anon? Nurse. Peter, take my fan and go before. [Exit [Exeunt. SCENE V-Capulet's garden. Enter Juliet. Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promis'd to return. Perchance, she cannot meet him: that's not sp.- O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve Is three long hours,--yet she is not come. Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, She'd be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me : But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. Enter Nurse and Peter. 10 God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,-O lord! why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse. I am weary, give me leave a while;- Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ;-good, good nurse, speak. Nurs. Jesu! What haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see, that I am out of breath? Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me-that thou art out of breath? The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; say- Two may keep counsel, putting one away? Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, lady-Lord, lord!-when 'twas a little prating not he; though his face be better than any man's, thing,-0,-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good foot, and a body,-though they be not to be talked soul, had as leave see a toad, a very toad, as see on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris of courtesy,-but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God. -What, say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal have you dined at home? world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. 1 A mate or companion of one wearing a skain; a short sword. 2 Confession. 3 The highest extremity of the mast of a ship. Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! back!- It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o't'other side,-0, my back, my Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down' 4 Requite. 5 Drive her. as a ball struck with a handy, i e. a bat or battledore. 6 Ill betide. SCENE I. 863 ROMEO AND JULIET Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well: Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse. Your love says like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous:-Where is your mother? Jul. Where is my mother?-why, she is within Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st! Your love says like an honest gentleman,- Where is your mother? Nurse. O, God's lady dear! Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil,'-come, what says Ro- meo? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? Jul. I have. Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeuni. ACT III. SCENE I-A public place. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; For now, these hot days is the mad blood stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, his sword upon the table, and says, God send me when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need. Ben. Am I like such a fellow? Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. Ben. And what to? Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark: I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. Jul. Hie to high fortune!-honest nurse, fare- Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should well. [Exeunt. have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath Enter a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes; What eye, but such an eye, would spy as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quar- relling! SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence's cell. Friar Laurence and Romeo. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy. That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare. It is enough I may but call her mine. Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter Juliet. Here comes the lady :-O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamers2 That idle in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon³ it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. Jul. Conceit,4 more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth: But my true love is grown to such excess, cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 1 Noise, bustle. 2 The long white filament which flies in the air. Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. Mer. The fee-simple ? O simple! Enter Tybalt, and others. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not. Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion. Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving? Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,- Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us min- strels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. "Zounds, consort Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men; Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 3 Paint, display. 4 Imagination. 364 ACT ill. ROMEO AND JULIET. Enter Romeo. Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir; here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship, in that sense, may call him-man. Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford No better term than this-Thou art a villain. Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting:-Villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see, thou know'st me not. Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw. Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee; But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender As dearly as mine own,-be satisfied. Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! A la stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? [Draws. And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. Re-enter Benvolio. Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the wo, others must end. Re-enter Tybalt. Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective³ lenity, And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!- Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a littte way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company; Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. Rom. This shall determine that. Tub. What would'st thou have with me? [They fight; Tybalt falls. Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain: as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of Stand not amaz'd:-the prince will doom thee the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his death, pilcher2 by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about If thou art taken :-hence !-be gone!-away! your ears ere it be out. Tyb. I am for you. [Drawing. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio; Beat down their weapons:-Gentlemen, for shame Forbear this outrage;-Tybalt-Mercutio- The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying In Verona streets :-Hold, Tybalt;-good Mercutio. [Exeunt Tybalt and his Partizans. Rom. O! I am fortune's fool! Ben. Why dost thou stay? [Exit Romeo. Enter Citizens, &c. 1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their wives, and others. Mer. I am hurt:- A plague o'both the houses!-I am sped:- Is he gone, and hath nothing? Ben. What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marrv, 'tis enough.- Where is my page ?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page. Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave Of my dear kinsman !-Prince, as thou art true, man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world:-For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.- A plague. o'both your houses ?--Zounds, a dog, a O cousin, cousin! Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin!-O my brother's child! Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic !-Why, the devil, came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. Rom. I thought all for the best. Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint-A plague o'both your houses! They have made worm's meat of me: I have it, and soundly too :-Your houses! [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman :-O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 1 The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a apier. 2 Case or scabbard. slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high displeasure:-All this-uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,- Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point. And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it: Romeo, he cries aloud, 3 Cool, considerate gentleness. 4 Conduct for conductor. 5 Accompany 6 Just and uoright. 7 Slight, unimportant SCENE II. 865 ROMEO AND JULIET. Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And, 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt,hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled: But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly: This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, Affection makes him false, he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life: I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but, what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. Prin. And, for that offence, mmediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hates' proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; But I'll amerce' you with so strong a fine, That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses, Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body, and attend our will; Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill, SCENE II-A room in Capulet's house. Juliet. Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day, As is the night before some festival To an impatient child, that hath new robes, And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse Enter Nurse, with cords. And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.- Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords, That Romeo bade thee fetch? Nurse. Jul. Ah me! what news? thy hands? Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. why dost thou wring Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone !- Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! Jul. Can heaven be so envious? Nurse. Romeo can, Though heaven cannot:-O Romeo! Romeo!- Who ever could have thought it?-Romeo! Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I," And that bare vowel I shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make the answer, I. If he be slain, say 1; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal, or wo. Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,- [Exeunt. God save the mark!-here, on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Enter Pale, pale, as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore blood; I swooned at the sight. Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately.- Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen!- Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night.-Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,3 With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted, simple modesty. Come, night!-Come, Romeo!-come, thou day in night! For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.- Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die, Take him, and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.- O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold, 2 Grave, solemn 1 Punish by fire. 3 These are terms of falconry. 4 Gaudy, showy. at once! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend 1 had; O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?- Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face? Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain!- O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book, containing such vile matter, So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 5 In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling. 866 ACT. III. ROMEO AND JULIET. In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse. There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd An forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.- Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vita:- These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?- But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring: Your tributary drops belong to wo, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus- band: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O! it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished; That-banished, that one word-banished, Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand That I yet know not? Fri. Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips; Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death: For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say-banisment. Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exíle is death:-then banishment Is death mis-term'd: calling death-banishment, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven, and may look on her, Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death But Romeo may not.-More validity, Was wo enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour wo delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,- Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead, Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern2 lamentation might have mov'd? But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, Romeo is banished, to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead:-Romeo is banished, There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 4 More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal blessing from her lips; Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, when I from this must fly; They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?" Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, In that word's death; no words can that wo No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, sound.- Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords :-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you:-I wot well where he is. "Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. [Exe. Enter Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's cell. Friar Laurence and Romeo. Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth thou ful man; But-banished-to kill me; banished? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word-banishment? Fri. Thou fond madman, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again on banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more. Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: fear-Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, 1 i. e. Is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts. 2 Common.. 8 Know. 4 Worth, value SCENE IV. 867 ROMEO AND JULIET. Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Fri. Arise: one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. [Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while: stand up; [Knocking. In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit, Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man: Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury, [Knocking. Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish. Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there?-Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, Is set on fire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.' What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kil thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too: The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy blubber-Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.- Run to my study:-By and by :-God's will! What wilfulness is this?-I come, I come. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from lady Juliet Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurse. Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? Fri. There, on the ground, with his own made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! Fri. Piteous predicament! Nurse. O woful sympathy! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and ing: Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? Rom. Nurse! tears Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!-Well, death's the end of all. Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood remov'd but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed: and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman.-O tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword Hold thy desperate hand: Fri. Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art; Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman, in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both! Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 1 Torn to pieces with thine own weapons. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night, To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord. I'll tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir. Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all your state:2 Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you, that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me. It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. [Exeun SCENE IV-A room in Capulet's house. En- ter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughte Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did 1;-Well, we were born to die.- Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. Par. These times of wo afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daugh ter. 2 The whole of your fortune depends on this. 868 ACT III. ROMEO AND JULIET. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- Rom. More light and light ?--more dark and morrow; To-night she's mew'd up' to her heaviness. Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate2 tender Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; dark our foes. Enter Nurse. Nurse. Madam! Jul. Nurse? Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-The day is broke; be wary, look about. But, soft; What day is this? Par. Monday, my lord. Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be ;-O' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl:- Will you be ready? Do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado;-a friend, or too :- For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone:-O' Thursday be it then :- Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.- Farewell, my lord.-Light to my chamber, ho! A fore me, it is so very late, that we May call it early by and by :-Good night. SCENE V.--Juliet's chamber. Enter and Juliet. [Exe. Romeo Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet, near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east ; Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ;3 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay, than will to go;- Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.- How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day. Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark makes sweet division ?" This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now, I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray. Hunting thee hence with hunts-ups to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. 2 Bold. [Exit Nurse. Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss and I'll de- scend. [Romeo descends. Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my friend! I must hear from thee every day i'the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O! by this count I shall be much in years, Ere. I again behold my Romeo. Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. Jul. O God! I have an all-divining soul: Methinks, I see thee now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb; Either my eyesight fails or thou look'st pale. Rom And trust me, love, in my eyes so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! [Exit Romeo. Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle; If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. Why, how now Juliet? Jul. Madam, I am not well. La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit. Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. Jul. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. Jul. What villain, madam? La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. God pardon him! I do, with all my heart. And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives. Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands, Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death! 1 Shut up. 3 Reflection of the moon. 4 Inclination. 6 A tune played to wake hunters, also a morn 5 Division was the technical phrase for musical ing song to a woman the day after marriage. composition. 7 Bring. SCENE V. 869 ROMEO AND JULIET. La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,- Where that same banished runagate doth live,- That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him-dead- Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd: Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet.-O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd,-and cannot come to him,- To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! Cap. How now! how now, chop-logic! What is this? Proud,-and, I thank you,-and, I thank you not ;- And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage You tallow-face! La. Cap. Fie, fie! what, are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what,-get thee to church o'Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such Speak not, reply not, do not answer me: & man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child: One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris:-These are news indeed! My fingers itch.-Wife, we scarce thought rs bless'd, That God had sent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding!' Nurse. God in heaven bless her!- You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse. I speak no treason. Cap. Nurse. May not one speak? Cap. O, God ye good den! Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not. I a. Cap. You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad. alone, in company, Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him s A gentleman of princely parentage, yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse. Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd (as they say) with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man And then to have a wretched puling fool. Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, But for the sunset of my brother's son, It rains downright.- How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Ever more showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who,-raging with thy tears, and they with them,- Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.-How now, wife? Have you delivered to her our decree? La. Cep. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would, the fool were married to her grave! Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is mean' love. 1 Base woman. --- To answer-I'll not wed,-I cannot love, I am too young,-I pray you, pardon me;- But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will, you shall not house with me; Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest, Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise; An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'the streets, For. by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be fors worn. [Exit. Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word; Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit Jul. O God!-0 nurse! how shall this be pre vented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth ?--comfort me, counsel me.-- Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems 870 ACT, IV, ROMEO AND JULIET. Upon so soft a subject as myself!- What say'st thou hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis : Romeo Is banished; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first. is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse. Or else beshrew them both. Jul. Nurse. Par. Come you to make confession to this father! Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough, before their spite. Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.- Are you at leisure, holy father, now; From my soul too; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, Amen! To what? Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession, and to be absolv'd. Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! is it more sin-to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath prais'd him with above compare So many thousand times ?-Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.- I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; If all else fail, myself have power to die. ACT IV. [Exu now:- My lord, we must entreat the time alone. Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion!- Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss. Exit Paris. Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; Past hope, past cure, past help! Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands, And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt SCENEI.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Laurence and Paris. Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course, I like it not. Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, That she doth give her sorrows so much sway; And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. [Aside. Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell. Enter Juliet. Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife! Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next. Jul. What must be shall be. Fri. That's a certain text. Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time Give me some present counsel; or, behold, "Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry county Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself: Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. Jul. 0, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower, Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, Or bid me go into a new-made grave, With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls; And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; 1 Decide the struggle between me and my dis- And I will do it without fear or doubt, tresses. 2 Authority or power. SCENE II, III. 871 ROMEO AND JULIET. To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow; To-morrow-night look that thou lie alone, Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this phial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off: When, presently, through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep His natural progress, but surcease to beat : No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, depriv'd of supple government, Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then (as the manner of our country is,) In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift; And hither shall he come; and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night, Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua, And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear. Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and pros- perous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall help afford. [Exeunt. Farewell, dear father! SCENE II-A room in Capulet's house. er Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and Servants. Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. [Exit Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. Cap. Send for the county; go tell him of this, I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed' love I might, Not stepping o'er the bonds of modesty. Cap. Why, I am glad on't; this is well,-stand up This is as't should be.-Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, All our whole city is much bound to him. Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into ray closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is tima enough. Cap. Go, nurse, go with her :-we'll to church to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision; 'Tis now near night. Cap. Tush! I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night;-let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once.-What, ho!- They are all forth: Well, I will walk myself To county Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exe. SCENE III.-Juliet's chamber. Enter Juliet. and Nurse. Jul. Ay, those attires are best:-But, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night; For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my help? En-As are belioveful for our state to-morrow: Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. Cap. How canst thou try them so? 2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he, that cannot lick his fingers, goes not with me. Cap. Go, begone.- [Exit Servant. We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence? Nurse. Ay, forsooth. Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Enter Juliet. Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look. Cap. How now, my headstrong? where you been gadding? have Jul. Where I have learned me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you, and your behests; and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: Pardon, I beseech you! 2 Commands. 1 Confession. La. Cap. Good night! Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. Jul. Farewell!-God knows, when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me; Nurse!-What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone.- What if this mixture do not work at all? Come, phial.- Must I of force be married to the county ?- No, no;-this shall forbid it;-lie thou there.- [Laying down a dagger What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead; Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man : I will not entertain so bad a thought.- How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo 3 Becoming. 4 Prayers. 872 ACT. IV. ROMEO AND JULIET. Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome, air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;- Alack, alack! is it not like, that I, So early waking-what with loathsome smells; And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;¹- O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,2 Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefathers joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point:-Stay, Tybalt, stay!- Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. For so he said he would. I hear him near:- Nurse!-Wife !-what, ho!-what, nurse, I say! Enter Nurse. Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris:-Hie, make haste, Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already. Make haste, I say! [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Juliet's chamber; Juliet on the bed. Enter Nurse. Nurse. Mistress!-what, mistress!--Juliet !- fast, I warrant her, she :- Why, lamb!-why, lady!-fie, you slug-a-bed!- Why, love, I say!-madam! sweet-heart!-why, bride! What, not a word?-you take your pennyworthe now; Sleep for a week: for the next night, I warrant, The county Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little.-God forgive me, (Marry and amen!) how sound is she asleep! I needs must wake her :-Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i'faith.-Will it not be? What, drest! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady! Alas! alas !-Help! help! my lady's dead!- Cap-0, well-a-day, that ever I was born!- Some aqua-vitæ, ho!-my lord! my lady! Enter Lady Capulet. [She throws herself on the bed. SCENE IV.-Capulet's hall. Enter Lady ulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.3 Enter Capulet. Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:- Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica: Spare not for cost. Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; 'faith, you'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. Cap. No, not a whit; What! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt4 in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!-Now, fel- low, What's there? Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets. 1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Serv.]- Sirrah, fetch drier logs; Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. Cap. 'Mass, and well said; A merry whore- son! ha, Thou shalt be logger-head.-Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, [Music within. 1 The fabulous accounts of the plant called mandrake give it a degree of animal life, and say that when it is torn from the ground it groans, which is fatal to hun that pulls it up. La. Cap. What noise is here? Nurse, O lamentable day! La. Cap. What is the matter? Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day! La. Cap. O me, O me!-my child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee !- Help, help!-call help. Enter Capulet. Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the day! La. Cap. Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, she's dead. Cap. Ha! let me see her :-Out, alas, she's cold; Her blood is settled; and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Nurse. O lamentable day! La. Cap. O woful time! Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians. Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? Cap. Ready to go, but never to return: O son, the night before thy wedding-day Hath death lain with thy bride :--See, there she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded! I will die, And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's. 2 Distracted. 3 The room where pies were made. 4 Monse was a term of endearment to a woman. SCENE I. 873 ROMEO AND JULIET. Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful- day! Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. Nurse. O wo! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day! most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: Owoful day, O woful day! heart's ease; O, an you will have me live, play- heart's ease. 1 Mus. Why heart's ease? Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays -My heart is full of wo: O, play me some merry dump,' to comfort me. 2 Mus. Not a dump we; tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not then? 2 Mus. No. Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 1 Mus. What will you give us? Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek:2 I will give you the minstrel. 1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dag- ger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re Par. Beguil'd divorced, wronged, spited, slain! you, I'll fa you; Do you note me? Most détestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life!-not life, but love in death! Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd' Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now To murder murder our solemnity?- O child! O child!-my soul, and not my child!- Dead art thou, dead!-alack! my child is dead; And, with my child, my joys are buried. Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death; But Heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was-her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd, Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married, that lives married long; But she's best married, that dies married young., Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us all lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Cap. All things, that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral: Our instruments, to melancholy bells; Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. Fri. Sir, go you in,-and, madam, go with him ;- And go, sir Paris;-every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill; Move them no more, by crossing their high will. [Exe. Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar. 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be yone. e. Honest good fellows, ah, put up; put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit Nurse. 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, O musicians, Heart's ease, 1 Dumps were heavy mournful tunes. 2 To gleek is to scoff, and gleekman signified minstrel. 1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry- beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dag- ger:-Answer me like men: When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music, with her silver sound; Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound? What say you, Simon Catling? 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?3 2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because musicians sound for silver. Pet. Pretty too!-What say you, James Sound- post? 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. Pet. 0, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is music with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding:- Then music with her silver sound, With speedy help doth lend redress. [Exit, singing. 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-Mantua. A street. Enter Romeo. Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead; (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,) And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter Balthasar. News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar? 3And the jocund rebecks sound.' MILTON 4 i. e. Love. 874 ACT V. ROMEO AND JULIET. Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? That I ask again, For nothing can be ill, if she be well. Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill; Her body sleeps in Capels' monument, And her immortal part with angels lives; I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd; Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do: Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? Bal. No, my good lord. Rom. No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Balthasar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means:-O, mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,- And hereabouts he dwells,-whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said- An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. O, this same thought did but fore-run my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house: Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut- What, ho! apothecary! Ap. Enter Apothecary. Who calls so loud? Rom. Come hither, man.-I see, that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison; such soon-speeding geer2 As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead; And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath As violently, as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death, to any he that utters them. Kom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Ap. Put this in ar.y liquid thing you will, 2 Stuff, 1 Herbs. And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Or twenty men, it would despatch you straight. Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell: I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.- Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exe SCENE II.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Frian John. John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! Enter Friar Laurence. Lau. This same should be the voice of friar John.- Welcome from Mantua: What says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, One of our order to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo? John. I could not send it,-here it is again,- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice, but full of charge, Of dear import; and the neglecting it May do much danger: Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. John. Brother, I'll go and bring't thee. Lau. Now must I to the monument alone: Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake; She will beshrew me much, that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents : But I will write again to Mantua, [Exit. And keep her at my cell till Romeo come: Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit. SCENE III-A church-yard; in it, a monument belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris; and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch. Par. Give me thy torch, boy: Hence, and stand aloof;- Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves) But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure. [Retires. Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bri dal bed: Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain The perfect model of eternity; Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, Accept this latest favour at my hands; That living honour'd thee, and, being dead, 3 i. e On a trivial or idle subject. SCENE III. 875 ROMEO AND JULIET. With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb! [The boy whistles. The boy gives warning, something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies, and true-love's rites? What, with a torch! muffle me, night, a while. [Retires. Enter Romeo and Balthazar, with a torch, mat- tock, &c. Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. Rom. In faith, I will:-Let me peruse this face:- Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris:- What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think, He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Julie, To think it was so?-0, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, - A grave? O, no; a lantern, slaughter d youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. [Laying Paris in the monument. How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry? which their keepers call A lightning before death: 0, how may I Call this a lightning ?-0, my love! my wife! Death that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, :-Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: Upon thy life I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is, partly, to behold my lady's face: But, chiefly, to take hence from her dead finger A precious ring; a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild; More fierce, and more inexorable far, Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship.-Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout; His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires. Rom. Thou détestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Breaking open the door of the monument. And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food. Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin ;-with much grief, It is supposed the fair creature died;- And here is come to do some villainous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. [Advances. Stop, thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague; Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good, gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, Fly hence and leave me;-think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Heap not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury;-0, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself: For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, begone;-live, and hereafter say- A madman's mercy bade thee run away. Par. I do defy thy conjurations,2 And do attach thee as a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. [They fight. Page. O lord! they fight: I will go call the watch. Exit Page. Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.- Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 0, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin!-Ah! dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous; And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I will still stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night Depart again; here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chambermaids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest; 5 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you last! The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!- Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!-[Drinks.] O, true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies. Enter at the latter end of a churchyard, Friar Laurence with a lantern, crow and spade. Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves?-Who's there? Who is it that consorts, so late the dead? Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. Fri. Bliss be upon you! Tell me good my friend, What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capels' monument. Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. Who is it? Fri. Bal Romeo. Fri. How long hath he been there? 3. The allusion is to a louvre or turret full of 2 I do refuse to do as thou conjurest me to do, windows, by means of which ancient halls &c. are 1 i. e. Action of importance. i. e. depart. illuminated. 4 Presence-chamber. 5 Conductor. 876 ACT V. ROMEO AND JULIET. Bal. Full half an hour. Fri. Go with me to the vault. Bal. I dare not, sir: My master knows not, but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. 1 Watch. Hold him in safety till the prince come hither. Enter another Watchman, with Friar Laurence. 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone :-Fear comes upon We took this mattock and this spade from him, me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. Fri. Romeo! [Advances. Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre ?- What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? [Enters the monument. Romeo! O, pale!-Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood?-Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance!- The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs. Jul. Ó, comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am:-Where is my Romeo? [Noise within. Fri. I hear some noise.-Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep; A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away: Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet,-[Noise again.] I dare stay no longer. [Exit. Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true-love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end ;- O churl! drink all? and leave no friendly drop To help me after?-I will kiss thy lips; Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm! [Kisses him. I Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy:-Which way? Jul. Yea, noise ?-then I'll be brief.-O happy dagger! [Snatching Romeo's dagger. This is thy sheath; [Stabs herself.] there rust, and let me die. [Falls on Romeo's body, and dies. Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris. Page. This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. 1 Watch. The ground is bloody; Search about the church-yard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach. [Exeunt some. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain ;- And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried.- Go, tell the prince,-run to the Capulets,- Raise up the Montagues,-some others search ;- [Exeunt the other Watchmen. We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes, We cannot without circumstance descry. Enter some of the Watch, with Balthasar. 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in the church-yard. 1 i. e. The scabbard. 2 Seat. As he was coming from this church-yard side. 1 Watch. A great suspicion; Stay the friar too. Enter the Prince and Attendants. Prince. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? La. Cap. The people in the street cry-Romeo, Some-Juliet, and some-Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument Prince. What fear is this, which startles in our ears? 1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. 1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Ro- meo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. Cap. O, heavens!-O, wife! look how our daugh- ter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en,-for lo! his house¹ Is empty on the back of Montague,- And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom. La. Cap. O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter Montague and others. Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further wo conspires against mine age? Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave? Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true de And then will I be general of your woes, scent; And lead you even to death: Mean time forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience.- Bring forth the parties of suspicion. Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me, of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemn d and myself accus'd. Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know in this. Fri. I will be brief, for my short date cf breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stolen marriage-day Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. You-to remove that siege of grief from her - SCENE III. 877 ROMEO AND JULIET. Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, To county Paris :-Then comes she to me; And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means To rid her from this second marriage, Or, in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping-potion: which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come at this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, friar John, Was staid by accident; and yesternight Return'd my letter back: Then all alone, At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently,could send to Romeo: But, when I came (some minute ere the time Of her awakening,) here untimely lay The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But (as it seems,) did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: And, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua, To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father; And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault, If I departed not, and left him there. This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. Mon. But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That, while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set, As that of true and faithful Juliet. Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie! Poor sacrifices of our enmity! Prince. A glooming peace this morning with is brings; The sun for sorrow will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more wo, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt. This play is one of the most pleasing of our author's performances. The scenes are busy and various, incidents numerous and important, the ca- tastrophe irresistibly affecting, and the process of the action carried on with such probability, at least with such congruity to popular opinions, as tragedy requires. Here is one of the few attempts of Shakspeare t exhibit the conversation of gentlemen, to rence- sent the airy sprightliness of juvenile elega 10. Mr. Dryden mentions a tradition, which right easily reach his time, of a declaration made by Shakspeare, that he was obliged to kill Mercutio n the third Act, lest he should have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him no such formidable person, but that he might have lived through the play, and died in his bed, without danger to the poet. Dry- den well knew, had he been in quest of truth, in a pointed sentence, that more regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, and that it is very seldom to be rigorously understood. Mercu- Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.- Where is the county's page, that rais'd the watch?-tio's wit, gaiety, and courage, will always procure Sirrah, what made your master in this place? him friends that wish him a longer life; but his Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's death is not precipitated, he has lived out the time grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb; And, by and by, my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words, allotted him in the construction of the play; nor do I doubt the ability of Shakspeare to have con- tinued his existence, though some of his sallies are perhaps out of the reach of Dryden; whose genius. was not very fertile of merriment, nor ductile to humour, but acute, argumentative, comprehensive, and sublime. The Nurse is one of the characters in which the author delighted: he has, with great subtilty of distinction, drawn her at once loquacious and secret, obsequious and insolent, trusty and disho- Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes-that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.- Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!-nest. See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That Heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen:'-all are punish'd. Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand: 1 Mercutio and Paris. 56 His comic scenes are happily wrought, but his pathetic strains are always polluted with some un- expected depravations. His persons, however dis- tressed, have a conceit left them in their misery, a miserable conceit. JOHNSON. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Claudius, king of Denmark. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Francisco, a soldier. Hamlet, son to the former king, and nephew to the Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. present king. Laertes, son to Polonius. Polonius, lord chamberlain. Horatio, friend to Hamlet. ✓ timand, Cornelius, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, Osric, a courtier. Another Courtier. A Priest. 2 courtiers. Marcellus, officers. Bernardo, A Captain. An Ambassador. Ghost of Hamlet's father. Fortinbras, prince of Norway. Gertrude, queen of Denmark, and mother of Hamlet. Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave diggers, Sailors, Messengers, and other At- tendants. Scene, Elsinore. ACT I. SCENE I.-Elsinore. A platform before the castle. Francisco on his post. Enter to Bernardo. WHO'S there? Bernardo. him Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to night? Ber. I have seen nothing. Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy; And will not let belief take hold of him, Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us; Therefore I have entreated him, along With us to watch the minutes of this night; Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold That, if again this apparition come, Yourself. Long live the king! Bernardo? Ber. Fran. Ber. He. Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco. Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, And I am sick at heart. Ber. Have you had quiet guard? Fran. Ber. Well, good night. He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear. Ber. Sit down a while; That are so fortified against our story, And let us once again assail your ears, What we two nights have seen. Hor. And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. Well, sit we down, Ber. Last night of all, When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, Not a mouse stirring. Had made his course to illume that part of heaven Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, The bell then beating one,- If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The rivals' of my watch, bid them make haste. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Fran. I think, I hear them.-Stand, ho! Who is there? And liegemen to the Dane. Hor. Friends to this ground. Mar. Fran. Give you good night." Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier: Who hath reliev'd you? Fran. Bernardo hath my place. Give you good night. Mar. Ber. [Exit Francisco. Holla! Bernardo! Say, What, is Horatio there? Hor. A piece of him. Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar- cellus. 1 Partners. Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it coraes again! Enter Ghost. Ber. In the same figure like the king that's deid. Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. Hor. Most like:-it harrows me with fear, and wonder. Ber. It would be spoke to. Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, Together with that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak. Mar. It is offended. 2 Make good, or establish. 3 Conquers. SCENE I. 879 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Ber. See! it stalks away. Hor. Stay, speak: speak, I charge thee, speak. Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look pale: Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you of it? Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, Without the sensible and true avouch Of mine own eyes. Mar. Is it not like the king? Hor. As thou art to thyself; Such was the very armour he had on, When he the ambitious Norway combated; So frown'd he once when in angry parle, 1 He smote the sledded2 Polack on the ice. 'Tis strange. Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. In the most high and palmy12 state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and 'he sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. * * ***** * * * As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star, 13 Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. And even the like precurse of fierce events,- As harbingers preceding still the fates, And prologue to the omen14 coming on, Have heaven and earth together demonstrated Unto our climatures and countrymen.-1 Re-enter Ghost. But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again! I'll cross it, though it blast me.-Stay, illusion! If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, Speak to me: Hor. In what particular thought to work, I If there be any good thing to be done, know not; But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion This bodes some strange eruption to our state. Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, Why this same strict and most observant watch So nightly toils the subject of the land; And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, And foreign mart for implements of war; Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task Does not divide the Sunday from the week: What might be toward, that this sweaty haste Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day; Who is't, that can inform me? Hor. That can I; At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, Whose image even but now appear'd to us, Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him,) Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact, Well ratified by law and heraldry, Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror : Against the which, a moiety competent Was gaged by our king, which had return'd To the inheritance of Fortinbras, Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same co-mart, And carriage of the article design'd, His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fontinbras, Of unimproved mettle hot and full," Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes, For food and diet, to some enterprise That hath a stomach in't: which is no other (As it doth well appear unto our state,) But to recover of us, by strong hand, And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands So by his father lost: And this, I take it, Is the main motive of our preparations; The source of this our watch; and the chief head Of this post-haste and romage10 in the land. [Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so: Well may it sort," that this portentious figure Comes armed through our watch; so like the king That was, and is, the question of these wars. 2 Sledged. 1 Dispute. 3 Polander, an inhabitant of Poland. 5 Joint bargain. 4 Just. 6 The covenant to confirm that bargain. That may to thee do easc, and grace to me Speak to me: If thou art privy to thy country's fate, Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak! Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, [Cock crows Speak of it:-stay, and speak.-Stop it, Marcellus. Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan? Hor. Do, if it will not stand. Ber. Hor. Mar. 'Tis gone! "Tis here! "Tis here! [Exit Ghost. We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence; For it is, as the air, invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery. Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock ciev, Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat Awake the god of day; and, at his warning, Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, The extravagant and erring 15 spirit hies To his confine: and of the truth herein This present object made probation." 16 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike. No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. Hor. So I have heard, and do in part believe it But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill: Break we our watch up; and, by my advice, Let us impart what we have seen to night Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life, This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him: Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this "norning know 7 Full of spirit without experience. 8 Picked. 9 Resolution. 10 Search. 13 The moon. 12 Victorious. 11 Suit. 14 Event. 15 Wandering 16 Proof. 980 ACT I. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death Where we shall find aim mos: convenient. [Exe. Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent:] SCENE II-The same. A room of state in I do beseech you, give him leave to go. sume. Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polo- King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, nius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, and And thy best graces: spend it at thy will.- Attendants. But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son,- Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind.4 [Aside. King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i'the sun. Queen Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou know'st, 'tis common; all, that live, must die, Passing through nature to eternity. The memory be green; and that it us befitted To boar cur hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom To be contracted in one brow of wo; Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, That we with wisest sorrow think on him, Together with remembrance of ourselves. Therefore, our sometime sister, now our queen, The imperial jointress of this warlike state, Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy,- With one auspicious, and one dropping eye; With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,1 Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone With this affair along:-For all, our thanks. Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, Holding a weak supposal of our worth; Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death, Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, Importing the surrender of those lands, Lost by his father, with all bands of law, To our most valiant brother.-So much for him. Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting, Thus much the business is: We have here writ To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,- Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears, Of this his nephew's purpose,-to suppress His further gaits herein; in that the levies, The lists, and full proportions, are all made Out of his subject: and we here despatch You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; Giving to you no further personal power To business with the king, more than the scope Of these dilated articles allow. Farewell: and let your haste commend your duty. Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our duty. King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell. [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? You told us of some suit; What is't. Laertes? You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg, Laertes, That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? The head is not more native to the heart, The hand more instrumental to the mouth, Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. What wouldst thou have, Laertes? My dread lord, Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen. If it be, Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is: I know not Why seems it so particular with thee? [seems. 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black, Nor windy suspiration of fore'd breath, No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, That can denote me truly: These, indeed, seem, For they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show; These but the trappings and the suits of wo. King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your na- ture, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost his; and the survivor bound In filial obligation, for some term To do obsequious sorrow: But to persever In obstinate condolement, is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: It shows a will most incorrect to heaven; A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; An understanding simple and unschool'd: For what, we know, must be, and is as common As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Why should we, in our peevish opposition, Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, To reason most absurd; whose common theme Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, From the first corse, till he that died to-day, This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth This unprevailing wo; and think of us As of a father: for let the world take note, And, with no less nobility of love, You are the most immediate to our throne; Than that which dearest father bears his son, Do I impart toward you. For your intent In going back to school in Wittenberg, It is most retrogade to our desire: And, we beseech you, bend you to remain Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet; Laer. Your leave and favour to return to France; From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, To show my duty in your coronation; I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenberg. Yet now, I must confess, that duty done, Ham. I shall in all my best obey you madam. My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. Be as ourself in Denmark.-Madam, come; King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply; King. Have you your father's leave? What says This gentle and unfore'd accord of Hamlet Polonius? [leave, Pol He hath, my lord, [wrung from me my slow By laboursome petition; and, at last, Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, 4 Nature; a little more than a kinsman, and less than a natural one. 1 Grief. 2 Bonds. 3 Way, path. 5 Lowering eyes. 6 Contrary. SCENE II. 881 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; And the king's rouse¹ the heaven shall bruit2 again, Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, &c. Polonius, and Laertes. Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! Or, that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie' 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature, Possess it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead!-nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a king; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, That he might not beteem' the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: And yet, within a month,- Let me not think on't;-Frailty, thy name is woman!- A little month; or ere those shoes were old, With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears;-why she, even she,- O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer,-married with my uncle, My father's brother; but no more like my father, Than I to Hercules: Within a month; Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married:-O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not, nor it cannot come to, good; But break, my heart: for I must hold my tonge! Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. Hor. Hail to your lordship. Ham. I am glad to see you well: Horatio,-or I do forget myself. Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you. And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus? Mar. My good lord,-- Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, sir.- But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so: Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. But what is your affair in Elsinore ? We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- student; I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 1 Draught. 2 Report. 3 Dissolve. 4 Law. 5 Entirely. 6 Apollo. 7 Suffer. 8 It was anciently the custom to give a cold entertainment at a funeral. Ham. Thrift, thrift, Hcratio: the funeral-bak'd meats Did coldly furnish forto the marriage tables. 'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father, Methinks, I see my father.. Hor. My lord? Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. Where, Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. Ham. Saw! who? Hor. My lord, the king your father. Ham. The king my father? Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent10 ear; till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you. Ham. For God's love, let me hear. Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead waste and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point, exactly, cap-à-pé, Appears before them, and, with solemn march, Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd, By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, Within his truncheon's length; while they, distill'd Almost to jelly with the act of fear, Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me, In dreadful secrecy, impart they did; And I with them, the third night, kept the watch: Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes: I knew your father; These hands are not more like. Ham. But where was this? Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Ham. Did you not speak to it? Hor. My lord, I did, But answer made it none: yet once, methought, It lifted up its head, and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak: But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish'd from our sight. Ham. 'Tis very strange. Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty, To let you know of it. Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. Hold you the watch to-night? ᎯᏓᏓ . All. We do, my lord. Ham. Arm'd, say you? Arm'd, my lord. From top to toe? Then saw you not Ham. All. My lord, from head to foot. Ham. His face? Hor. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver¹ up. Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? Hor. In sorrow than in anger. Ham. A countenance more Pale, or red? And fix'd his eyes upon you? Hor. Nay, very pale. Ham. Hor. Most constantly. 9 Chiefest. 10 Attentive. 11 That part of the helmet which may be lift ed up. 882 ACT L HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Ham. I would, I had been there. Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. Ham. Very like: Stay'd it long? Very like, Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. If with too credents ear you list his songs; Or loose your heart: or your chaste treasure open To his unmaster'd' importunity. Fear it, Ophelia. fear it, my dear sister:! And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon: His beard was grizzled? no? Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. Hor. Not when I saw it. Ham. Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd. Ham. I will watch to-night! Perchance, 'twill walk again. Hor. I warrant, it will. Hani. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue; I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you. All. Our duty to your honour. Ham. Your loves, as mine to you: Farewell. [Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; I doubt some foul play: 'would, the night were come! The canker galls the infants of the spring, Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary then: best safety lies in fear; Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother, Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine. Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, And recks not his own read.10 Laer. O fear me not. I stay too long;-But here my father comes. Enter Polonius. A double blessing is a double grace; Occasion smiles upon a second leave. Pol. Yet here Laertes! aboard, aboard. for shame; The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, Till then sit still, my soul; Foul deeds will rise, And you are staid for: There,-my blessing with Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's you; [Laying his hand on Laertes" head. [Exit. And these few precepts in thy memory Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, En-Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. eyes. SCENE III-A room in Polonius's house. ter Laertes and Ophelia. Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: And, sister, as the winds give benefit, And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, But let me hear from you. Oph. Do you doubt that? Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, The pérfume and suppliance of a minute; No more. No more but so? Oph. Laer. Think it no more: For nature, crescent,' does not grow alone In thews, and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, The inward service of the mind and soul Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now; And now no soil, nor cautel,3 doth besmirch4 The virtue of his will: but, you must fear, His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; For he himself is subject to his birth: He may not, as unvalued persons do, Carve for himself; for on his choice depends The safety, and the health of the whole state; And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd Unto the voice and yielding of that body, Whereof he is the head: Then if he says he loves you, It fits your wisdom so far to believe it, As he in his particular act and place May give his saying deed; which is no further Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 1 Increasing. 3 Subtlety, deceit. 5 Believing. 6 8 Most cautious. 2 Sinews. 4 Discolour. Listen to. 7 Licentious. 9 Careless; Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; But do not dull thy palm12 with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd. unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, 13 but reserve thy judg- ment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy, For the apparel oft proclaims the man; And they in France, of the best rank and station, Are most select and generous,14 chief 15 in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.16 This above all,-To thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell: my blessing season¹7 this in thee! Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. Pol. The time invites you; go, your servants tend.18 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well What I have said to you. Oph. "Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it. Laer. Farewell. [Exit Laertes. Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you Oph. So please you, something touching the lord Hamlet. 10 Regards not his own lessons. 11 Write. 12 Palm of the hand. 13 Opinion. 14 Noble. 15 Chiefly. 16 Economy. 17 Infix. 18 Wait. SCENE IV. 882 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Pol. Marry, well bethought: 'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late Given private time to you: and you yourself Have of your audience been most free and boun- teous: If it be so (as so 'tis put on me, And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, You do not understand yourself so clearly, As it behoves my daughter, and your honour: What is between you? give me up the truth. Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders Of his affection to me. Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green girl, Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. Pol. Marry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby; That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay, Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly; Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, Wronging it thus,) you'll tender me a fool. Oph. My lord, he hath impórtun'd me with love, In honourable fashion. 2 Pol. Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, With almost all the holy vows of heaven. Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, Giving more light than heat,-extinct in both, Even in their promise, as it is a making,- You must not take for fire. From this time, Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; Set your entreatments³ at a higher rate, Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, Believe so much in him, That he is young; And with a larger tether4 may he walk, Than may be given you: In few, Ophelia, Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers," Not of that die which their investments show, But mere implorators of unholy suits, Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, The better to beguile. This is for all,- I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth Have you so slander any moment's leisure, As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. Look to't, I charge you; come your ways. Oph. I shall obey, my lord. SCENE IV.-The platform. [Exeunt. Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. Ham. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. Ham. What hour now? Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. Mar. No, it is struck. Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; it then draws near the season, Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. [A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within. What doth this mean, my lord? Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse, Keeps wassel,' and the swag'ring up-spring 10 reels; 1 Untempted. 2 Manner. 3 Company. 4 Longer line; a horse fastened by a string to a stake is tethered. 5 Pimps. And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. Hor. Is it a custom? Ham. Ay, marry, is't: But to my mind,-though I am native here, And to the manner born,-it is a custom More honour'd in the breach, than the observance This heavy-headed revel, east and west, Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: They clepe' us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes From our achievements, though perform'd at height, The pith and marrow of our attribute. So, oft it chances in particular men, That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As, in their birth (wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose his origin,) By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,' Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens The form of plausive manners;-that these men,- Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; Being nature's livery, or fortune's star,- Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo,) Shall, in the general censure, take corruption From that particular fault: The dram of base Doth all the noble substance often dout, 13 To his own scandal. Hor. Enter Ghost. 12 Look, my lord, it comes! Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!- Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com'st in such a questionable14 shape, That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee Hamlet, King, father, royal Dane: 0, answer me: Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell, Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, So horridly to shake our disposition,!" With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do? Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire I To you alone. Mar. Look, with what courteous action No, by no means. It waves you to a more removed 16 ground: But do not go with it. Hor. Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. Hor. Do not, my lord. Ham. Why, what should be to? do not set my life at a pin's fee;17 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, Being a thing immortal as itself? It waves me forth again;-I'll follow it. Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 8 Jovial draught. 9 Jollity. 10 Advance. 12 Humour. 11 Call. 13 6 Implorers. 7 Sharp. 16 Do out. 14 Conversable. Remote. 17 Value. 15 Frame 884 ACT 1. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. That beetles' o'er his base into the sea? And there assume some other horrible form, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, And draw you into madness? think of it: The very place puts toys of desperation, Without more motive, into every brain, That looks so many fathoms to the sea, And hears it roar beneath. Ham. Go on, I'll follow thee. It waves me still: Hold off your hands. Mar. You shall not go, my lord. Ham. Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. Ham. My fate cries out, And makes each petty artery in this body As hardy as the Némean lion's nerve.- [Ghost beckons. Still am I call'd ;-unhand me, gentlemen ;- [Breaking from them. By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets³ me:- I say, away:-Go on, I'll follow thee. [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Hor. Have after :-To what issue will this come? Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Den- mark. Hor. Heaven will direct it. Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-A more remote part of the form. Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me? speak; go no further. Ghost. Mark me. Ham. I will. Ghost. plat- I'll My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames Must render up myself. Ham. Alas, poor ghost! Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. Ham. What? Ghost. I am thy father's spirit: Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night; And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; ake thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an-end, Like quills upon the fretful Porcupine: But this eternal blazon+ must not be To ears of flesh and blood:-List, list, O list!- If thou didst ever thy dear father love,- Ham. O heaven! Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. Ham. Murder? Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 1 Hangs. 2 Whims. 4 Display. 5 Garden. 3 Hinders. 6 Satiate. 7 Henbane. 8 Scab, scurf. 9 Leprous. Ham. Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge. Ghost. I find thee apt; And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard," A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is, by a forged process of my death, Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father's life, Now wears his crown. Ham. O, my prophetic soul! my uncle! Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beas With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts (O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen: O, Hamlet, what a falling off was there! From me, whose love was of that dignity, That it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage; and to decline Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor To those of mine! But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will sates itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage. But, soft! methinks, I scent the morning air; Brief let me be :-Sleeping within mine orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, With juice of cursed hebenon' in a vial, And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment: whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body; And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood: so did it mine: And a most instant tetters bark'd about, Most lazer-like, with vile and loathsome crust, All my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd:10 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, Unhousel'd, disappointed, 12 unanel'd;13 No reckoning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head: O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible! If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; Let not the royal bed of Denmark be A couch for luxury and damned incest. But, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire: Adieu, adieu, adieu! remember me. [Exit Ham. O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else? And shall I couple hell?-O fie!-Hold, hold, my heart; 10 Bereft. 11 Without having received the sacrament. 12 Unappointed, unprepared. 13 Without extreme unction. SCENE I. 885 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. And you, iny sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up!-Remember thee? Ay, thou ponr ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation enpied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables,3-meet it is, I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark: [Writing. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; It is, Adieu, adieu! remember me. I have sworn't. Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord,- Mar. Within.] Lord Hamlet,-- Hor. [Within.] Ham. Heaven secure him! So be it. Mar. [Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord! Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. Hor. Hor. Enter Horatio and Marcellus. What news, my lord? Mar. How is't, my noble lord? Ham. O, wonderful! Good my lord, tell it. Ham. You will reveal it. Not I, my lord, by heaven. Hor. Mar. No; Nor I, my lord. Ham. Hor. My lord, not I. Nay, but swear't In faith Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. Ham. Upon my sword. Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already, Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say'st thou so? art thou there, true-penny? Come on, you hear this fellow i the cellarage- Consent to swear. Hor. Propose the oath, my lor 1. Ham. Never to speak of this that yo have seen. Swear by my sword. Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. Ham. Hic et ubique ? then we'll shift our ground; Come hither, gentlemen, And lay your hands upon my sword: Swear by my sword, Never to speak of this that you have heard. Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. Ham. Well said, old mole? canst work i'the earth so fast? A worthy pioneer!-Once more remove, good friends. Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange. Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come; Here, as before, never, so help you mercy! How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on,- Ham. How say you then; would heart of man That you, at such times, seeing me, never shall, once think it ?- But you'll be secret,- Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in Denmark, But he's an arrant knave. With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, lord. Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, all As, Well, well, we know ;-or, We could, an if we would;-or, If we list to speak;-or, There be, an if they might; Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from Or such ambiguous giving out, to note the grave, To tell us this. Ham. Why, right; you are in the right; And so, without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part: You, as your business, and desire, shall you;- For every man hath business, and desire, Such as it is, and, for my own poor part, Look you, I will go pray. point Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily; yes, 'Faith, heartily. Hor. There's no offence, my lord. Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, And much offence too. Touching this vision here,- It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you; For your desire to know what is between us, O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends, As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, Give me one poor request. Hor. We will. What is't, my lord? Ham Never make known what you have seen to-night. Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. That you know aught of me: This do you swear, So grace and mercy at your most need help you! Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. So, gentlemen, With all my love I do commend me to you: And what so poor a man as Hamlet is May do, to express his love and friending to you, God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together; And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. The time is out of joint;-O cursed spite, That ever I was born to set it right! Nay, come, let's go together. ACT II. [Exeunt. SCENE I-A room in Polonius's house. Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey- naldo. Rey. I will, my lord. Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- naldo, Before you visit him, to make inquiry 4 Here and every where. 1 Head. 2 Sayings, sentences. 3 Memorandum book. 886 Аст. II HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Of his behaviour. hey. My lord, I did intend it. Pol. Marry, well said: very well said. you, sir, Look nquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, What company, at what expense; and finding, By this encompassment and drift of question, That they do know my son, come you more nearer Than your particular demands will touch it: Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; As thus,-I knmo his father, and his friends, And, in part, him;-Do you mark this, Reynaldo? Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. Pol. And, in part, him;-but, you may say, not well: But, f't be he I mean, he's very wild; Adict 1 so and so ;-and there put on him What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank As may dishonour him; take heed of that; But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips, As are companions noted and most known To youth and liberty. Rey. As gaming, my lord. Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, relling, Drabbing:-You may go so far. Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlaces, and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out; So, by former lecture and advice, Shall you my son: You have me, have you not? Rey. My lord, I have. God be wi' you; fare you well Pol. Rey. Good my lord, Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. Rey. I shall, my lord. Pol. And let him ply his music. Rey. Well, my lord. [Exit. Enter Ophelia. Pol. Farewell!-How now, Ophelia ? what's the matter? Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so af- frighted! Pol. With what, in the name of heaven? Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd; No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, Ungarter'd, and down-gyved' to his ancle; Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; And with a look so piteous in purport, quar-As if he had been loosed out of hell, To speak of horrors, he comes before me. Pol. Mad for thy love? Oph. Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the But, truly, I de fear it. charge. You must not put another scandal on him, That he is open to incontinency; My lord, I do not know; Pol. What said he? Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held re hard; That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so Then goes he to the length of all his arm, quaintly, That they may seem the taints of liberty: The flash and out-break of a fiery mind; A savageness in unreclaimed blood, Of general assault. Rey. But, my good lord,-- Pol. Wherefore should you do this? Re I would know that. Ay, my lord, Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant: You laying these slight sullies on my son, As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i'the working, Mark you, Your party in converse, him you would sound, Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes, The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd, He closes with you in this consequence; Good sir, or so; or friend, or gentleman,- According to the phrase, or the addition, Of man, and country. Rey. Very good, my lord. And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, He falls to such perusal of my face, As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; At last, a little shaking of mine arm, And thrice his head thus waving up and down,- He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, As it did seem to shatter all his bulk," And end his being: That done, he lets me go: And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, He seem'd to find his way without his eyes; For out o'doors he went without their helps, And, to the last, bended their light on me. Pol. Come, go with me; I will go seek the king, This is the very ecstacy of love; Whose violent property foredoes' itself. And leads the will to desperate undertakings, As oft as any passion under heaven, That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,- What, have you given him any hard words of late? Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did com- mand. I did repel his letters, and denied Pol. And then, sir, does he this,-He does-His access to me. What was I about to say?-By the mass, I was Pol. That hath made him mad. about to say something:-Where did I leave? I am sorry, that with better heed and judgment, Rey. At, closes in the consequence. I had not quoteds him; 1 fear'd, he did but trifle, Pol. At, closes in the consequence.-Ay, marry; And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my He closes with you thus:-I know the gentleman; I saw him yesterday, or t'other day, jealousy! It seems, it is as proper to our age, Or then, or then; with such, or such; and, as you To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, say, As it is common for the younger sort There was he gaming; there o'ertook in his rouse; To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king: There falling out at tennis: or, perchance, I saw him enter such a house of sale, (Videlicits a brothel,) or so forth.- See you now; 1 Danes. This must be known; which, being kept close, might move More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. Come. 5 Hanging down like fetters. 2 Wildness. 3 Already named. 4 That is to say 7 Destroys. [Exeunt. 6 Body. 8 Observed. SCENE II. 887 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. SCENE II-A room in the castle. Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Attend- ants. King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and denstern! in. King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them [Exit Polonius, He tells me, my dear Gertude, he hath found Guil-The head and source of all your son's distemper. Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage. Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimand and Cornelius. King. Well, we shall sift him.-Welcome my good friends! Moreover that we much did long to see you, The need we have to use you, did provoke Our hasty sending. Something have you heard Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it, Since not the exterior nor the inward man Resembles that it was: What it should be, More than his father's death, that thus hath put him So much from the understanding of himself, I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, That,-being of so young days brought up with him; And, since, so neighbour'd to his youth and hu- mour,- That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court Some little time: so by your companies To draw him on to pleasures; and to gather, So much as from occasion you may glean, Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, That, open'd, lies within our remedy. Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you; And, sure I am, two men there are not living, To whom he more adheres. If it will please you To show us so much gentry,' and good will, As to expend your time with us a while, For the supply and profit of our hope, Your visitation shall receive such thanks As fits a king's remembrance. Ros. Both your majesties Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, Put your dread pleasures more into command Than to entreaty. Guil. But we both obey; And here give up ourselves, in the full bent,2 To lay our service freely at your feet, To be commanded. King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guil- denstern. Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- crantz: And I beseech you instantly to visit My too much changed son.-Go, some of you, And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is, Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our practices, Pleasant and helpful to him! Queen. Ay, amen! [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and some Attendants. Enter Polonius. Say. Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? Volt. Most fair return of greetings. and desires. Upon our first, he sent out to suppress His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd But, better look'd into, he truly found To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; It was against your highness: Whereat griev'd,- That so his sickness, age, and impotence, Was falsely borne in hand,6-sends out arreste On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; Receives rebuke from Norway; and, in fine, Makes vow before his uncle, never more To give the assay of arms against your majesty Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee; And his commission, to employ those soldiers, With an entreaty, herein further shown, So levied as before, against the Polack: [Gives a paper That it might please you to give quiet pass Through your dominions, for this enterprise; On such regards of safety, and allowance, As therein are set down. King. It likes us well: And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read, Answer, and think upon this business. Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labour: Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: Most welcome home! Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. Pol. This business is well ended. My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is, Why day is day, night, night, and time is time, Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,- I will be brief: Your noble son is mad: Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, What is't, but to be nothing else but mad! But let that go. Queen. More matter, with less art. Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; And pity 'tis, 'tis true: a foolish figure; But farewell it, for I will use no art. Pol. The embassadors from Norway, my good Mad let us grant him then: and now remains, lord, Are joyfully return'd. King. Thou still hast been the father of good Pol Have 1, my lord? Assure you my good news. llege, I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, Both to my God, and to my gracious king: And I do think (or else this brain of mine Hunts not the trails of policy so sure As it hath us'd to do,) that I have found The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. King. O, speak of that; that do I long to hear. Pol. Give first admittance to the embassadors; My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 1 Complasiance. 3 Scent. 2 Utmost exertion. 4 Dessert. That we find out the cause of this effect; Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; For this effect, defective, comes by cause: Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend. I have a daughter; have, while she is mine; Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, Hath given me this: Now gather and surmise. -To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,- That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is a vile phrase; but you shall hear :-Thus; In her excellent white bosom, these &c. Queen. Came this from Hamlet to no? 5 Poland. 6 Imposed on. Discus 888 ACT II HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Pol. Good madam, stay a while; I will be faith- ful.- Doubt thou, the stars are fire; Doubt, that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt, I love. [Reads. O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet. This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me: And more above, hath his solicitings, As they fell out by time, by means, and place, All given to mine ear. King. Receiv'd his love? But how hath she Pol. What do you think of me? King. As of a man faithful and honourable. Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you think, When I had seen this hot love on the wing (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, Before my daughter told me,) what might you, Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, If I had play'd the desk, or table book; Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb; Or lock'd upon this love with idle sight; What might you think? no, I went round' to work, And my young mistress thus did I bespeak; Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy sphere; This must not be: and then I precepts gave her, That she should lock herself from his resort, Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; And he, repulsed (a short tale to make,) Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness; Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension, Into the madness wherein now he raves, And all we mourn for. King. Do you think, 'tis this? Queen. It may be, very likely. Pol. Hath there been such a time (I'd fain know that,) That I have positively said, 'Tis 30, When it prov'd otherwise? King Not that I know. Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise: [Pointing to his head and shoulder. If circumstances lead me, I will find Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed Within the centre. King. Pol. You know, together, Here in the lobby. Queen. How may we try it further? sometimes he walks four hours So he does, indeed. Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him: Be you and I behind an arras2 then; Mark the encounter: if he love her not, And be not from his reason fallen thereon, Let me be no assistant for a state, But keep a farin, and carters. King. We will try it. Enter Hamlet, reading. Queen. But look, where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. 1 Rously, without reserve. Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away; I'll board him presently :-0, give me leave.- [Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants How does my good Lord Hamlet? Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. Pol. Do you know me, my lord? Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. Pol. Not I, my lord. Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. Pol. Honest, my lord? Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. Pol. That's very true, my lord. Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god, kissing carrion,--Have you a daughter? Pol. I have, my lord. Ham. Let her not walk i'the sun: conception is a blessing; but as your daughter may conceive,- friend, look to't. Pol. How say you by that? [Aside.] Still harping on my daughter :-yet he knew me not at first; he said, I was a fishmonger: He is far gone, far gone: and, truly, in my youth 1 suffered much extremity for love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.- What do you read, my lore? Ham. Words, words, words! Pol. What is the matter, my lord? Ham. Between who? Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces are wrinkled; thei eyes purging thick amber, and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: All of which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward. Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method in it. [Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my lord? Ham. Into my grave? Pol. Indeed, that is out o'the air.-How preg nant sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and sanity" could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter.-My hon- ourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal; except my life, except my life, except my life. Pol. Fare you well, my lord. Ham. These tedious old fools! Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet; there he is. Ros. God save you, sir! Guil. My honour'd lord!- Ros. My most dear lord!- [To Polonius. [Exit Polonius. Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both? Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy; On fortune's cap we are not the very button. Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? Ros. Neither, my lord. 2 Tapestry. 5 Be pregnant. 3 Accost 4 Understanding. 7 Soundness of mind. 6 Ready, apt. SCENE II. 883 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the forgone all custom of exercises: and, indeed, it middle of her favours? goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; 'Guil. Faith, her privates we. Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this true; she is a strumpet. What news! brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof Ros. None, my lord; but that the world is fretted with golden fire. why, it appears no other grown honest. thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congregation Ham. There is doomsday near: But your news of vapours. What a piece of work is man! How is not true. Let me question more in particular: noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form, What have you, my good friends, deserved at the and moving, how express and admirable! in action, hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither? how like an angel! in apprehension. how like a god! Guil. Prison, my lord! Ham. Denmark's a prison. Ros. Then is the world one. the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? man delights not me, nor woman neither; though, Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many by your smiling, you seem to say so. confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one of the worst. Ros. We think not so, my lord. Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you: for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so: to me it is a prison. Ros. Why, then, your ambition makes it one; 'tis too narrow for your mind. Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my thoughts. Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, Man delights not me? Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten' entertainment the players shall receive from you: we coted them on the way; and hither are they coming, to offer you service. Ham. O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell, Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome; and count myself a king of infinite space, were it his majesty shall have tribute of me: the adven- not that I have bad dreams. turous knight shall use his foil, and target: the Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for lover shall not sigh gratis; the humourous man the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shall end his part in peace: the clown shall make shadow of a dream. Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies; and our monarchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' shadows; Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason. Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you; and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear, a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, come; deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak. Guil. What should we say, my lord? Ham. Any thing-but to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to colour: I know, the good king and queen have sent for you. Ros. To what end, my lord! Ham. That you must teach me. But let me conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a bet- ter proposer could charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent for, or no? Ros. What say you? To Guildenstern. Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; [Aside.] --if you love me, hold not off. Guil. My lord, we were sent for. Ham. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipa- tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather. I have of late (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth, 1 Spare. 3 Become strollers. 5 Dialogue. 2 Overtook. 4 Young nestlings. 6 Paid. those laugh, whose lungs are tickled o'the sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. -What players are they? Ros. Even those you were wont to take such delight in, the tragedians of the city. Ham. How chances it, they travel 23 their resi- dence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means/ of the late innovation. Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are they so followed? Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 4 Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are now the fashion; and so berattle the common stages (so they call them,) that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither. Ham. What, are they children? who maintains them? how are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality" no longer than they can sin? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselve to common players (as it is most like, if their means are no better,) their writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own succession? Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them on to controversy: there was, for a while, no roney bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question. Ham. Is it possible? Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of brains. Ham. Do the boys carry it away? Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his load too." Ham. It is not very strange; for my uncle is king of Denmark, and those, that would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty 7 Profession. 8 Provoke. 9 i. e. The globe, the sign of Shakspeare Theatre. 890 ACT II. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 1 Play. What speech, my lord? forty, fifty, a hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture straight: Come, give us a taste of your quality;" in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this more come, a passionate speech. than natural, if philosophy could find it out. [Flourish of trumpets within. Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once,- Guil. There are the players. but it was never acted; or, if it was, not above Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. once: for the play, I remember, pleased not the Your hands. Come then: the appurtenance of million; 'twas caviare to the general:10 but it was welcome is fashion and ceremony: let me comply2 (as I received it, and others, whose judgments, in with you in this garb; lest my extent to the play- such matters, cried in the top of mine,) an excel- ers, which, I tell you, must show fairly outward, lent play; well digested in the scenes, set down should more appear like entertainment than yours. with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, You are welcome; but my uncle-father, and aunt-one said, there were no sallads in the lines, to mother, are deceived. Guil. In what, my dear lord? Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand-saw. Enter Polonius. make the matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite 12 the author of affection: 13 but called it, an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas Æneas' tale to Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter: If it live in your me- Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern;-and you too;mory, begin at this line; let me see, let me see;- at each ear a hearer: that great baby, you see there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them; for, they say, an old man is twice a child. Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of the players; mark it.-You say right, sir: o'Monday morning: 'twas then, indeed. Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you; When Roscius was an actor in Rome,-- Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. Ham. Buzz, buzz! Pol. Upon mine honour,- Ham. Then came each actor on his ass,- Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tra- gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral [tragical-historical, tragical-co- mical-historical-pastoral,] scene individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ, and the liberty, these are the only men. Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel,-what a trea- sure hadst thou! [Aside. Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord? Ham. Why-One fair daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well. Pol. Still on my daughter. Hm. Am I not i'the right, old Jephthah? Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a dauger, that I love passing well. Ham. Nay, that foliows not. The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,- 'tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus. The rugged Pyrrhus,-he, whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couched in the ominous horse,- Hath now this dread and black complexion smear'd With heraldry more dismal; head to foot Now is he total gules; 14 horridly trick'd's With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons," Bak'd and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and a damned light To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, ana fire, And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks ;-So proceed you. Pol. 'Fore God, my iord, well spoken; with good accent, and good discretion. 1 Play. Anon he finds him. Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword, Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, Repugnant to command: Unequal match'd, Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage, strikes wide; But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top Sloops to his base; and with a hideous crash Takes prismmer Pyrrhus' ear. for, ic his sword, Which was declining on the milky head Of reverend Priam, seem'd i'the air to stick: Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood; know, It came to pass, As most like it was,-The.And, like a neutral to his will and matter, frst row of the pious chanson will show you more; for look, my abridgment comes. Pol. What follows then, my lord? Enter four or five Players. Did nothing. But, as we often see, against some storm, A silence in the heavens, the rack16 stand stall, The bold winds speechless, and the orb below You are welcome, masters; Welcome, all:-I am As hush as death; anon the dreadful thunder glad to see thee well:-welcome, good friends.- Doth rend the region: So, after Pyrrhus' pause, 0, old friend! Why, thy face is valenced since IA roused vengeance sets him new a-work; saw thee last; Com'st thou to beards me in Den-And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall mark?-What! my young lady and mistress! By'r- On Mars's armour, forg'd for proof eterne," lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than when With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword I saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine." Pray Now falls on Priam.- God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be Out, out, tho strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, not cracked with the ring.-Masters, you are all In general synod, take away her power; velcome. We'll e'en to't like French falconers, fir at any thing we see: We'll have a speech 1 Miniature. 2 Compliment. 3 Writing. Christmas carols. Break all the spokes and follies from her wheel, And bowl the round nove down the hill of heaven, As low as to the fiends! 11 Above. 12 Convict. 5 Fringed. 10 Multitude. ety. Clog. 8 Profession. 13 Affectation. 14 An Italian dish, made of the roes of fishes. 16 Light clouds. 17 Red. 15 Blazoned. Eternal. SCENE I 891 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK Pol. This is too long. Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard. Pr'ythee, say on.-He's for a jig, or a tale of baw- dry, or he sleeps:-say on: come to Hecuba. 1 Play. But who, ah wo! had seen the mobled queen- Ham. The mobled queen? Pol. That's good; mobled queen is good. 1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the flames With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head, Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe, About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up; Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd, 'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have pro- nounc'd: But if the gods themselves did see her then, When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs; The instant burst of clamour that she made (Unless things mortal move them not at all,) Had he the motive and the cue for passion, That I have? He would drown the stage with tears And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed, The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet 1, A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, Upon whose property, and most dear life, And can say nothing; no, not for a king. A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i'the throat As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? Ha! Why, I should take it: for it cannot be, But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless, vil lain! Would have made milch the burning eye of Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave; heaven, And passion in the gods. Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's eyes.-Pr'y thee, no more. Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.-Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be well used; for they are the abstract, and brief chronicles, of the time; After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you live. Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their desert. Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better; Use every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity: The less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. Pol. Come, sirs. [Exit Polonius, with some of the Players. Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to-morrow-Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you play the murder of Gonzago? 1 Play. Ay, my lord. Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could you not? 1 Flay. Ay, my lord. Ham. Very well.-Follow that lord; and look you mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, [To Ros. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night: you are welcome to Elsinore. Ros. Good my lord! [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you:-Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit, That, from her working, all his visage wann'd; Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, A broken voice, and his whole function suiting With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do, 2 Blind. 3 Milky. 5 Unnatural. 1 Muffled. 4 Destruction. That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, And fall a cursing, like a very drab, A scullion! Fie upon't! foh! About my brains! Humph! I have heard, That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, Have by the very cunning of the scene Been struck so to the soul, that presently They have proclaim'd their malefactions; For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players Play something like the murder of my father, Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; I'll tent him to the quick; if he do blench," know my course. The spirit, that I have seen, May be a devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps, (As he is very potent with such spirits,) Out of my weakness, and my melancholy (As he is very potent with such spirits,) More relative than this: The play's the thing, Abuses me to dama me: I'll have grounds Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. I ACT III. Exit. SCENE I-A room in the castle. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. King. And can you by no drift of conferer.ce Get from him, why he puts on this confusion; Grating so harshly all his days of quiet With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted; But from what cause, he will by no means speak. Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, When we would bring him on to some confession Of his true state. Queen. Did he receive you well? Ros. Most like a gentleman. Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. Ros. Niggard of question; but, of our demands, 6 Search his wounds. 7 Shrink or start. 892 ACT III. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK Must free n his reply. Queen. T'o any pastime? Did you assay him Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him; And there did seemn in him a kind of joy To hear of it: They are about the court; And, as I think, they have already order This night to play before him. Pol. 'Tis most true: And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, To hear and see the matter. King. With all my heart; and it doth much content ine To hear him so inclin'd. Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, And drive his purpose on to these delights. Ros. We shall, my lord. [Exe. Ros. and Guil. King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too: For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither; That he, as 'twere by accident, may here Affront Ophelia : Her father, and myself.(lawful espials,3) Will so bestow ourselves, that seeing, unseen, We may of their encounter frankly judge; And gather by him, as he is behav'd, If't be the affliction of his love, or no, That thus he suffers for. Queen. I shall obey you: And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, That your good beauties be the happy cause Of Hamlet's wildness: so shall I hope, your virtues Will bring him to his wonted way again, To both your honours. Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Exit Queen. Pol. Ophelia, walk you here;-Gracious, so please you, We will bestow ourselves:-Read on this book; [To Ophelia. That show of such an exercise may colour Your loneliness.-We are oft to blame in this,- 'Tis too much prov'd,s-that with devotion's visage, And pious action, we do sugar o'er The devil himself. King. O, 'tis too true! how smart A lash that speech doth give my conscience! The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, Than is my deed to my most painted word: O heavy burden! [Aside. Pol. I hear him coming; let's withdraw, my lord. [Exeunt King and Polonius. Enter Hamlet. Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question:- Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them ?-To die,-to sleep,- No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,-'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ;-to sleep ;- To sleep! perchance to dream;-ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil," Must give us pause: There's the respect, 1 Overtook. 4 Freely. 7 Stir, bustle. 9 Rudeness. 5 2 Meet. 3 Spies. Place. 6 Too frequent. 8 Consideration. 10 Acquittance. That makes calamity of so long life: For who would bear the whips and scerns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contume y, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus 10 make With a bare bodkin?11 who would fardels 12 bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life; But that the dread of something after death,- The undiscover'd country, from whose bournis No traveller returns,-puzzles the will; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; And enterprises of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.-Soft you, now The fair Ophelia ;-Nymph, in thy orisons14 Be all my sins remember'd." Oph. Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day? Ham. I humbly thank you; well. Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours That I have longed long to re-deliver; I pray you, now receive them. Ham. I never gave you aught. No, not I; Oph. My honour'd lord, you know right well, you did; And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd As made the things more rich: their perfume lost, Take these again; for to the noble mind, Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. There, my lord." Ham. Ha, ha! are you honest? Oph. My lord? Ham. Are you fair? Oph. What means your lordship? Ham. That if you be honest, and fair, you should admit no discourse to your beauty. Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- merce than with honesty? Ham. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness; this was some time a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. Ooh. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. Ham. You should not have believed me: for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of it; I loved you not. Oph. I was the more deceived. Ham. Get thee to a nunnery: Why would'st thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent ho- nest; but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better, my mother had not borne me; I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more of- fences at my beck. 15 than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in: What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are ar- rant knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father? Oph. At home, my lord. Ham, Let the doors be shut upon him; that he may play the fool no where but in's own house. Farewell. 11 The ancient term for a small dagger. 12 Packs, burdens. 14 Prayers. 13 Boundary, limit 15 Call. SCENE II. 893 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens! lief the town-crier spoke my rines. Nor do not saw Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all plague for thy dowry; Be thou as chaste as ice, as gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as J pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must ac thee to a nunnery; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs quire and beget a temperance, that may give it marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear enough, what monsters you make of them. To a a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell. tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- lings;4 who, for the most part, are capable of no- thing but inexplicable dumb show, and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Ter- magant; it out-herods Herod:5 Pray you, avoid it. 1 Play. I warrant your honour. Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him! Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance: Go to; I'll no Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own more of't; it hath made me mad. I say, we will discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the have no more marriages: those that are married word, the word to the action; with this special ob- already, all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep servance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of na- as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit Hamlet. Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword: The expectancy and rose of the fair state, The glass of fashion, and the mould' of form, The observ'd of all observers! quite, quite down! And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, That suck'd the honey of his music vows, Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, Blasted with ecstasy :2 O, wo is me! To have seen what I have seen, see what I see! Re-enter King and Polonius. King. Love! his affections do not that way tend! Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, Was not like madness. There's something in his soul, O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, Will be some danger: Which for to prevent, I have, in quick determination, Thus set it down; He shall with speed to England, For the demand of our neglected tribute: Haply, the seas, and countries different, With variable objects, shall expel This something-settled matter in his heart; Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus From fashion of himself. What think you on't? Pol. It shall do well: But yet I do believe, The origin and commencement of his grief Sprung from neglected love.-How now, Ophelia? You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said; We heard it all.-My lord, do as you please; But, if you hold it fit, after the play, Let his queen mother all alone entreat him To show his grief; let her be round³ with him: And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear Of all their conference: If she find him not, To England send him; or confine him, where Your wisdom best shall think. King. It shall be so: Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A hall in the same. Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. ture: for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at first, and row, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve: the censure of which one, must, in your allowance," o'er-weigh a whole thea- tre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play,-and heard others praise, and that highly,- not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of christians, nor the gait of christ'an, pa- gan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 1 Play. I hope we have reformed that indiffe- rently with us. Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that play your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them: for there be of them, that will them- selves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spec- tators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary questions of the play be then to be con- sidered: that's villanous; and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.- [Exeunt Players. Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. How now, my lord? will the king hear this piece of work? Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. Ham. Bid the players make haste.-[Ex. Pol. Will you two help to hasten them? Both. Ay, my lord. [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. Ham. What, ho; Horatio! Enter Horatio, Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. Hor. O, my dear lord,- iHam. Nay, do not think I flatter, For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, To feed, and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter'd? No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee. nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as 1 The model by whom all endeavoured to form the themselves 2 Alienation of mind 3 Reprimand him with freedom. 4 The meaner people then seem to have sat in pit. 5 Herod's character was always violent. 6 Impression, resemblance. 7 Approbation. 8 Conversation, discourse. 9 Quick, ready 894 Аст III. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, And could of men distinguish her election, She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those, Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger To sound what stop she please: Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, As I do thee.-Something too much of this.- There is a play to-night before the king; One scene of it comes near the circumstance, Which have told thee of my father's death. I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act afoot, Even with the very comment of thy soul Observe my uncle: if his occulted guilt Do not itself unkennel in one speech, It is a damned ghost that we have seen; And my imaginations are as foul As Vulcan's stithy.2 Give him heedful note: For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; And, after, we will both our judgments join In censure of his seeming. Hor. Well, my lord: If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing, And scape detecting, I will pay the theft. Ham. They are coming to the play; I must be idle: Get you a place. Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and others. King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? Ham. Excellent, i'faith; of the chameleon's dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed: You cannot feed capons so. King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord,-you played once in the university, you say? To Polonius. Pol. That did I, my lord; and was accounted a good actor. Ham. And what did you enact? Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar: I was killed i'the Capitol; Brutus killed me. Ham It was a brute part of him, to kill so capi- tal a calf there. Be the players ready? Ros. Ay, my lord, they stay upon your patience Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more at- tractive. Pol. O ho! do you mark that? [To the King. Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? [Lying down at Ophelia's feet. Oph. No, my lord. Ham. I mean my head upon your lap? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? Oph. I think nothing, my lord. Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs. Oph. What is, my lord? Ham. Nothing. Oph. You are merry, my lord. Ham. Who, I? Oph. Ay, my lord. Ham. O! your only jig-maker. What should a 1 Secret. 2 Shop; stithy is a smith's shop. 3 Opinion. 4 Wait. 5 The richest dress. 6 Secret wickedness. man do, but be merry? for, look you, how cheer- fully my mother looks, and my father died within these two hours. Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. Ham. So long? Nay, then let the devil wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year: But, by'r-lady, he must build churches then: or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby-horse: whose epitaph is, For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot. Trumpets sound. The dumb show follows. Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly; the Queen embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his head upon her neck: lays him down upon a bank of flowers; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen returns; finds the King dead, and makes pas- sionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The poisoner woos the Queen with gifts; she seems loath and unwilling awhile, but, in the end, ac- cepts his love. [Exeunt. Oph. What means this, my lord? Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief. Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of the play. Enter Prologue. Ham. We shall know by this fellow: the play- ers cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all. Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show him: Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to tell you what it means. Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark the play. Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, Here stooping to your clemency, We beg your hearing patiently. Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? Oph. 'Tis brief," my lord. Ham. As woman's love. Enter a King and a Queen. P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart Neptune's salt wash, and Tellus" orbed ground: gone round And thirty dozen moons, with borrow'd sheen, 10 About the world have times twelve thirties been; Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands, Unite commutual in most sacred bands. P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and moon Make us again count o'er, ere love be done! But, wo is me, you are so sick of late, That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, So far from cheer, and from your former state, Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must: For women fear too much, even as they love: And women's fear and love hold quantity; In neither ought, or in extremity. Now, what my love is. proof hath made you know, And as my love is siz'd,11 my fear is so. 7 Short. 8 Car, chariot. 9 The earth's 10 Shining, lustre. 11 Magnitude proportion. SCENE III. 895 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Where love is great the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too; My operant' powers their functions leave to do: And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, Honour'd, belov'd; and, haply, one as kind For husband shalt thou-- P. Queen. O, confound the rest! Such love must needs be treason in my breast: In second husband let me be accurst! None wed the second, but who kill'd the first. Ham. That's wormwood. P. Queen. The instances, that second marriage move, Are base respects of thrift, but none of love; A second time I kill my husband dead, When second husband kisses me in bed. P. King. I do believe, you think what now you speak: But, what we do determine, oft we break. Purpose is but the slave to memory; Of violent birth, but poor validity: Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree; But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. Most necessary 'tis, that we forget To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt: What to ourselves in passion we propose, The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. The violence of either grief or joy Their own enactures with themselves destroy: Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. This world is not for aye; nor 'tis not strange, That even our loves should with our fortunes change; For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. The great man down, you mark his favourite flies; The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: For who not needs, shall never lack a friend; And who in want a hollow friend doth try, Directly seasons him his enemy. But, orderly to end where I begun,- Our wills, and fates, do so contráry run, That our devices still are overthrown; Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own: Co think thou wilt no second husband wed; But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor heaven light! Sport and repose lock from me, day and night! To desperation turn my trust and hope! An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope! Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, Meet what I would have well, and it destroy! Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, If, once a widow, ever I be wife! Ham. If she should break it now,- [To Oph. P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here a while; My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain; And never come mischance between us twain! [Exit. Ham. Madam, how like you this play? Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 1 Active. 2 Motives. 3 Determinations. 4 Ever. 5 Anchoret's. 6 -the thing In which he'll catch the conscience of the king. Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in't? Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i'the world. King. What do you call the play? Ham. The Mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tro- pically. This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you shall see anon; 'tis a knavish piece of work: But what of that? your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not: Let the galled jade wince," our withers are unwrung.- Enter Lucianus. This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keer. Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my edge. Oph. Still better, and worse. Ham. So you mistake your husbands.--Begin, murderer;-leave thy damnable faces, and begin. Come ;- -The croaking raven Doth bellow for revenge. Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; Confederate season, else no creature seeing; Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, Thy natural magic and dire property, On wholesome life usurp immediately. [Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears. Ham. He poisons him i'the garden for his estate. His name's Gonzago: the story is extant, and writ- ten in very choice Italian: You shall see anon, how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. Oph. The king rises. Ham. What! frighted with false fire? Queen. How fares my lord? Pol. Give o'er the play. King. Give me some light :-away! Pol. Lights, lights, lights! [Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play: For some must watch, while some must sleep: Thus runs the world away.- Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers (if the rest of my fortunes turn Turk10 with me,) with twc Provencial roses on my razed' shoes, get me a fel- lowship in a cry 12 of players, sir? Hor. Half a share. Ham. A whole one, I. For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself; and now reigns here A very, very-peacock. Hor. You might have rhymed. Ham. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? Hor. Very well, my lord. Ham. Upon the talk of poisoning,- Hor. I did very well note him. Ham. Ah, ha!-Come, some music; come, the recorders. 13- 7 This is a proverbial saving. 8 Curse. 9 For his head. 11 Slashed. 13 A kind of flute. 10 Change conditions. 12 Pack, compans. 896 ACT III. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. For if the king like not the comedy, Why then, belike,-he likes it not, perdy.-- Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Come, some music. Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. Ham. Sir, a whole history. Guil. The king, sir,-- Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? Guil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous pered. Ham. With drink, sir? Guil. No, my lord, with choler. tages, with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most elo- quent music. Look you, these are the stops. Guil. But these cannot I command to any utte- rance of harmony; I have not the skill. Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops: you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: aud distem-there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me, Enter Polonius. Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into more choler. Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. Ham. I am tame, sir :-pronounce. Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great fliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. Ham. You are welcome. God bless you, sir! Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently. Ham. Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in af-shape of a camel? Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- mandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of my business. Ham. Sir, I cannot. Guil. What, my lord? Ham. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit's diseased: But, sir, such answer as I can make, you Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. Pol. It is backed like a weasel. Ham. Or, like a whale? Pol. Very like a whale. Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. -They fool me to the top of my bent.-I will come by and by. Pol. I will say so. [Exit Polonius. Ham. By and by is easily said.-Leave me, friends. [Exeunt Ros. Guil. Hor. &c. shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother: "Tis now the very witching time of night; therefore no more, but to the matter: My mother, When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes you say,- Ros. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and admiration. Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mother!-But is there no sequel at the heels of this mother's admiration? impart. Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, ere you go to bed. Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mo- ther. Have you any further trade with us? Ros. My lord, you once did love me. out [blood, Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot And do such business as the bitter day Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother. O, heart, lose not thy nature: let not even The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : Let me be cruel, not unnatural: My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: I will speak daggers to her, but use none; How in my words soever she be shent, To give them seals' never, my soul, consent! [Ex. Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers.3 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis-SCENE III-A room in the same. Enter King temper? you do, surely, but bar the door upon your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. Ros. How can that be when you have the voice of the king himself for your succession in Denmark? Ham. Ay, sir, but, While the grass grows,-the proverb is something musty. Enter the Players, with recorders. O, the recorders :-let me see one. To withdraw with you: Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly. Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe? Guil. My lord, I cannot. Ham. I pray you. Guil. Believe me, I cannot. Ham. I do beseech you, Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying; govern these ven- 3 Hands. 1 Par Dieu 2 Business 4 Holes. 5 Utmost stretch. 6 Reproved. King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you I your commission will forthwith despach, And he to England shall along with you: The terms of our estate may not endure Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow Out of his lunes. Guil. We will ourselves provide: Most holy and religious fear it is, To keep those many many bodies safe, That live and feed, upon your majesty. With all the strength and armour of the mind, Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest To keep itself from 'noyance: but much more The lives of many. The cease of majesty Dies not alone; but, like a guif, doth draw What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel, Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which when it fails, 7 Authority to put them in execution. 8 Lunacies. SCENE IV. 897 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Each small annexment, petty consequence, Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voy- age; For we will fetters put upon this fear, Which now goes too free-footed. Ros. Guil. We will haste us. [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Enter Polonius. Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: Behind the arras' I'll convey myself, To hear the process; I'll warrant, she'll tax him home: And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 'Tis meet, that some more audience, than a mother, Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege; I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, And tell you what I know. King Thanks, dear my lord. Exit Polonius. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder!-Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will; My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, But to confront the visage of offence? And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force,- To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd, being down? Then I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!- That cannot be; since I am still possess'd Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the law: But 'tis not so above: There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: What can it not? Yet what can it, when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom, black as death! O limed soul; that struggling to be free, Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe; All may be well. [Retires and kneels. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying; And now I'll do't: and so he goes to heaven: And so am I reveng'd? That would be scann'd :' A villain kills my father; and, for that, I, his sole son, do this same villain send To heaven. Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. He took my father grossly, full of bread; 1 Tapestry. 2 Caught as with bird-lime. 9 Should be considered. 4 Only. With all his crimes broad-blown, as flush as May; And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven? But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 'Tis heavy with him: And am I then reveng'd, To take him in the purging of his soul, When he is fit and season'd for his passage? No. Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:" When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage; Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed; At gaming, swearing; or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't: Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black, As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Erit The King rises and advances. King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain be- low; Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [Exit. SCENE IV-Another room in the same. En- ter Queen and Polonius. Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home to him: Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bea with: And that your grace hath screen'd and stood be tween Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. Pray you, be round with him. Queen. I'll warrant you Fear me not: withdraw, I hear him coming. [Polonius hides himself. Enter Hamlet. Ham. Now, mother; what's the matter? Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of- fended. Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? Ham. What's the matter now? Queen. Have you forgot me? Ham. No, by the rood," not so: You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; And,-'would it were not so!-you are my mother. Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge; You go not, till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you. Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not mur- der me? Help, help, ho! Pol. [Behind.] What, ho! help! Ham. How now! a rat? [Draws. Dead, for a ducat, dead. [Hamlet makes a pass through the arras. Pol. [Behind.] Ó, I am slain. [Falls and dies Nay, I know not; Queen. Ome, what hast thou done? Ham. Is it the king? 5 [Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polon' us. Reward. 6 Seize him at a more horrid time. 7 Cross 898 ACT III. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! Ham. A bloody deed:-almost as bad, mother, As kill a king, and marry with his brother. Queen. As kill a king! Ham. And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame, good When the compulsive ardour gives the charge; Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders well. Queen. O, Hamlet, speak no mora: Ay, lady, 'twas my word.-Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; And there I see such black and grained spots, As will not leave their tinct.12 Ham. Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! [To Polonius. I took thee for thy better; take thy fortune: Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger.- Leave wringing of your hands: Peace; sit you down, And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned custom have not braz'd it so, That it be proof and bulwark against sense. Nay, but to live In the rank sweet of an enseamed 13 bed; Stew'd in corruption; honeying and making love Over the nasty sty;- Queen. O, speak to me no more; These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears: No more, sweet Hamlet. Ham. A murderer, and a villain: Queen What have I done, that thou dar'st wag A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe thy tongue In noise so rude against me? Ham. Such an act, That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there; makes marriage-vows As false as dicers' oaths: 0, such a deed As from the body of contraction¹ plucks The very soul; and sweet religion makes A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow: Yea, this solidity and compound mass, With tristful2-visage, as against the doom, Is thought-sick at the act. Queen. Ah me, what act, That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ?3 Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station' like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination, and a form, indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man: Of your precedent lord;-a vice14 of kings. A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, And put it in his pocket! Queen. Ham. No more. Enter Ghost. Of shreds and patches;- A king Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, You heavenly guards!-What would your gra cious figure? Queen. Alas, he's mad. Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, That, laps'd in time and passion, let's go by The important acting of your dread command? O, say! Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But, look! amazement on thy mother sits; O, step between her and her fighting soul: Conceit's in weakest bodies strongest works; Speak to her, Hamlet. Ham. How is it with you, lady? Queen. Alas, how is't with you, That you do bend your eye on vacancy, This was your husband.-Look you now, what fol- And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? lows: Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? You cannot call it, love: for, at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgment; and what judg-His Would step from this to this? Sense," sure you have, Else, could you not have motion: But, sure, that ment sense Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err; Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ?⁹ Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans 10 all, Or but a sickly part of one true sense Could not so mope. 11 O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 1 Marriage-contract. 2 Sorrowful. 3 Index of contents prefixed to a book. 5 The act of standing. 4 Apollo's. 6 To grow fat. 7 Sensation. 8 Frenzy. 9 Blindman's buff. 10 Witnout. Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, 16 Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? Ham. On him! on him!-Look you, how pale form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, he glares! Lest, with this piteous action, you convert Would make them capable.17 Do not look upon me, Lest, with this piteous action, you convert My stern effects:18 then what I have to do Will want true colour; tears, perchance, 19 for blood. Queen. To whom do you speak this? Ham. Do you see nothing there? Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is, I see. Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. Ham. Why, look you there! look how it steals away! My father in his habit as he liv'd! Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! [Exit Ghost. Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 11 Be so stupid. 12 Colour. 13 Greasy 15 Imagination. 14 Mimic. 16 The hair of animals is excrementitious, tha is, without life or sensation. 17 Intelligent. 18 Actions. 19 Perhaps. SCENE I. 899 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. This bodiless creation ecstasy¹ Is very cunning in. Ham. Ecstacy! My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful music: It is not madness, That I have utter'd: bring me to the test, And I the matter will re-word; which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; Repent what's past; avoid what is to come; And do not spread the compost2 on the weeds, To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue: For in the fatness of these pursy times, Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg; Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, And live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed; Assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this; That to the use of actions fair and good He likewise gives a frock, or livery, That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night; And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence; the next more easy: For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either curb the devil, or throw him out With wondrous potency. Once more, good night! And when you are desirous to be bless'd, I'll blessing beg of you.-For this same ford, [Pointing to Polonius. I do repent: But heaven hath pleas'd it so,- To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their scourge and minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him. So, again, good night!- I must be cruel, only to be kind: Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.- But one word more, good lady. Queen. What shall I do? Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you, his mouse; And let him, for a pair of reechys kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damned fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft. "Twere good, you let him know: For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib,' Such dear concernings hide? who would do so? No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house's top, Let the birds fly; and, like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep, And break your own neck down. 7 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made breath, And breath of life, I have no life to breathe What thou hast said to me. Ham. I must to England; you know that? Queen. 2 Manure. of Alack 4 A term of endearment. I had forgot; 'tis so concluded on. Ham. There's letters sealed: and my two school fellows,- Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd,'-. They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way And marshal me to knavery: Let it work; For 'tis the sport, to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar: 10 and it shall go hard, But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon: 0, 'tis most sweet, When in one line two crafts directly meet.- This man shall set me packing. I'll lug the guts into the neighbour room :- Mother, good night.-Indeed, this counsellor Is now most still, most secret, and most grave Who was in life a foolish prating knave. Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you :- Good night, mother. [Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging in Polonius. ACT IV. SCENE 1.-The same. Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. King. There's matter in these sighs; these pro- found heaves; You must translate: 'tis fit we understand them; Where is your son? Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while.- [To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who go out. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! King. What, Gertrude? how does Hamlet? Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both contend Which is the mightier: In his lawless fit, Behind the arras hearing something stir, Whips out his rapier, cries, A rat! a rat! And, in this brainish apprehension, kills The unseen good old man. King. O heavy deed! It had been so with us, had we been there: His liberty is full of threats to all; To you yourself, to us, to every one. Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? It will be laid to us, whose providence Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,' This mad young man: but, so much was our love, We would not understand what was most fit: But, like the owner of a foul disease, To keep it from divulging, let it feed Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd: O'er whom his very madness, like some ore, Among a minerals of metals base, Shows itself pure; he weeps for what is done. King. O, Gertrude, come away! The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, But we will ship him hence: and this vile deed We must, with all our majesty and skill, Both countenance and excuse.-Ho! Guildenstern! Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Friends both, go join you with some further aid: Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him Go, seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body 9 Having their teeth. 1 Frenzy. 3 Bend. 5 Steaming with heat. Toad. 7 Cat. 8 Experimer te. 11 Company. 10 Blown up with his own bomb. 12 Mine. 900 ACT IV HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends; And let them know, both what we mean to do, And what's untimely done: so, haply, slander,- Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, As level as the cannon to his blank,' Transports his poison'd shot,-may miss our name, And hit the woundless air.-0 come away; My soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-Another room in the same. En- ter Hamlet. Ilum.Safely stowed,--[Ros. &c. within. Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] But soft!-what noise? who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. Ros. Tell us where 'tis; that we may take it thence, And bear it to the chapel. Ham. Do not believe it. Ros. Believe what? Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge! --what replication should be made by the son of a king? King. Bring him before us. Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! bring in my lord. Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. King Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? Ham. At supper. King. At supper? Where? Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: we fat all creatures else, to fat us; and we fat ourselves for maggots: Your fat king, and your lean beggar, is but variable service; two dishes, but to one table: that's the end. King. Alas, alas! Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. King. What dost thou mean by this? Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. King. Where is Polonius? Ham. In heaven; send thither to see: if your messenger find him not there, seek him i'the other place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shali nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby. King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. Ham. He will stay till you come. [Exeunt Attendants. King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especia. safety. hence Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's counte-Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers For that which thou hast done,-must send thee do the king best service in the end: He keeps them like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, With fiery quickness: Therefore, prepare thyself; to be last swallowed: When he needs what you The bark is ready, and the wind at helps The associates tend, and every thing is bent have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. Ros. I understand you not, my lord. Ham. I am glad of it: A knavish speech sleeps in a fooolish ear. Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is, and go with us to the king. Ham. The body is with the king, but the king is not with the body. The king is a thing-- Guil. A thing, my lord? Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after.2 [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another room in the same. En- ter King, attended. King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the body. How dangerous is it, that this man goes loose! Yet must not we put the strong law on him: He's lov'd of the distracted multitude, Who like not in their judgment, but their eyes; And, where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is weigh'd, But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, This sudden sending him away must seem Deliberate pause: Diseases, desperate grown, By desperate appliance are reliev'd, Enter Rosencrantz. Or not at all. How now? what hath befallen? Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, We cannot get from him. King. But where is he? For England. for Ham. King. Ham. For England? Ay, Hamlet. Good. King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them.-But, come, England!-Farewell, dear mother. King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. Ham. My mother: Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England. [Exit. King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard; Delay it not, I'll have him hence to-night: Away; for every thing is seal'd and done That else leans on the affair: Pray you, make haste, [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught. (As my great power thereof may give thee sense; Since yet thy citatrice looks raw and red After the Danish sword, and thy free awe Pays homage to us,) thou may'st not coldly sets Our sovereign process; which imports at full, By letters conjuring to that effect. The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; For like the hectic in my blood he rages. And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done. Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. [Ex.. SCENE IV-A plain in Denmark. Enter For- tinbras, and Forces, marching. For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; him, that, by his license, Fortinbras 3 Right, ready. Ros. Without, my lord: guarded, to know your Tell pleasure. 1 Mark. 2 A sport among children. 5 4 Attend. Value, estimate. 6 Successes. SCENE V. 907 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march Over nis kingdom. You know the rendezvous. If that his majesty would aught with us, We shall express our duty in his eye,' And let him know so. Cap. I will do't, my lord. For. Go softly on. [Exe. For. and Forces. Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, &c. Good sir, whose powers are these? Cap. They are of Norway, sir. Ham. Ham. I pray you! How purpos'd, sir, Cap. Against some part of Poland. Ham. Commands them, sir? Who Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, Or for some frontier? Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition, We go to gain a little patch of greend, That hath in it no profit but the name. To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. Ham. Why, then the Polack³ never will defend it. Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand ducats, Will not debate the question of this straw: This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace: That inward breaks, and shows no cause without Why the man dies,-I humbly thank you, sir. Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit Captain. Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little before. [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good, and market of his time, Be but to sleep, and feed? a beast, no more. Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, Looking before, and after, gave us not That capability and godlike reason, To fuste in us unus'd. Now, whether it be Bestial oblivion, or some craven" scruple Of thinking too precisely on the event,- A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom, And, ever, three parts coward,-I do not know Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do; Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means, To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: Witness, this army of such mass, and charge, Led by a delicate and tender prince; Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, Makes mouths at the invisible event; Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare, Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, Is, not to stir without great argument; But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, Excitements of my reason, and my blood, And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see The imminent death of twenty thousand men, That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 2 Forces. 3 Polander. Power of comprehension. 8 Since. 7 Cowardly 1 Presence. 4 Profit. 6 Grow mouldy. 5 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Which is not tomb enough, and continent, To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth. [Ex. SCENE V-Elsinore. A room in the castle. Enter Queen and Horatio. Queen. I will not speak with her. Hor. She is importunate; indeed, distract; Her mood will needs be pitied. Queen. What should she have? Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears, There's tricks i'the world; and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws: speaks things in doubt, That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing, Yet the unshaped use of it doth move The bearers to collection; they aim at it, And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts; Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures, yield them, Indeed would make one think, there might be thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds: Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, Each toy¹o seems prologue to some great amiss: so full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. Re-enter Horatio with Ophelia. Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- mark? Queen. How now, Ophelia ? Oph. How should I your true-love know From another one? By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon.11 [Singing. Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone. 0, ho! Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, Oph. [Sings. Pray you, mark. White his shroud as the mountain snow. Enter King. Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. Oph. Larded12 all with sweet flowers; Which bewept to the grave did go, With true-love showers. King. How do you, pretty lady? [Sings. Oph. Well, God 'ield13 you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! King. Conceit upon her father. Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this; but when they ask you, what it means, say you this: 11 Shoe 9 Guess. 12 Garnished. 10 Trifle. 13 Reward. 902 ACT IV HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine: Then up he rose, and don'd' his clothes, And dupp'd the chamber door; Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more. King. Pretty Ophelia ! Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make an end on't: By Gis, and by Saint Charity, Alack, and fie for shame! Young men will do't, if they come to't; By cock, they are to blame. Quoth she, Before you tumbled me, You promis'd me to wed: [He answers.] So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, An thou hadst not come to my bed. King. How long hath she been thus? Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa- tient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they should lay him i'the cold ground: My brother shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good coun- sel. Come, my couch! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies: good night, good night. [Ex. King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. [Exit Horatio. O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs All from her father's death: And now behold, O Gertrude, Gertrude, When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions! First, her father slain; Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Of his own just remove: The people muddied, Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers, For good Polonius' death; and we have done but greenly,4 In hugger-muggers to inter him: Poor Ophelia Divided from herself, and her fair judgment; Without the which we are pictures, er mere beasts. Last, and as much containing as all these, Her brother is in secret come from France: Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, And wants not buzzers to infect his ear With pestilent speeches of his father's death; Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, Will nothing stick our person to arraign In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, Like to a murdering piece, in many places Gives me superfluous death! A noise within. Queen. Alack! what noise is this? Enter a Gentleman. King, Attend. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door: What is the matter? Gent. Save yourself, my lord; The ocean overpeering of his list," Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste, Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, O'erbears your officers! The rabble call him, lord: And, as the world were now but to begin, 1 Do on, i. e. put on. 2 Do up. 3 Saints in the Roman-catholic calendar. 4 Without judgment. 5 Privately. 6 Guards. 7 Bounds. 8 Scent. Antiquity forgot, custom not known, The ratifiers and props of every word, They cry, Choose we; Laertes shall be king! Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds Laertes shall be king, Laertes king? Queen. How cheerfully on the false trails they cry O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. King. The doors are broke. [Noise within. Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. Laer. Where is this king?-Sirs, stand you all without. Dan. No, let's come in. Laer. Dan. We will, we will. I pray you, give me leave. [They retire without the door. Laer. I thank you:-keep the door.-0 thou vile king, Give me my father. Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. Laer. That drop of blood, that's calm, proclaims me bastard; Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot Even here, between the chaste unsmirched 10 brow Of my true mother. King. What is the cause, Laertes, That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ?- Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; There's such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.-Tell me, Laertes, Why thou art thus incens'd; Let him go, Ger- trude ;- Speak, man. Laer. Where is my father? King. Queen. Dead. But not by him. King. Let him demand his fill. Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with: To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! I dare damnation: To this point I stand,- That both the worlds I give to negligence, Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd Most thoroughly for my father. King. Who shall stay you? Laer. My will, not all the world's: And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, They shall go far with little. King. Good Laertes, If you desire to know the certainty Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge, That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, Winner and loser? Laer. None but his enemies. King. Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my Will you know them then? arms; And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, Repast them with my blood. King. Why, now you speak Like a good child, and a true gentleman. That I am guiltless of your father's death, And am most sensibly in grief for it, It shall as level to your judgment 'pear,11 As day does to your eye. Danes. Within.] Let her come in. Laer. How now! what noise is that? 9 Hounds run counter when they trace the scent backwards. 10 Clean, undefiled. 11 Appear. SCENE VI, VII. 903. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers. O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!- By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! O heavens! is't possible, a young maid's wits Should be as mortal as an old man's life? Nature is fine' in love: and, where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of itself After the thing it loves. Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier; Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny: And in his grave rain'd many a tear ;- Fare you well, my dove! Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, It could not move thus. That I must call't in question. King. So you shall; And where the offence is, let the great axe fall: I pray you, go with me. [Ea runi En SCENE VI.-Another room in the same. ter Horatio and a Servant. Hor. What are they, that would speak with me? Serv. Sailors, sir; They say they have letters for you. Hor. Let them come in.- [Exit Servant. 1 do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. Enter Sailors 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. Hor. Let him bless thee too. 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir: it comes from the ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be Ho- ratio, as I am led to know it is. Oph. You must sing, Down-a-down, an you caii him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shalt have Laer. This nothing's more than matter. overlooked this, give these fellows some means to Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; the king; they have letters for him. Ere we were pray you, love, remember; and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and remembrance fitted. two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike ap- pointment, gave us chase: Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour; and in the grapple I boarded them; on the instant they Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: got clear of our ship; so I alone became their --there's rue for you; and here's some for me:- prisoner. They have dealt with me, like thieves we may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays:-you of mercy; but they knew what they did; I am to may wear your rue with a difference.s-There's a do a good turn for them. Let the king have the daisy: I would give you some violets; but they letters I have sent; and repair thou to me with as withered all when my father died: They say, he much haste as thou wouldst fly death. made a good end, words to speak in thine ear, will make thee dumb; yet are they much too light for the bore of the hell itself, I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their matter. These good fellows will bring thee where course for England: of them I have much to tell [Sings. thee. Farewell. For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,- [Sings. Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, She turns to favour, and to prettiness. Oph. And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy death-bed, He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll: He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan; God 'a mercy on his soul! I have He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. Come, I will give you way for these your letters; And do't the speedier, that you may direct me To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. En- SCENE VII.-Another room in the same. ter King and Laertes. King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, And of all Christian souls! I pray God. God be And you must put me in your heart for friend; wi' you! [Exit Ophelia. Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, That he, which hath your noble father slain, Pursu'd my life. Laer. Do you see this, O God? King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: If by direct or by collateral hand They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, To you in satisfaction; but, if not, Be you content to lend your patience to us, And we shall jointly labour with your soul To give it due content. Laer. Let this oe so; His means of death, his obscure funeral,- No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,- Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 1 Artful. 2 The burthen. Laer. It well appears: But tell me Why you proceeded not against these feats, So crimeful and so capital in nature, As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things eise, You mainly we stirr'd up? King 0, for two special reasons; Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, But yet to me they are strong. The queen, his mother, Lives a most by his looks; and for myself, (My virtue or my plague, be it either which,) She is so conjunctive to my life and soul, That, as the star moves not but in his sphere. I could not but by her. The other motive, Why to a public count I might not go, 4 Melancholy. 3 i. e. By its Sunday name 'herb of grace; 6 Deprived of strength. mine is merely rue, i. e. sorrow. 5 Since. 904 ACT IV. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Is, the great love the general gender¹ bear him: Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, Work like the spring2 that turneth wood to stone, Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows, Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, Would have reverted to my bow again, And not where I had aim'd them. Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; A sister driven into desperate terms; Whose worth, if praises may go back again, Stood challenger on mount of all the age For her perfections:-But my revenge will come. King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must not think, That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, That we can let our beard be shook with danger, And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more: I lov'd your father, and we love ourself; And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,- How now? what news? Mess. Enter a Messenger. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: This to your majesty; this to the queen. King. From Hamlet! who brought them? Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not: They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them Of him that brought them. King. Leave us. As did that one; and that, in my regard, Of the unworthiest siege.4 Laer. What part is that, my lord? King. A very ribband in the cap of youth, Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes The light and careless livery that it wears, Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, Importing health and graveness.-Two months since, Here was a gentleman of Normandy,- I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, And they can well on horseback: but this gallant Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat; And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse, As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thought, That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, Come short of what he did. Laer. A Norman, was't? King. A Norman. Laer. Upon my life, Lamord. King. The very same. Laer. I know him well: he is the brooch, indeed, And gem of all the nation. King. He made confession of you; And gave you such a masterly report, For art and exercise in your defence." And for your rapier most especial, Laertes, you shall hear them :-That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, [Exit Messenger. If one could match you: the scrimers' of their na- [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, I am He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, tion, set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg If you oppos'd them: Sir, this report of his leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall, first ask- Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, ing your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion That he could nothing do, but wish and beg of my sudden and more strange return. Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. Now, out of this,- Hamlet. What should this mean? Are all the rest come back? Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? Laer. Know you the hand? King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. And, in a postscript here, he says, alone: Can you advise me? Naked,- Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come; It warms the very sickness in my heart, That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, Thus diddest thou. King. If it be so, Laertes, As how should it be so? how otherwise?- Will you be rul'd by me? Laer. Ay, my lord; So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- turn'd,- As check .ng at his voyage, and that he means No mo e to undertake it,-I will work him To an exploit, now ripe in my device, Under the which he shall not choose but fall: And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe; But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, And call it, accident. Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd; The rather, if you could devise it so, That I might be the organ. King. It falls right. You have been talk'd of since your travel much, And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality, Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts Did not together pluck such envy from him, 1 Common people. Laer. What out of this, my lord? King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, A face without a heart? Laer. Why ask you this? King. Not that I think, you did not love your father; But that I know, love is begun by time; And that I see, in passages of proof, Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; And nothing is at a like goodness still; For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, Dies in his own too-much: That we would do, We should do when we would, for this would changes, And hath abatements and delays as many, As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o'the ulcer; Hamlet comes back; What would you undertake, To show yourself in deed your father's son More than in words? Laer. To cut his throat i'the church. King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctua- rize: Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, Will you do this, keep close within your chamber: Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, And set a double varnish on the fame 2 Petrifying springs are common in many parts 5 of England. 3 Objecting to. 4 Place. 6 Ornament. Science of defence, i. e. fencing. 7 Fencers. 8 Daily experience. SCENE I. 905 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, to- gether, And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiss, Most generous, and free from all contriving, Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, Or with a little shuffling, you may choose A sword unbated,' and, in a pass of practice,2 Requite him for your father. Laer. I will do't: And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. I bought an unction of a mountebank, So mortal, that but dip a knife in it, Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, Collected from all simples that have virtue Under the moon, can save the thing from death, That is but scratch'd withal: I'll touch my point With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly, It may be death. King. Let's further think of this; Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, May fit us to our shape: if this should fail, And that our drift look through our bad perform- ance, 'Twere better not assay'd: therefore this project Should have a back, or second, that might hold, If this should blast in proof. Soft,-let me see:- We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, I ha't: him When in your motion you are hot and dry, (As make your bouts more violent to that end,), And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, If he by chance escap'd your venom'd stuck,7 Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what noise? Enter Queen. How now, sweet queen? Queen. One wo doth tread upon another's heel, So fast they follow:-Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. Laer. Drown'd! O, where? Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 8 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; Therewith fantastic garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long pu ples, That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's finger's call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies, and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time, she chaunted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indu'd Unto that element: but long it could not be, Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death. Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd? Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. Laer. Too much of water has thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick; nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out."-Adieu, my Lord! 1 Not blunted as fools are. 2 Exercise. 3 As fire-arms sometimes burst in proving their strength. 4 Skill. 6 A cup for the purpose. 5 Presented. 7 Thrust, Erit I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it. King. Let's follow, Gertrude: How much I had to do to calm his rage! Now fear I, this will give it start again; Therefore, let's follow. ACT V. [Exeunt. SCENE I-A churchyard. Enter two Clowns, with spades, &c. 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, that wilfully seeks her own salvation? 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her grave straight: 12 the crowner hath set on her, and finds it Christian burial. 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned her- self in her own defence? 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: If I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches; it is, to act, to do, and to perform: Ar- gal, she drowned herself wittingly. 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: here stands the man; good: if the man go to this water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, and drown him, he drowns not himself: Ar- gal, he, that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own life. 2 Clo. But is this law? 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's-quest law. 2 Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out of Christian burial. 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity; that great folks shall have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even¹3 Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou un- derstand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam digged; Could he dig without arms?!'!! put another question to thee: if thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself-- 2 Clo. Go to. 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than ei ther the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame out lives a thousand tenants. 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the gal- lows does well: But how does it well? it does well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill, to say. the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal the gallows may do well to thee. To't again; come. 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship wright, or a carpenter? 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke, 14 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 1 Clo. To't. 8 Orchis morio mas. 10 Insensible. 11 9 Licentious, Tears will flow. 12 Immediately. 14 Give over. 13 Fellow. 906 ACT V. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. Enter Haralet and Horatio at a distance. 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for your du!: ass will not mend his pace with beating and, when you are asked this question next, say, a grave-maker; the houses that he makes, last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan, and fetch me a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown. 1 Clown digs, and sings. In youth, when I did love, did love,' Methought, it was very sweet, To contract, 0, the time, for, ah, my behove, O, methought, there was nothing meet. Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business? he sings at grave-making. Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employ- ment hath the daintier sense. 1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, Hath claw'd me in his clutch, And hath shipped me into the land, As if I had never been such. [Throws up a scull. Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not? Hor. It might, my Lord. Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow! Whose grave's this, sirrah? 1 Clo. Mine, sir.- O, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet. [Sings. Ham. I think it be thine, indeed; for thou liest in't. 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; there- fore thou liest. 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you. Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 1 Clo. For no man, sir. Ham. What woman then? 1 Clo. For none either. Ham. Who is to be buried in't? 1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. Ham. How absolute the knave is! we must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it; the age has grown so picked," that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe.-How long hast thou been a 1 Clo. Of all the days r the year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. Ham. How long's that since? Ham. Or of a courtier; which would say, Good-grave-maker? morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord? This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; might it not? Hor. Ay, my lord. Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my lady Worms; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost 'no more the breeding, but to play at loggats2 with them? mine ache to think on't. 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was born: he that is mad, and sent into England. Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? 1 Clo. Why, because he was mad: he shall re- cover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great matter there. Ham. Why? 1 Clo. "Twill not be seen in him there; there the 1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, [Sings. men are as mad as he. For-and a shrouding sheet: 0, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet. [Throws up a scull. Ham. How came he mad? 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. Ham. How strangely? 1 Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. Ham. Upon what ground? 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark; I have been sex- ton here, man and boy, thirty years. Ham. How long will a man lie i'the earth ere Ham. There's another: Why may not that be the scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconces with a dirty shovel, and will he rot? not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! This 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, (as we have many a pocky corses now-a-days. that with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his will scarce hold the laying in.) he will last you double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of some eight year, or nine year: a tanner will last his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have you nine year. his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch Ham. Why he more than another? him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of in dentures? The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor him- self have no more? ha? 1 The song entire is printed in Percy's Re- liques of ancient English Poetry, vol. i. It was written by Lord Vaux. 2 An ancient game, played as quoits are at present. 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade, that he will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a scull now hath lain you i'the earth three-and-twenty years. Ham Whose was it? 3 Subtilties. Head. 4 Frivolous distinctions 5 6 By the compass, or chart of direction. 7 Spruce, affected. SCENE L 907 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK, 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose | Yet here sne is allowed her virgin crants,8 do you think it was? Ham. Nay, I know not. 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. Ham. This? 1 Clo. E'en that. [Takes the scull. Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial. Laer. Must there no more be done? 1 Priest. No more be done! We should profane the service of the dead, To sing a requiem, and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls. Laer. Lay her 'the earth :- Ham. Alas! poor Yorick!-I knew him, Hora- And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, tio; a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent May violets spring!-I tell thee, churlish priest, fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination When thou liest howling. it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table I on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grin- I ning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour' she must come; make her laugh at that. Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my Lord? Ham. What, the fair Ophelia. Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell! [Scattering flowers. hop'd, thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife; thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid And not have strew'd thy grave. O, treble wo Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of!-Hold off the earth a while, Laer. Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o'this Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: fashion i'the earth? Hor. E'en so. Ham. And smelt so? pah! [Throws down the scull. Hor. E'en so, my lord. Ham. To what base uses we may return, Hora- tio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? Hor. "Twere to consider too curiously, to consi- der so. Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was bu- ried, Alexander returneth to dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam: And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not atop a beer-barrel? Imperious Cæsar, dead, and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!3 But soft! but soft! aside:-Here comes the king. Enter Priest, &c. in procession; the corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and Mourners following; King, Queen, their trains, &c. The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow? And with such maimed rites!4 This doth betoken, The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand Fordo' its own life. 'Twas of some estate:* Couch we a while, and mark. [Retiring with Horatio. Laer. What ceremony else? Ham. A very noble youth: Mark. Laer. What ceremony else? That is Laertes, 1 Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty: Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd, Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, Shards," flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her; 1 Countenance, complexion. 3 Blast. 2 Imperial. 4 Imperfect obsequies. 5 Undo, destroy. 6 High rank. 7 Broken pots or tiles. 8 Garlands. [Leaps into the rave. Now pile your dust upon the quick 10 and dead; Till of this flat a mountain you have made To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head Of blue Olympus. Ham. [Advancing.] What is he, whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers ? this is I, Hamlet the Dane. Laer. [Leaps into the grave. The devil take thy soul! [Grappling with him Hum. Thou pray'st not well. I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat For, though I am not splenetive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear: Hold off thy hand. King. Pluck them asunder. Queen. All. Gentlemen,-- Hor. Hamlet, Hamlet! Good my lord, be quiet. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave. Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag. Queen. O my son! what theme? Ham. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers Could not, with all their quantity of love, Make up my sum.-What wilt thou do for her? King. O, he is mad, Laertes. Queen. For love of God, forbear him. Ham. Zounds, show me what thou'lt do; Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself? Woul't drink up Esil ?11 eat a crocodile ? I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grace? Be buried quick with her, and so will I: And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us; till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou. Queen. This is mere madness: 10 Living. 9 A mass for the dead. 11 Eisel, is vinegar; but Mr. Stevens conjec- tures the word should be Weisel, a river which falla into the Baltic ocean. 908 ACT V. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. And thus a while the fit will work on him; Anon, as patient as the female dove, When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,' His silence will sit drooping. Ham. Hear you, sir; What is the reason that you use me thus ? I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter; Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit. King. I pray thee, good Hotio, wait upon him.- [Exit Horatio. Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; To Laertes. We'll put the matter to the present push.-- Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.- This grave shall have a living monument: An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A hall in the castle. Enter Hamlet and Horatio. As England was his faithful tributary; As love between them, like the palm, might flourish; As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, And stand a comma' 'tween their amities; And many such like as's of great charge,-- That, on the view and knowing of these contents, Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not shriving-time allow'd. Hor. How was this seal'd? Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant; I had my father's signet in my purse, Which was the mode!2 of that Danish seal: Folded the writ up in form of the other; Subscrib'd it; gave't the impression; plac'd it safely The changeling never known: Now, the next day, Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent Thou know'st already. Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this em- ployment: They are not near my conscience; their defeat Ham. So much for this, sir: now shall you see Does by their own insinuation grow: the other ;- You do remember all the circumstance? Hor. Remember it, my lord! Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fight- ing, That would not let me sleep: methought, I lay Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, And prais'd be rashness for it,-Let us know, Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, When our deep plots do pall:4 and that should teach us, There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. Hor. 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty opposites. Hor. Why, what a king is this! Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon? He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; Popp'd in between the election and my hopes; Thrown out his angle for my proper life, And with such cozenage; is't not perfect conscience, To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd. To let this canker of our nature come That is most certain. In further evil? Ham. Up from my cabin, My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire; Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew To mine own room again: making so bold, My fears forgetting manners, to unseal Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, A royal knavery; an exact command,- Larded with many several sorts of reasons, Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, That, on the supervise," no leisure bated, No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, My head should be struck off. Hor. Is't possible? Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure. But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed? Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, Or I could make a prologue to my brains, They had begun the play :-I sat me down; Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair : I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much How to forget that learning; but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service: Wilt thou know The effect of what I wrote? Hor. Ay, good my lord. Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king,- 1 Hatched. 2 Mutineers. 3 Fetters and hand-cuffs, brought from Bilboa in Spain. Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England, What is the issue of the business there. Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; And a man's life no more than to say, one. But I am very sorry, good Horatio, That to Laertes I forgot myself; For by the image of my cause, I see The portraiture of his: I'll counts his faveurs : But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me Into a towering passion. Hor. Peace; who comes here Enter Osric. Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this water-fly ?16 Hor. No, my good lord. Hum. Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him: He hath much land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess: "Tis a chough;17 but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt. Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit: Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head. Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly. 11 Confessing. 13 Following. 12 Copy. 14 Requite. 15 For count some editors read court. 16 Water-flies are gnats. 4 Fail. 5 Garnished. 6 Bugbears. 7 Looking over. 9 Statesmen. 8 Before. 10 A note of connection. I 17 A bird like a jackdaw. SCENE II. 909 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. Ham. But yet, methinks it is very sultry and hot; or my complexion-- Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, as 'twere. I cannot tell how-My lord, his majesty bade me to signify to you, that he has laid a great wager on your head: Sir, this is the matter,- Ham. I beseech you, remember-- Ham. The phrase would be more german' to the matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides; I would it might be hangers till then. But on: Six Barbary horses against six French swords, their as- signs, and three liberal-cor ceited carriages; that's the French bet against the Danish: Why is this im- pawned, as you call it? Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex- Osr. Nay, good my lord; for my ease, in good ceed you three hits; he hath laid, on twelve for faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes: nine; and it would come to immediate trial, if your believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex-lordship would vouchsafe the answer. cellent differences, of very soft society, and great showing: Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the continent of wiat part a gentleman would see. Ham. Sir, this definement suffers no perdition in you-though, I know, to divide him inventorially, would dizzy the arithmetic of memory; and yet but raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his mirror; and, who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more. Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. Ham. The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath? Osr. Sir? Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another tongue? you will do't, sir, really. Ham. What imports the nomination of this gen- tleman? Osr. Of Laertes? Ham. How, if I answer, no? Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per- son in trial. Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall: If it please his majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me: let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win for him, if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame, and the odd hits. Osr. Shall I deliver you so? Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will. Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. Ham. Yours, yours.-He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. Hor. This lapwing's runs away with the shell on his head. Ham. He did comply14 with his dug before he sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the same breed, that, I know, the drossy 15 age dotes on,) only got the tune of the time, and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yesty16 collection, which car- Hor. His purse is empty already; all his golden ries them through and through the most fond" and words are spent. Ham. fhim, sir. Osr. I know, you are not ignorant-- Ham. I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not much approve" me;-Well, cir. Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is- Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- pare with him in excellence; but, to know a man well, were to know himself. Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the im- putation laid on him by them, in his meed he's un- fellowed. Ham. What's his weapon? Osr. Rapier and dagger. Ham. That's two of his weapons: but, well. Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are out. Enter a Lord. Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you attend him in the hall: He sends to know, if your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will take longer time. Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming down. Ham. In happy time. Lord. The queen desires you to use some gentle Barbary horses: against the which he has impawn-entertainment to Laertes, before you fall to play. ed, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 10 and so: Three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. Ham. What call you the carriages? Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the mar- gent," ere you had done. Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 1 The affected phrase of the time. 2 Distinguishing excellencies. 3 Compass or chart. 4 The country and pattern for imitation. 5 This speech is a ridicule of the court jargon of that time. 6 Mentioning. 7 Recommend. 8 Praise 9 Imponed, put down, staked. 10 That part of the belt by which the sword was suspended. Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. Ham. I do not think so; since he went into France, I have been in continual practice: I shall win at the odds. But thou would'st not think, how ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter. Hor. Nay, good my lord. Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving18 as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: I 11 Margin of a book which contains explana- tory. 12 Akin. 13 A bird which runs about immediately as it is hatched. 14 Compliment. 15 16 Frothy. 18 Misgiving. Worthless. 17 For fond read fann'd. 910 ACT V. HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. will forestal' their repair hither, and say, you are not fit. Let all the battlements their ord: ance fire, The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath; And in the cup an union shall he throw, Richer than that which four successive kings In Denmark's crown have worn; Give me the cups; And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, The trumpet to the cannoneer without, The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, At-Now the king drinks to Hamlet.-Come, begin ;- And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. Ham. Come on, sir. Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: Since no man, if aught he leaves, knows, what is't to leave betimes? Let be. Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, and tendants, with foils, &c. King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. [The King puts the hand of Laertes into that of Hamlet. Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have done you wrong; But pardon it, as you are a gentleman.. This presence knows, and you must needs have heard, How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. What I have done, That might your nature, honour, and exception, Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never, IIamlet: If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, And, when he's not himself, dees wrong Leertes, Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. Who does it then? His madness: If't be so, Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. Sir, in this audience, Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, That I have shot my arrow c'er the house, An hurt my brother. Laer. I am satisfied in nature, Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most To my revenge: but in my terms of honour, I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, Till by some elder masters, of known honour, I have a voice and precedent of peace, To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time, I do receive your offer'd love like love, And will not wrong it. Ham. I embrace it freely; And will this brother's wager frankly play.- Give us the foils; come on. Laer. Come, one for me. Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine igno- rance Your skill shall, like a star i'the darkest night, Stick fiery off indeed. Laer. You mock me, sir. Ham. No, by this hard. King. Give them the foils, young Usric.-Cousin Hamlet, You know the wager? Ham. Very well, my lord; Your grace hath laid the odds o'the weaker side. King. I do not fear it: I have seen you both :- But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. Ham. This likes me well: these foils have all a length? [They prepare to play. Osr. Ay, my good lord. King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table:- If Hamlet give the first or second hit, Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 1 Prevent. 2 The king and queen's presence. 3 Unwounded. 4 Large jugs. 5 A precious pearl. 6 Handkerchief. Laer. Ham. Laer. Ham. Come, my lord. [They play. One. No. Judgment. Well,--again. Osr. A hit, a very palpaple hit. Laer. King. Stay, give me drink: Hamlet, this pearl is thine; Here's to thy health.-Give him the cup. [Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within. Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by a while. Come,-Another hit; What say you? [They play. Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. King. Our son shaii win. Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath.- Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: The queen carouses' to thy fortune, Hamlet. Ham. Good madam,-- King. Gertrude, do not drink. Queen. I will, my lord;-I pray you, pardon me. King. It is the poison'd cup; it is too late. [Aside. Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by. Queen. Corne, let me wipe thy face. Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. King. I do not think it. Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. [Aside. Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes; you do but dally; I pray you, pass with your best violence; I am afeard, you make a wanton of me. Laer. Say you so? come on. I Osr. Nothing neither way. Laer. Have at you now. King. [They play. [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes. Part them, they are incens'd. Ham. Nay, come again. [The Queen falls. Osr. Hor. They bleed on both sides :-How is it, my Look to the queen there, ho! lord? Osr. How is't, Laertes? Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric; am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. Ham. How does the queen? King. She swoons to see them bleed. Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink;-I am poison'd! [Dies. Ham. O villany!-Ho! let the door be lock'd: Treachery! seek it out. [Laertes falls. Laer. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain; No medicine in the world can do thee good, In thee there is not half an hour's life; The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, Unbated, and envenom'd: the foul practice 8 Boy. 9 The foil without a button, and poisoned at the 7 Drinks good luck to you. point. ጹ SCENE II. 911 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK Hath turn'd itself on me, Never to rise again: Th lo, here I lie, mother's poison'd; I can no more; the king the king's to blame. Ham. The point Envenom'd too!-Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the King. Osr.& Lords. Treason! treason! King. O, yet defend me, friends, I am but hurt. Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion.-is the union here? Follow my mother. Laer. Where should we have our thanks? Hor. Not from his mouth, Had it the ability of life to thank you; He never gave commandment for their death. But since, so jump upon this bloody question, You from the Polack10 wars, and you from England Are here arriv'd; give order, that these bodies High on a stage be placed to the view; And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world, How these things come about: So shall you hear Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts; [King dies. Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters; Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause; And, in this upshot, purposes mistook Fall'n on the inventors' heads: all this can I Truly deliver. He is justly serv'd; It is a poison temper'd' by himself.- Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: Mine and my father's death come not upon thee; Nor thine on me! [Dies. Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. I am dead, Horatio:-Wretched queen, adieu! You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time (as this fell sergeant,2 death, Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you,- But let it be:-Horatio, I am dead; Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied. Hor. Never believe it; I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, Here's yet some liquor left. Ham. As thou'rt a man,- Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I'll have it. O God!-Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me? If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity a while, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.- [March afar off, and shot within. What warlike noise is this? Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, To the ambassadors of England gives This warlike volley. Ham. O, I die, Horatio; The potent poison quite o'er-crows³ my spirit; I cannot live to hear the news from England: But I do prophesy the election lights On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice; So tell him, with the occurrents,4 more or less, Which have solicited,-The rest is silence. [Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart ;-Good night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Why does the drum come hither? [March within. Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and others. Fort. Where is this sight? Hor. What is it, you would see? If aught of wo, or wonder, cease your search. Fort. This quarry cries on havoc !-O proud death! What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, That thou so many princes, at a shot, So bloodily hast struck? 1 Amb. The sight is dismal; And our affairs from England come too late: The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing, To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd, That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead: 1 Mixed. 2 A sergeant is a sheriff's officer. 3 O'ercomes. 4 Incidents. 5 Incited. 6 Heap of dead game. Let us haste to hear it, Fort. And call the noblest to the audience. For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more: But let this same be presently perform'd, Even while men's minds are wild; lest more mis- chance, On plots and errors, happen. Fort. Let four captains Bear Haml-, like a soldier, to the stage; For he was likely, had he been put on, To have prov'd most royally: and, for his passage, The soldier's music, and the rites of war, Speak loudly for him.- Take up the bodies:-Such a sight as this Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead march. [Exeunt, bearing off the bodies; after which, a peal of ordnance is shot off. If the dramas of Shakspeare were to be charac- terised, each by the particular excellence which distinguishes it from the rest, we must allow to the tragedy of Hamlet the praise of variety. The in- cidents are so numerous, that the argument of the play would make a long tale. The scenes are in- terchangeably diversified with merriment and so- lemnity: with merriment that includes judicious and instructive observations; and solemnity not strained by poetical violence above the natural sen- timents of man. New characters appear from time to time in continual succession, exhibiting various forms of life, and peculiar modes of conversation. The pretended madness of Hamlet causes much mirth, the mournful distraction of Ophelia fills the heart with tenderness, and every personage pro duces the effect intended, from the apparition that, in the first act, chills the blood with horror, to the fop in the last, that exposes affectation to just con- tempt. The conduct is, perhaps, not wholly sec:re against objections. The action is, indeed, for the most part, in continual progression; but there are some scenes which neither forward nor retard it. Of the feign- ed madness of Hamlet there appears no adequate cause, for he does nothing which he might not have done with the reputation of sanity. He plays the 7 A word of censure when more game was de- stroyed than was reasonable. 8 i. e The king's. Polish. 10 9 By chance. 912 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. madman most, when he treats Ophelia with so easily be formed, to kill Hamlet with the dagger, much rudeness, which seems to be useless and and Laertes with the bowl. wanton cruelty. The poet is accused of having shown little re- Hamlet is, through the whole piece, rather an gard to poetical justice, and may be charged with instrument than an agent. After he has, by the equal neglect of poetical probability. The appari- stratagem of the play, convicted the king, he tion left the regions of the dead to little purpose; makes no attempt to punish him; and his death is the revenge which he demands is not obtained, but at last effected by an incident which Hamlet had by the death of him that was required to take it; no part in producing. and the gratification, which would arise from the The catastrophe is not very happily produced: destruction of a usurper and a murderer, is abated the exchange of weapons is rather an expedient of by the untimely death of Ophelia, the young, the necessity, than a stroke of art. A scheme might beautiful, the harmless, and the pions. JOHNSON. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Duke of Venice, Brabantio, a senator. Two other Senators. Gratiano, brother to Brabantio. Lodovico, kinsman to Brabantio. Othello, the Moor. Cassio, his lieutenant. lago, his ancient. Roderigo, a Venetian gentleman. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Montano, Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus. Clown, servant to Othello. ACT I. SCENE L-Venice., A street. Enter Roderigo and Iago. Roderigo. TUSH, never teil me, i take it much unkindly, That thou, Iago,--who hast had my purse, As if the strings were thine,-should'st know of this. lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me :-- If ever I did dream of such a matter, A bhor ine. Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate. Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city, In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, Oft capp'd' to him ;-and, by the faith of man, I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,2 Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war; And, in conclusion, nonsuits My mediators; for, certes," says he, I have already chose my officer. And what was he? Forsooth, a great arithmetician, One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; That never set a squadron in the field, Nor the division of a battle knows More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric, Wherein the toged consuls can propose As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice, Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: And I,-of whom his eyes had seen the proof, At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds Christian and heathen,-must be be-lee'd and calm'd By debitor, and creditor, this counter-caster:" He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 1 Saluted. 2 Circumlocution. 3 Certainly. 4 For wife some read life, supposing it to al- lude to the denunciation in the Gospel, woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you. Herald. Desdemona, daughter to Brabantio, and wife u Othello. Emilia, wife to Iago. Bianca, a courtezan, mistress to Cassio. Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sai lors, Attendants, &c. Scene, for the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the play, at a sea-port in Cyprus. And I, (God bless the mark!) his Moorship's an- cient. Rod. By heaven I rather would have been his hangman. Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of service; Preferment goes by letter, and affection, Not by the old gradation, where each second Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge youself Whether I in any just term am affin'd To love the Moor. I Rod. I would not follow him then. Iago. O, sir, content you; follow him to serve my turn upon him: We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For nought but provender; and, when he's old, cashier'd; Whip me such honest knaves: Others there are, Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves; And, throwing but shows of service or their lords, Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd their coats, Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul; And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir, It is as sure as you are Roderigo, Were I the Moor, I would not be lago: In following him, I follow but myself; Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty, But seeming so, for my peculiar end: For when my outward action doth demonstrate The native act and figure of my heart In compliment extern, 'tis not long after But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. 5 Theory. Rulers of the state. 7 It was anciently the practice to reckon up Isums with counters. 3 Related. 3 Outward show of civility. 914 ACT I. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Rod. What a full fortune does the thick lips owe,' If he can carry't thus ! lago. Call up her father, Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight, Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen, And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy, Yet throw such chances of vexation on't, As it may lose some colour. Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud. Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell, As when, by night and negligence, the fire Is spied in populous cities. Rod. What, ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves! Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves! Brabantio, above, at a window. Iago. Bra. This thou shalt Roderigo. You are a senator. answer: I know thee, Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I be- seech you, If't he your pleasure, and most wise consent (As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter, At this odd-even" and dull watch o'the night, Transported-with no worse nor better guard, But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier," To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,- If this be known to you, and your allowance, We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs; But, if you know not this, my manners tell me, We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe, That, from the sense of all civility, I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: Your daughter,-if you have not given her leave.- I say again, hath made a gross revolt; Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, In an extravagant and wheeling stranger, Of here and every where: Straight satisfy yourself: Bra. What is the reason of this terrible sum- If she be in her chamber, or your house, mons? What is the matter there? Rod. Signior, is all your family within? Iago. Are your doors lock'd? Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? Iago. Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame, put on your gown: Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul; Even now, very now, an old black ram la tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise; Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: Arise, I say. Bra. What, have you lost your wits? Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my voice? Bra. Not I; What are you? Rod. My name is-Roderigo. Bra. The worse welcome: I have charg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors: In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, Being full of supper, and distempering³ draughts, Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come To start my quiet. Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir,-- Bra. But thou must needs be sure, My spirit, and my place, have in them power To make this bitter to thee. Patience, good sir. Rod. Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice; My house is not a grange.* Rod. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. lago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you: you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. Brc. What profane wretch art thou? lago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs. Bra. Thou art a villain. 1 Own, possess. 2 i. e. Is broken. 4 A lone farm-house 3 Intoxicating. 5 Relations, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you. Bra. Strike on the tinder ho! Give me a taper;-call up all my people :- This accident is not unlike my dream, Belief of it oppressses me already :- Light, I say! light! [Exit from above. Iago. Farewell; for I must leave you: It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,) Against the Moor: For, I do know, the state,-- However this may gall him with some check,- Cannot with safety cast10 him; for he's embark'd With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, (Which even now stand in act) that, for their souls, Another of his fathom they have not, To lead their business: in which regard, Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, Yet, for necessity of present life, I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him, Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search; And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Ex. Enter below, Brabantio, and Servants, with torches. Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time, i Is nought but bitterness.-Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her ?-0, unhappy girl!- With the Moor, say'st thou ?-Who would be a father?- How didst thou know 'twas she? O, thou deceiv'st me tapers; Past thought!-What said she to you?-Get more Raise all my kindred,-Are they married think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are. Bra. heaven!-How got she out!-0 treason of the blood!- Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds By what you see them act.-Are there not charms By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo, Of some such thing? Rod. 6 Midnight. 8 Approbation. 9 Wandering. Yes, gir; I have indeed. 7 A waterman. 10 Dismiss. 11 Old age SCENE I. 915 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Bra. Call up my brother.-O, that you had had her!- Some one way, some another.-Do you know Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? Rod. I think, I can discover him; if you please To get good guard, and go along with me. Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call I may command at most;-Get weapons, ho! And raise some special officers of night. On, good Roderigo ;-I'll deserve your pains. [Exeunt. SCENE II-The same. Another street. Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants. Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, Yet do I hold it very stuff o'the conscience, To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity Sometimes, to do me service: Nine or ten times I had thought to have verk'd him here under the ribs. Oth. 'Tis better as it is. Iago. Nay, but he prated, And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms Against your honour, That, with the little godliness I have, I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, Are you fast married? for, be sure of this,- That the magnifico' is much beloved; And hath, in his effect, a voice potential As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; Or put upon you what restraint and grievance The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,) Will give him cable. Oth Let him do his spite: My services, which I have done the signiory, Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know (Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being From men of royal siege;2 and my demerits May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune As this that I have reach'd: For know, Iago, But that I love the gentle Desdemona, I would not my unhoused' free condition Put into circunscription and confine For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come yonder? Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers with torches. lago. These are the raised father, and his friends: You were best go in. Oth. Not I: I must be found; My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? Iago. By Janus, I think no. Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. The goodness of the night upon you, friends! What is the news? Cas. The duke does greet you, general; And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, Even on the instant. Oth. What is the matter, think you? Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine; It is a business of some heat; the galleys Have sent a dozen sequents messengers This very night at one another's heels; And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met, Are at the duke's already: You have been hotly call'd for; 1 Brabantio; Magnifico is his title as a senator. 2 Seat or throne. 3 Demerits has the same meaning in Shaks- peare as merits. ; When, being not at your lodging to be round, The senate hath sent about three several quests," To search you cut. Oth." 'Tis well I am found by you. will but spend a word here in the house, And go with you. I [Exit. Cas. Ancient, what makes he here? Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carack;8 If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. Cas. I do not understand. Iago. Cas. He's married. To who? Re-enter Othello. Iago. Marry, to-Come, captain, will you go? Oth. Have with you. Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers of night, with torches and weapons. Iago. It is Brabantio:-general, be advis'd; He comes to bad intent. Oth. Hola! stand there! Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. Bra. Iago. You, Roderigo! Down with him, thief! [They draw on both sides. come, sir, I am for you. Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.- Good signior, you shall more command with years, Than with your weapons. Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my daughter? Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her: For I'll refer me to all things of sense, If she in chains of magic were not bound, Whether a maid-so tender, fair, and happy; So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, Would ever have, to incur a general mock, Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom Of such a thing as thou: to fear, not to delight. Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms; Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals, That waken motion:-I'll have it disputed on; Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. I therefore apprehend and do attach thee, For an abuser of the world, a practiser Of arts inhibited and out of warrant:- Lay hold upon him; if he do resist, Subdue him at his peril. Oth. Hold your hands, Both you of my inclining, and the rest: Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.-Where will you that ! go To answer this your charge? To prison: till fit time Of law, and course of direct session, Call thee to answer. Bra. Oth. What if I do obey? How may the duke be therewith satisfied; Whose messengers are here about my side, Upon some present business of the state, To bring me to him? Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior, The duke's in council; and your noble self, I am sure, is sent for. 4 Uncovered. 6 Following. 8 A rich vessel. 9 To terrify, not delight. 5 Unsettled. 7 Searchers. 916 ACT I. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Bra How! the duke in council!! In this time of the night!-Bring him away: Mine's not an idle cause: the duke himself, Or any of my brothers of the state, Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own: For if such actions may have passage free, Bond-slaves, and pagans,' shall our statesmen be. 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderigo, and Officers. Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you [Exeunt. Against the general enemy Ottoman. SCENE III.-The same. A council-chamber. I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table; Of-We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. ficers attending. Duke. There is no composition2 in these news, That gives them credit. 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion'd; My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. Duke. And mine, a hundred and forty. 2 Sen. And mine, two hundred: But though they jump not on a just account (As in these cases, where the aim³ reports, 'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judginent; I do not so secure me in the error, But the main article I do approve In fearful sense. [To Brabantio. Bra. So did I yours: Good your grace, pardon me; Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general care Take hold on me; for my particular grief Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature, That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself. Duke. Why, what's the matter? Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter! Sen. Bra. Dead? Ay, to me; She is abus'd, stol'n from me and corrupted By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : Sailor. [Within.] What ho! what ho! what ho! For nature so preposterously to err, Enter an Officer, with a Sailor. Off. A messenger from the galleys. Duke. Now? the business? Being not deficient, blind or lame of sense, Sans witchcraft could not- Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul pro- ceeding, Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, So was I bid report here to the state, By signior Angelo. Duke. How say you by this change? 1 Sen. This cannot be, By no assay of reason; 'tis a pageant, To keep us in false gaze: When we consider The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk; And let ourselves again but understand, That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, So may he with more facile question4 bear it, For that it stands not in such warlike brace," But altogether lacks the abilities That Rhodes is dress'd in :-if we make thought of this, We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, To leave that latest which concerns him first; Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain, To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for Rhodes. Off. Here is more news. Enter a Messenger. Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, Have there injointed them with an after-fleet. 1 Sen. Ay, so I thought:-How many, as you guess? Mess. Of thirty sail: and now do they re-stem Their backward course, bearing with frank ap- pearance Their purposes towards Cyprus.-Signior Montano, Your trusty and most valiant servitor, With his free duty recommends you thus, And prays you to believe him. Duke. "Tis certain then for Cyprus.- Marcus Lucchesé, is he not in town? 1 Sen. He's now in Florence. Duke. Write from us; wish him post-post-haste: despatch. 1 The pagans and bond-slaves of Africa. 2 Consistency. 4 Easy dispute. 3 Conjecture. 5 State of defence And you of her, the bloody book of law You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, After your own sense; yea, though our proper son Stood in your action. Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems, Your special mandate, for the state affairs, Hath hither brought. Duke & Sen. We are very sorry for it. Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to [To Othello. this? Bra. Nothing but, this is so. Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approved good masters, That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter It is most true; true, I have married her; The very head and front of my offending And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace; Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broil and battle; And therefore little shall I grace my cause,, In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa tience, I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) I won his daughter with. Bra. A maiden never bold; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself; And she,-in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on? It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 6 Combat. 8 Accusation. 7 Without. 9 Best exertion. SCENE III. 917 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. That will confess-perfection so could err Against all rules of nature; and must be driven To find out practices of cunning hell, Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, He wrought upon her. Duke. To vouch this, is no proof; Without more certain and more overt test,i Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods Of modern seeming,2 do prefer against him. 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak;- Did you by indirect and forced courses Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? Or came it by request, and such fair question As soul to soul affordeth? Oth. I do beseech you, Send for the lady to the Sagittary," And let her speak of me before her father: If you do find me foul in her report, The trust, the office, I do hold of you, Not only take away, but let your sentence Even fall upon my life. Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. Oth. Ancient, conduct them; you best know the place.- [Exeunt lago and Attendants. And, till she come, as truly as to heaven I do confess the vices of my blood, So justly to your grave ears I'll present How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, And she in mine. Duke. Say it, Othello. Oth. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Stil! question'd me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have pass'd. I ran it through, even from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood, and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes i'the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history: Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process; And of the cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wish'd, she had not heard it; yet she wish'd That heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake : he lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd; And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have us'd; Here comes the lady, let her witness it. Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. Duke. I think this tale would win my daughter too.- Good Brabantio, Take up this mangled matter at the best; Men do their broken weapons rather use Than their bare hands. Bra. I pray you, hear her speak; If she confess, that she was half the wooer, Destruction on my head, if my bad blame Light on the man!-Come hither, gentle mistress; Do you perceive in all this noble company, Where most you owe obedience? Des. My noble father, I do perceive here a divided duty: To you, I am bound for life, and education; My life, and education, both do learn me How to respect you; you are the lord of duty, I am hitherto your daughter. But here's my hus band: And so much duty as my mother show'd To you, preferring you before her father, So much I challenge that I may profess Due to the Moor, my lord. Bra. God be with you!-I have done:- Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs; I had rather to adopt a child, than get it.- Come hither, Moor: I here do give thee that with all my heart, Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart I would keep from thee-For your sake, jewel, I am glad at soul I have no other child; For thy escape would teach me tyranny, To hang clogs on them.-I have done, my lord. Duke. Let me speak like yourself; and lay a sentence, Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers Into your favour. When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house-affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse: Which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means, To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not intentively; I did consent; And often did beguile her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke, That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: She swore,-In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 1 Open proof. 2 Weak show. 3 The sign of the fictitious creature so called. 4 My behaviour. 5 Caves and dens. 6 Parts. To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, Is the next way to draw new mischief on. What cannot be preserv'd, when fortune takes, Patience her injury a mockery makes. The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the thief; He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; We lose it not, so long as we can smile. He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears But the free comfort which from thence he hears But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow, That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, Being strong on both sides, are equivocal:. But words are words; I never yet did hear, That the bruised heart was pierced through the ear.* 7 Intention and attention were once synonymous. 8 Grise from degrees. 9 i. e. That the wounds of sorrow were ever cured by the words of consolation 918 ACT 1 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. With such things else of quality and respect, Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation As doth import you. makes for Cyprus:-Othello, the fortitude of the Oth. Duke. Let it be so.- Please your grace, my ancient; place is best known to you: And though we have A man he is of honesty and trust: there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency. yet To his conveyance I assign my wife, opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a With what else needful your good grace shall think more safer voice on you: you must therefore be To be sent after me. content to slubber¹ the gloss of your new fortunes with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize² A natural and prompt alacrity, I find in hardness; and do undertake These present wars against the Ottomites. Most humbly therefore bending to your state, I crave fit disposition for my wife; Due reference of place, and exhibition;3 With such accomodation, and besort, As levels with her breeding. Duke. Be't at her father's. Bra. If you please, I'll not have it so. Oth. Nor I. Des. Nor I; I would not there reside, To put my father in impatient thoughts, By being in his eve. Most gracious duke, To my unfolding lend a gracious ear, And let me find a charter in your voice, To assist my simpleness. Duke. What would you, Desdemona? Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, My downright violence and storm of fortunes May trumpet to the world; my heart's subdued Even to the very quality of my lord: saw Othello's visage in his mind; And to his honours, and his valiant parts, Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, A moth of peace, and he go to the war, The rites, for which I love him, are bereft me, And I a heavy interim shall support By his dear absence: Let me go with him. Oth. Your voices, lords :-'beseech you, let her will Have a free way. Vouch with me, heaven; I therefore beg it not, To please the palate of my appetite; Nor to comply with heat, the young affects, In my distinct and proper satisfaction; But to be free and bounteous to her mind: And heaven defends your good souls, that you think I will your serious and great business scant, For she is with me: No, when light-wing'd toys Of feather'd Cupid seel' with wanton dulness My speculative and active instruments, That my disports corrupt and aint my business, Lei nousewifes make a skillet of my helm," And all indign and base adversities Make head against my estimation! Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, Either for her stay, or going: the affair cries-haste, And speed must answer it; you must hence to-night. Des To-night, my lord? Duke. Oth. This night. With all my heart. Duke. At nine i'the morning here we'll meet again. Othello, leave some officer behind, And he shall our commission bring to you: 1 Obscure. 3 Allowance. 5 Forbid. 2 Acknowledge. 4 6 Affections. Because. 7 Blind. 8 A small kettle. 9 Helmet. Good night to every one.-And, noble signior, [To Prabantio. If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona well. Bra. Look to her, Moor; have a quick eye to see: She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. [Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, &c. Oth. My life upon her faith.-Honest lago, My Desdemona must I leave to thee; I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her; And bring them after in the best advantage.- Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour Of love, of worldly matters and direction, To spend with thee: we must obey the time. [Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. Rod. Iago. Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart? Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou? Iago. Why, go to bed and sleep. Rod. I will incontinently 10 drown myself. Iago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee after it. Why, thou silly gentleman! Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- ment: and then have we a prescription to die, when death is our physician. Iago. O villanous! I have looked upon the world for four times seven years; and since I could dis- tinguish between a benefit and an injury, I never found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere I would say, I would drown myself for the love of a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. Rod. What should I do? I confess, it is my shame to be so fond;" but it is not in virtue to amend it. Iago. Virtue? a fig! 'tis in ourselves, that we are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many; either to have it steril with idleness, or manured with industry; why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous conclusions: But we have reason to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted 2 lust; whereof I take this, that you call- love, to c a sect, 13 or scion. Rod. It cannot be. Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a pat- mission of the will. Come, be a man: Drown thy self? drown cats, and blind puppies. I have pro- fessed me thy friend, and I confess me krit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness; I could never better stead thee than now. money in thy purse; follow these wars; defeat thy favour with an usurped beard; 14 I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona should long continue her love to the Moor,-put money in Put 10 Immediately. 11 Foolish. 12 Unbridled. 13 A sect is what the gardeners call a cutting 14 Change your countenance with a false beard SCENE I. 919 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. thy purse; nor he his to her: it was a violent com- mencement, and thou shalt see an answerable se- questration;-put but money in thy purse.- These Moors are changeable in their wills;-fill thy purse with money: the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bit- ter as coloquintida. She must change for youth: when she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice.-She must have change, she must therefore put money in thy purse.-If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drowning. Make all the money thou canst: If sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring' barbarian and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou Seems to cast water on the burning bear," shalt enjoy her; therefore make money. A pox of And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: drowning thyself! it is clean out of the way; seek I never did like molestation view thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy, than to be drowned and go without her. Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on the issue? 1 Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood; I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, Descry a sail. Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land: A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, Can hold the mortise.? what shall we hear of this? 2 Gen. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: For do but stand upon the foaming shore, The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds; The wind-shak'd surge, with high and monstrous main, On th' enchafed flood. Mon. If that the Turkish fleet Be not inshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd; It is impossible they bear it out. Enter a third Gentleman. lago. Thou art sure of me ;-Go, make money: -I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and again, I hate the Moor: My cause is hearted: 3 Gent. News, lords! our wars are done; thine hath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive in The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, our revenge against him: if thou canst cuckold That their designment halts: A noble ship of Venice him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me e sport. Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance There are many events in the womb of time, which On most part of their fleet. will be delivered. Traverse ;2 go; provide thy Mon. money. We will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. Rod. Where shall we meet i'the morning? Tago. At my iodging. Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. Jago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? Rod. What say you? Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear? Rod. I am changed. I'll sell all my land. Iago. Go to; farewell: put money enough in your purse. [Exit Roderigo. Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profare, If I would time expend with such a snipe, But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor: And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets He has done my office: I know not if't be true; But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, Will do, as if for surety. He holds me weli; The better shall my purpose work on him. Cassio's a proper man: Let me see now; To get his place, and to plume up my will: A double knavery.-How? how?-Let me see:- After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, That he is too familiar with his wife :- He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, To be suspected; fram' to make women false. The Moor is of a free and open nature, That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; And will as tenderly be led by the nose, As asses are. I have't; it is engender'd :-Hell and night Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. ACT II How! is this true? 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, A Veronesé; Michiel Cassio, Lieutenant to the war Moor, Othello, Is come on shore: the Mor himself's at sea, And is in full commissior here for Cyprus. Mon. I am glad on't; tis a worthy governor. 3 Gent. But this sare Cassio,-though he speak of comfort, Touching the Turkis, loss,-yet he looks sadly, And prays the Moo be safe; for they were parted With foul and violent tempest. Min. 'Pray heaven he be; For 1 have serv'd him, and the man commands Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho! As well to see the vessel that's come in, As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello; Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, An indistinct regard. 3 Gent. Come, let's do so; For every minute is expectancy Of more arrivance. Enter Cassio. Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, That so approve the Moor; O let the heavens Give him defence against the elements, For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. Mon. Is he well shipp'd? Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot Of very expert and approv'd allowance;" Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, Stand in bold cure. [Within.] A sail, a sail, a sail! Enter another Gentleman. Cas. What noise? 4 Gent. The town is empty: on the brow of the sea SCENE I-A sea-port town in Cyprus. A plat- Stand ranks of people, and they cry-a sail. form. Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 1 Wandering. 2 An ancient military word of command. 8 Esteems. 4 Separation. Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy; [Guns heard. 5 The constellation near the polar star. 6 Complete. 7 Allowed and approved expertness. 920 ACT II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Our frends at least. Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 2 Gent. I shall. [Exit. Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd? Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid That paragons description, and wild fame; One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, And, in the essential vesture of creation, Docs bear all excellency.-How now? who has put in? Re-enter second Gentleman. 2 Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed: Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands,- Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless knell,- As having sense of beauty, do omit Their mortal' natures, letting go safely by T'he divine Desdemona. Mon. What is she? Saints in your injuries, devils being offended, Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your beds. Des. 0, fie upon thee, slanderer! Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; You rise to play, and go to bed to work. Emil. You shall not write my praise. Iago. No, let me not. Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou should'st praise me? Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; For I am nothing, if not critical.3 Des. Come on, assay:-There's one gone to the harbour? Iago. Ay, madam. Des. I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.-- Come, how would'st thou praise me? Iago. I am about it; but, indeed, my invention. Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize, It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's And thus she is delivered. captain, Left in the conduct of the bold Iago; Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, A se'nnight's speed.-Great Jove, Othello guard, And swell his sail with thine own powerful breth; That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, And bring all Cyprus comfort!-O, behold, Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, Attendants. The riches of the ship is come on shore! Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees ;- Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, Before, behind thee, and on every hand, Enwheel thee round! If she be fair and wise,-fairness, and wit, The one's for use, the other useth it. Des. Well prais'd! How if she be black and witty? Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. Des. Worse and worse. Emil. How, if fair and foolish? lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; For even her folly help'd her to an heir. Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make and fools laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. What tidings can you tell me of my lord? Cas. He is not yet arriv'd; nor know I aught But that he's well and will be shortly here. Des. O, but I fear; how lost you company? Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship: But, hark! a sail. [Cry within, A sail, a sail! Then guns heard. 2. Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel; This likewise is a friend. Cas. See for the news. Iago. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. Des. O heavy ignorance!-thou praisest the worst best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one that, in the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud; Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay; Fled from her wish, and yet said,-now I may; She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly; She, that in wisdom never was so frail, To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, See suitors following, and not look behind; Good ancient, you are welcome; Welcome, mis-She was a wight,-if ever such wight were,- tress;- [Exit Gentleman. [To Emilia. Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, That I extend my manners; 'tis my breeding That gives me this bold show of courtesy. Kissing her. Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, You'd have enough. Des. Alas, she has no speech. Iago. In faith, too much; I find it still when I have list to sleep. Marry, before your ladyship, I grant, She puts her tongue a little in her heart, And chides with thinking.. Emil. You have little cause to say so. Iago. Come on, come on; you are pictures out of doors, Bells in your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens, 1 Deadly, destructive. 2 Desire. 3 Censorious. 4 Foolish. 5 Licentious, free-spoken. 6 Shackle, fetter. Des. To do what? Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion!-Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. and liberal counsellor? -How say you, Cassio! is he not a most profane Cas. He speaks home, madam; you may relish him more in the soldier, than in the scholar. Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well said, whisper: with as little a web as this, will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, do; I will gyves thee in thine own courtship. You say true; 'tis so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now again you are most apt to play the sit in. Very good; well kissed! an excellent cour tesy ! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again, your fingers to 7 7 Your good-breeding and gallantry. 8 Courtesy, in the sense of obeisance, was ap Aplied to men as well as women. SCENE I. 921 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. to some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, fas it is a most pregnant and unforced position,) who your lips? would they were clyster-pipes, for your [Trumpet.] The Moor, I know his trum- stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune, sake pet. Cas. 'Tis truly so. Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. Cas. Lo, where he comes! Enter Othello and Attendants. Oth. O my fair warrior! Des. My dear Othello! Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content, To see you here before me. O my soul s joy! If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, Olympus-high; and duck again as low As hell's from heaven! If it were now to die, "Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, My soul hath her content so absolute, That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. Des. The heavens forbid, But that our loves and comforts should increase, Even as our days do grow! as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further conscionable, than the putting on the mere form of civil and humane seeming, for the better compass- ing of his salt and more hidden loose affection? why, none; why none: A slippery and subtle knave: a finder out of occasions; that has an eye can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage never present itself: A devilish knave! besides, the knave is handsome, young; and hath all those requisites in him, that folly and green minds look after: A pestilent complete knave; and the woman hath found him already. Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of most blessed condition." lago. Blessed fig's end the wine she drinks is made of grapes: if she had seen blessed, she would never have loved the Moor: Blessed pudding! Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? didst not mark that? Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers!-scure I cannot speak enough of this content, It stops me here; it is too much of joy: And this, and this, the greatest discords be, [Kissing her. That e'er our hearts shall make! Iago. O, you are well tun'd now! But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, As honest as I am. [Aside. Oth. Come, let's to the castle.- News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. How do our old acquaintance of this isle? Honey, you shall be well desir'd' in Cyprus, I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, I prattle out of fashion, and I dote In mine own comforts.-I pr'ythee, good Iago, Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers: Bring thou the master to the citadel; He is a good one, and his worthiness Doth challenge much respect.-Come, Desdemona, Once more well met at Cyprus. [Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. Tago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant,-as (they say) base men, being in love, have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them,-list me.3 The lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard:-First, I must tell thee this-Desdemona is directly in love with him. Rod. Yes, that I did, but that was but courtesy. Iago. Lechery, by this hand; an index, and ob- prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand comes the master and main ex- ercise, the incorporate conclusion:-Pish!-But, sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command. I'll lay't upon you: Cassio knows you not:-I'll not be far from you: Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or taint- ing his discipline; or from what other course you please, which the time shall more favourably min- ister. Rod. Well. Iago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; and, haply, with his truncheon, may strike at you: Provoke him, that he may: for, even out of that, will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into no true taste again, but by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires, by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and the impedi- ment most profitably removed, without the which there were no expectation of our prosperity. Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op- portunity. Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Fare- well. Kod. Adieu. [Exit. Rod. With him? why, 'tis not possible. Iago. Lay thy finger-thus, and let thy soul be Jage. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; instructed Mark me, with what violence she first That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit; loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her The Moor-howbeit that I endure him not- fantastical lies: And will she love him still for Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona eye must be fed; and what delight shall she have A most dear husband. Nov: I do love her too; to look on the devil? When the blood is made dull Not out of absolute lust (though, peradventure, with the act of sport, there should be,-again to I stand accountant for as great a sin,) inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh appetite,-But partly led to diet my revenge, loveliness in favour; sympathy in years, manners, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: Hath leap'd into my seat: the thought whereof Now, for want of these required conveniences, her Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to And nothing can or shall content my soul, heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor; Till I am even with him, wife for wife; very nature will instruct her in it, and compel her Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 1 Much solicited by invitation. 2 Out of method. without order. 3 Listen to me. 4 Minds unripe. 5 Qualities, disposition of mind. 6 Throwing a slur upon his discipline. 8 To advance them. 7 Perhaps. 922 ACT II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, if this poor trash' of Venice, whom I trash2 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip; Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,3- For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too; Cas Not to-night, good Iago; I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of enter- tainment. Iago. O, they are our friends: but one cup; I'll drink for you. Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, was craftily qualified too, and, behold, what in- For making him egregiously an ass, And practising upon his peace and quiet. Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd; Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. [Exit. SCENE II-A street. Enter a Herald, with a proclamation; people following, novation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not tack my weakness with any more. Iago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels; the gallants desire it. Cas. Where are they? Iago. Here at the door; I pray you call them in. Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and val- Cas. I'll do t; but it dislikes me. [Erit Cassic. iant general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, Tago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him. importing the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, With that which he hath drunk to-night already, every man put himself into triumph; some to dance, Re'll be as full of quarrel and offence some to make bonfires, each man to what sport and As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, revel his addiction leads him; for, sides these Roderigo, ward, beneficial news, it is the celebration of his nuptials: Whom love has turn'd almost the wroug side out- So much was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices are open; and there is full liberty of To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd feasting, from this present hour of five, till the beil Potations pottle-deep; and he's to watch: hath told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus, Three lads of Cypress--noble swelling spirits. and our noble general, theilo. [Exeunt. That hold their honours in a wary distance, The very elements of this warlike isle.- Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, And they watch too. Now 'mongst this flock of drunkards, SCENE III-A hul in the castle. Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and Attendants. Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- night: Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop, Not to out-sport discretion. Cas. Iago hath direction what to do; But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye Will I look to't. Iago is most honest. Oth. Michael, good night: To-morrow, with our earliest, Let me have speech with you.-Come, my dear love, The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; [To Desdemona. That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you.- Good night. [Exeunt Oth. Des. and Attend. Enter Iago. Cas. Welcome, Iago: We must to the watch.. Am I to put our Cassio in some action That may offend the isle :-But here they come : If consequence do but approve my dream, My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream. Re-enter Cassio; with him Montano, and Gentle- men. Cas. 'Forc heaven, they have given me a rouse already. Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I am a soldier, Iago. Some wine, ho! And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink: A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why then, let a soldier drink. Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten Some wine, boys! [Sings. [Wine brought in. o'clock: Our general casts us thus early, for the Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. love of his Desdemona; whom let us not therefore, Tago I learned it in England, where (indeed) blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night with her: and she is sport for Jove. Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. lago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate creature. lago. What an eye she has! methinks it sounds a parley of provocation. Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right modest. Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm to love? Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine; and here with- out are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a measure to the health of the black Othello. 1 Worthless hound. 2 The term for a clog put on a hound, to hinder his running. 3 In the grossest manner. 5 Kooms, or places in the castle. 4 Entire. they are most potent in potting; your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied Hollander,- link, ho! are nothing to your English. Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in las drink ing? Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. Cas. To the health of our general. Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you justice. Iago. O sweet England! King Stephen was a worthy peer, 10 His breeches cost him but a crown, He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor-lown11 Dismissed. 6 7 Slily mixed with waten 8 A little more than enough. 9 Drink as much as you do. 10 A worthy fellow. 11 Clown. SCENE III. 923 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down, Then take thine auld cloak about thee. Some wine, ho! Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other. Iago. Will you hear it again? Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place, that does those things.-Well,-Heaven's above all; and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved. Iago. It's true, good lieutenant. Cas. For mine own part,-no offence to the gene- ral, or any man of quality,-I hope to be saved. fago. And so do I too, lieutenant. Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me; the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs.-Forgive us our sins!-Gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk; this is my ancient ;-this is my right hand, and this is my left hand: I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and speak well enough. All. Excellent well. Cas. Why, very well, then: you must not think then that I am drunk. [Exit. Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set the watch. Iago. You see this fellow, that is gone before;- He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar And give direction: and do but see his vice; "Tis to his virtue a just equinox, The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. I fear, the trust Othello puts him in, On some odd time of his infirmity, Will shake this island. Mon. But is he often thus? Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep: He'll watch the horologue a double set,¹ If drink rock not his cradle. Mon. It were well, The general were put in mind of it. Perhaps, he sees it not; or his good nature Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, And looks not on his evils; Is not this true? Enter Roderigo. Iago. How now, Roderigo? I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. [Aside. [Exit Rod. Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor Should hazard such a place, as his own stund, With one of an ingraft infirmity: It were an honest action, to say So to the Moor. Iago. Not 1, for this fair island: I do love Cassio well; and would do much To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise? [Cry within.-Help! help! Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. Cas. You rogue! you rascal! Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? Cas. A knave!-teach me my duty! I'll beat the knave into a twiggen' bottle. Rod. Beat me! Cas. Mon. I pray you, sir, hold your hand. Cas. Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. Mon. Let me go, sir, Come, come, you're drunk. Cas. Drunk! They fight. Iago. Away, I say! go out, and cry-a mutiny [Aside to Rod. who goes out. Nay, good lieutenant,-alas, gentlemen,- Help, ho!-Lieutenant,-sir,-Montano,-sir;- Help, masters!-Here's a goodly watch, indeed! Bell rings. Who's that that rings the bell ?-Diablo, ho! The town will rise; God's will, lieutenant! hold; You will be sham'd for ever. Enter Othello, and Attendants. Oth. What is the matter here? Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death;-he dies, Oth. Hold, for your lives. lago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, sir, Montano,- gentlemen,- Have you forgot all sense of place and duty? Hold, hold! the general speaks to you; hold, for shame! Oth. Why, how now, ho! from whence ariseth this? Are we turn'd Turks; and to ourselves do that, Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: He that stirs next to carve for his own rage, Hoids his soul light; he dies upon his motion.- Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle From her propriety.-What is the matter, mas- ters?- Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. lago. I do not know ;-friends all but now, even now, In quarter, and in terins like bride and groom Devesting them for bed: and then, but now (As if some planet had unwitted men,) Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, In opposition bloody. I cannot speak Any beginning to this peevish odds; And 'would in action glorious I had lost These legs, that brought me to a part of it! Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot?" Cas. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; The gravity and stillness of your youth The world hath noted, and your name is great In mouths of wisest censure; What's the matter, That you unlace your reputatiou thus, And spend your rich opinion, for the name Of a night-brawler? give me answer to it. Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger; Your officer, lago, can inform you- While I spare speech, which something now cferdз me- Of all that I do know: nor know I aught By me that's said or done amiss this night; Unless self-charity' be sometime a vice; And to defend ourselves it be a sin, When violence assails us. Oth. Now, by heaven, My blood begins my safer guides to rule; Dost thou prate, rogue? (Striking Roderigo. And passion, having my best judgment collie, Nay, good lieutenant: Assays to lead the way: If once I stir, [Staying him. Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 1 While the clock strikes two rounds, or four- and-twenty hours. 2 Rooted, settled. 3 A wicker bottle. 4 i. e. You have thus forgot yourself. 5 Care of one's self. 6 Darkened. 924 ACT II. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know How this foul rout began, who set it on ; And he that is approv'd' in this offence, Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, Shall lose me.- What! in a town of war, Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, To manage private and domestic quarrel, In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 'Tis monstrous.-Iago, who began it? Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in office, Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, Thou art no soldier. Iagз. Touch me not so near: loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general again: You are but now cast in his mood,' a punishment more in policy than in malice; ever so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to affrigh an imperious lion: sue to him again, and he's yours. Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to de- ceive so good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak parrot ?4 and squabble? swagger? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow ?-O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee-devil! lago. What was he that you followed with you: I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth,sword? What had he done to you? Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth Shail nothing wrong him.-Thus it is, general. Montano and myself being in speech, There comes a fellow, crying out for help; And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, To execute upon him: Sir, this gentleman Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause; Myself the crying fellow did pursue, Lest, by his clamour (as it so fell out,) The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, Outran my purpose; and I return'd the rather For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, And Cassio high in oath; which, till to-night, I ne'er might say before: when I came back (For this was brief,) I found them close together, At blow, and thrust; even as again they were, When you yourself did part them. More of this matter can I not report :- But men are men; the best sometimes forget:- Though Cassio did some little wrong to him,- As men in rage strike those that wish them best,- Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd, From him that fled, some strange indignity, Which patience could not pass. Oth. I know, lago, Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, Making it light to Cassio:-Cassio, I love thee; But never more be officer of mine.- Enter Desdemona, attended. Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ;- I'll make thee an example. Cas. I know not. lago. Is it possible? Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore.-0, that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! Iago. Why, but you are now well enough: How came you thus recovered? Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to give place to the devil, wrath: one unperfectness shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: As the time, the place, and the condition of tais coun- try stands, I could heartily wish this had not be- fallen; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. Cas. I will ask him for my place again; he shal tell me, I am a drunkard! Had i as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange!-Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you. Cas. I have well approved it, sir.-I drunk! Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is now the general;-I may say dear?o in this respect, for that he hath devoted, and Oth. All's well now, sweeting; Come away to given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and bed. Des. Sir, for your hurts, What's the matter, Myself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. denoterment of her parts and graces :-confess your- self freely to her; importune her; she'll help to put you in your place again: she is of so free, so kind, [To Montano, who is led off. so apt, so blessed a disposition, that she holds it a fago, look with care about the town; vice in her goodness, not to do more than she is And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted.-requested: This broken joint, between you and Come, Desdemona; 'tis the soldier's life, T'o have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. [Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio. lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? Cas. Ay, past all surgery. Iago. Marry, heaven forbid! Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I her husband, entreat her to splinter; and, my for tunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. Cas. You advise me well. Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest kindness. Cas. I think it freely: and, betimes in the morn- have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to un- part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial.dertake for me; I am desperate of my fortunes, if My reputation, Iago, my reputation. Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound; there is more offence in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving: You have lost no repu- tation at all, unless you repute yourself such a 1 Convicted by proof. 2 Related by nearness of office. they check me here. Iago. You are in the right. Good night, lieuten- ant; I must to the watch. Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Exit Cassio. Iago. And what's he then, that says,-I play the villain? When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 3 Dismissed in his anger. 4 Talk idly. 5 Bet or wager. SCENE I, II. 925 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course To win the Moor again? For, 'tis most easy The inclining Desdemona to subdue In any honest suit; she's fram'd as fruitful¹ As the free elements. And then for her To win the Moor,-were't to renounce his baptism, All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,- His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, That she may make, unmake, do what she list, Even as her appetite shall play the god With his weak function. How am I then a villain, To counsel Cassio to this parallel' course, Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! When devils will their blackest sins put on, They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, As I do now: For while this honest fool Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,- That she repeals him for her body's lust; And, by how much she strives to do him good, She shall undo her credit with the Moor. So will I turn her virtue into pitch; And out of her own goodness make the net, That shall ermesh them all.-How now, Roderigo? Enter Roderigo. Rod. I do follow here in the chace, not like a hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My money is almost spent; I have been to-night exceedingly well cudgelled; and, I think, the issue will be I shall have so much experience for my pains: and so, with no money at all, and a little more wit, return to Venice. Iago. How poor are they, that have not pa- tience!- What wound did ever heal, but by degrees? Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witch- craft; And wit depends on dilatory time. Does't not go well? Cassio hath beaten thee, And thou, by that small hurt, hath cashier'd Cassio: Though other things grow fair against the sun, Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe: Content thyself a while.-By the mass, 'tis morning; Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. Retire thee; go where thou art billeted Away, I say; thou shalt know more hereafter; Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod.] Two things are to be done,- My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress; I'll set her on; Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart, And bring him jump when he may Cassio find Soliciting his wife:-Ay, that's the way; Dull not device by coldness and delay. ACT III. [Exit. Enter Cassio, SCENE I.--Before the castle. and some Musicians. Cas. Masters, play here, I will content your pains. Something that's brief; and bid-good-morrow, [Music. general. Enter Clown. Cio. Why, masters, have your instruments been at Naples, that they speak i'the nose thus? 1 Liberal, bountiful. 2 Even. 1 Mus. How, sir, how? Clo. Are these, I pray you, called wind instru- ments? 1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. Co. O, thereby hangs a tail. 1 Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that I know. But, masters, here's money for you. and the general so likes your music, that he desires you, of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, to't again: but, as they say, to hear music, the general does not greatly care. 1 Mus. We have none such, sir. Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll away: Go; vanish into air; away. (Exeunt Musicians. Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend? Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a poor piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that attends the general's wife, be stirring, tell her, there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of speech: Wilt thou do this? Clo. She is stirring, sir; if she will stir hither, I shall seem to notify unto her. [Exit. Enter lago. Cas. Do, good my friend.-In happy time, lago. Iago. You have not been a-bed then? Cas. Why, no; the day had broke Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, To send in to your wife: My suit to her Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona Procure me some access. Iago. I'll send her to you presently; And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor Out of the way, that your converse and business May be more free. [Exit. Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew A Florentine more kind and honest. Enter Emilia. Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant: I am sorry The general, and his wife, are talking of it; For your displeasure; but all will soon be well. And she speaks for you stoutly: The Moor replies, That he you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, And great affinity; and that, in wholesome wisdom, He might not but refuse you: but, he protests, he loves you; And needs no other suitor, but his likings, To take the saf'st occasion by the front, To bring you in again. Cas. Yet, I beseech you,- If you think fit, or that it may be done, Give me advantage of some brief discourse With Desdemona alone. Emil. Pray you, come in; I will bestow you where you shall have time To speak your bosom freely. Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A room in the castle. Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. Oth. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 6 Nice distinctions. 3 Tempt. 5 Just at the time. 4 Recalls. Lothello. 7 The displeasure you bave incurred from 926 ACT III. OTHELLO THE MOOR OF VENICE. And, by him, do my duties to the state: That done, I will be walking on the works, Repair there to me. lago. Well, my good lord, I'll do't. Oth. This fortification, gentlemen,-shall we see't? Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Before the castle. Enter Desde- mona, Cassio, and Emilia. Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do All my abilities in thy behalf. Emil. Good madam, do; I know it grieves my husband, As if the case were his. Des. O that's an honest fellow.-Do not doubt, Cassio, But I will have my lord and you again As friendly as you were. Cas. Bounteous madam, Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, He's never any thing but your true servant. Des. O, sir, I thank you: You do love my lord: You have known him long; and be you well assur'd, He shall in strangeness stand no further off Than in a politic distance. Cas. Ay, but, lady, That policy may either last so long, Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, Or breed itself so out of circumstance, That, I being absent, and my place supplied, My general will forget my love and service. Des. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here, 1 give the warrant of thy place: assure thee, If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it To the last article: my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame,' and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle every thing he does With Cassio's suit: Therefore be merry, Cassio; For thy solicitor shall rather die, Than give thy cause away. Enter Othello, and lago, at a distance. Emil. Madam, here comes My lord. Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. Des. And hear me speak. Why, stay, Cas. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease, Unfit for mine own purposes. Des. Do your discretion. Iago. Well, well, [Exit Cassio. Ha! I like not that. Oth. What dost thou say? Iago. Nothing, my lord: or if-I know not what. Oth. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife? Iago. Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it, That he would steal away so guilty-like, Seeing you coming. Oth. I do believe 'twas he Des. How now, my lord? I have been talking with a suitor here, A man that languishes in your displeasure. Oth. Who is't you mean? Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good my lord, If I have any grace, or power to move you, His present reconciliation take : For, if he be not one that truly loves you, That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning," 1 Hawks are tamed by keeping them from sleep. I have no judgment in an honest face: I pr'ythee, call him back. Oth. Went he hence now? Des. Ay, sooth; so humbled, That he hath left part of his grief with me; I suffer with him. Good love, call him back. Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. Des. But shall't be shortly? Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. Des. Shall't be to-night at supper? Oth. Des. To-morrow dinner then? Oth. No, not to-night. I shall not dine at home: I meet the captains at the citadel. Des. Why then, to-morrow night; or Tuesday morn; Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn ;- I pray thee, name the time; but let it not Exceed three days: in faith, he's penitent; And yet his trespass, in our common reason (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples Out of their best,3) is not almost a fault To incur a private check: When shall he come? Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, What you could ask me, that I should deny, Or stand so mammering4 on. What? Michaes Cassio, That came a wooing with you; and many a time, When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much,- Oth. Pr'ythee, no more: let him come when he will; I will deny thee nothing. Des. Why, this is not a boon; 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm; Or sue to you to do peculiar profit To your own person: Nay, when I have a suit, Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, It shall be full of poise and difficulty, And fearful to be granted. Oth. I will deny thee nothing; Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, To leave me but a litle to myself. Des. Shall I deny you? no: Farwell, my lord. Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I will come to thee straight. Des. Emilia, come :-Be it as your fancies teach you; Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [Exit, with Emil. Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, Chaos is come again. Jago. My noble lord, Oth. What dost thou say, Iago? Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady, Know of your love? Oth. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou ask? Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; No further harm. Oth. Why of that thought, Iago? Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her. Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft. Iago. Indeed? Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed: in that? 2 Knowledge. 4 Hesitating. Discern'st thou augh; 3 Best men. 5 Weight. SCENE III. 927 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OE VENICE. Is he not honest? Ay, honest. lago. Honest, my lord? Oth. Iago. My lord, for aught I know. Oth. What dost thou think? Iago. Oth. Think, my lord? Think, my lord! By heaven, he echoes me, As if there were some monster in his thought Too hideous to be shown.-Thou dost mean some- thing: I heard thee say but now,-Thou lik'dst not that, When Cassio left my wife; What didst not like? And, when I told thee-he was of my counsel In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, Indeed? And didst contract and purse thy brow together, As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain Some horrible conceit: If thou dost love me, Show me thy thought. Iago. My lord, you know I love you. Oth. I think thou dost; And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,- Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more; For such things, in a false disloyal knave, Are tricks of custom; but, in a man that's just, They are close denotements, working from the heart, That passion cannot rule. Iago. Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something nothing; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that, which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. lago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand: Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. Oth. Ha! lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on: That cuckold lives in bliss, Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; But, 0, what damned minutes tells he o'er, Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves! Oth. O misery! Iago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor :- Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend From jealousy! Oth. Why? why is this? Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No: to be once in doubt, Is-once to be resolv'd: Exchange me for a goat, When I shall turn the business of my soul such exsufflicate and blown surmises, Matching thy inference. "Tis not to make me jealous, For Michael Cassio,-To I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. Oth. I think so too. Iago. Men should be what they seem; Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none! Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. Iago. I think that Cassio is an honest man. Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this: Why then, I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, To say-my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous :4 Nor from my own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me: No, Iago; I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of And, on the proof, there is no more but this,-. thoughts The worst of words. Iago. Away at once with love, or jealousy. Iago. I am glad of this, for now I shall have reason Good my lord, pardon me; To show the love and duty that I bear you Though I am bound to every act of duty, I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and false,- As where's that palace, whereinto foul things Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so pure, But some uncleanly apprehensions Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit With meditations lawful?" Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear A stranger to thy thoughts. Iago. I do beseech you,- Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, As, I confess, it is my nature's plague To spy into abuses; and, oft, my jealousy Shapes faults that are not,-I entreat you then, From one that so imperfectly conjects," You'd take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance :- It were not for your quiet, nor your good, Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, To let you know my thoughts. Oth. What dost thou mean? Iago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my lord, 1 Courts of inquiry. 2 Conjectures. (3) Endless, unbounded. 4 Which makes fair gifts fairer.' With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound, Receive it from me:-1 speak not yet of proof. Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; Wear your eye-thus, not jealous, nor secure : I would not have your free and noble nature, Out of self-bounty, be abus'd; look to't: I know our country disposition well; In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks They dare not show their husbands; their best con- science Is-not leave undone, but keep unknown. Oth. Dost thou say so? Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you; And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, She lov'd them most. And so she did. Oth. Iago. Why, go to, then; She that, so young, could give out such a seeming," To seels her father's eyes up close as oak,- He thought, 'twas witchcraft:-But I am much to blame; I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, For too much loving you. Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. Iago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 5 Appearance. 6 An expression from falconry; to seel a hawk is to sew up his eyelids. 928 ACT IIL OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Iago. Trust me, I fear it has. Than keep a corner in the thing I love, I hope, you will consider, what is spoke Comes from my love;-But, I do see you are Prerogativ'd are they less than the base; For other's uses. Yet 'tis the plague of great ones; mov'd:- I am to pray you, not to strain my speech To grosser issues,' nor to larger reach Than to suspicion. Oth. I will not. Iago. Should you do so, my lord, My speech should fall into such vile success As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy friend:- My lord, I see you are mov'd. Oth. No, not much mov'd:- I do not think but Desdemona's honest. Iago. Long live she so! and long live you to think so! Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself,- Iago. Ay, there's the point:-As,-to be bold with you,-. Not to affect many proposed matches, Of her own clime, complexion, and degree; Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends: Foh! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural.- But pardon me; I do not, in position, Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear, Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, May fall to match you with her country forms, And (happily) repent. Oth. Farewell, farewell: [Going. If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; Set on thy wife to observe: Leave me, Iago. Iago. My lord, I take my leave. Oth. Why did I marry?-This honest creature, doubtless, Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. Iugo. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honour [Exit. To scan this thing no further; leave it to time: And though it be fit that Cassio have his place (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) Yet, if you please to hold him off a while, You shall by that perceive him and his means: Note, if your lady strain his entertainment2 With any strong or vehement opportunity; Much may be seen in that. In the mean time, Let me be thought too busy in my fears (As worthy cause I have, to fear-I am,) And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. Oth. Fear not my government. Iago. I once more take my leave. Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, Of human dealings: If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black; And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers' have ;-Or, for I am declin'd Into the vale of years;-yet that's not much; She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief Must be to loath her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours, And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, 1 Conclusions. 3 2 Press hard his re-admission to his pay and office 3 A species of hawk: also a term of reproach applied to a wanton. 4 Scraps of leather by which a hawk is held on the fist. 'Tis destiny unshamable, like death; Even then this forked plague is fated to us, When we do quicken. Desdemona comes: Enter Desdemona and Emilia. If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself!-- I'll not believe it. Des. Your dinner and the generous islanders By you invited, do attend your presence. Oth. I am to blame. How now, my dear Othello? Des. Why is your speech so faint? are you not well? Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away again; Let me but bind it hard, within this hour It will be well. Oth. Your napkin is too little; [He puts the handkerchief from him, and it drops. Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. [Exeunt Oth. and Des. Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin: This was her first remembrance from the Moor: My wayward husband hath a hundred times Woo'd me to steal it: but she so loves the token (For he conjur'd her, she should ever keep it,) That she reserves it evermore about her, To kiss, and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out, And give it Iago: I What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I: nothing, but to please his fantasy. Enter Iago. Iago. How now! what do you here alone? Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for you. Iago. A thing for me?-it is a common thing,- Emil. Ha! Iago. To have a foolish wife. Emil. O, is that all? What will you give me now For that same handkerchief? Iago. What handkerchief? Emil. What handkerchief? Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; That which so often you did bid me steal. Iago. Hast stolen it from her? Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence; And, to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. Look, here it is. Iago. A good wench: give it me. Emil. What will you do with it, that you have been so earnest To have me filch it? Iago. Why, what's that to you? [Snatching it. Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, Give it me again Poor lady! she'll run mad, When she shall lack it. Iago. Be not you known of't;8 I have use for it. Go, leave me. [Erit Emilia I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, And let him find it: Trifles light as air, Are to the jealous confirmation strong 5 Men of intrigue. 6 When we begin to live. 7 In the north of England this term for a hand. kerchief is still used. 8 Seem as if you knew nothing of the matter. SCENE III. 929 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. The Moor already changes with my poison: Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste; But, with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.-1 did say so:- Enter Othello. Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou ow'dst2 yesterday. Oth To me? Ha! ha! false to me? Iago. Why, how now, general? no more of that. Oth. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the rack:- I swear, 'tis better to be much abus'd, Than but to know't a little. Iago. How now, my lord? Oth. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me: I slept the next night well, was free and merry; I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all. Iago. I am sorry to hear this. Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, So I had nothing known: O now, for ever, Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner; and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone! Iago. Is it possible!-My lord,-- Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof; [Taking him by the throat. Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, Thou hadst been better have been born a dog Than answer my wak'd wrath. Iago. Is it come to this ? Oth. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove it, That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, To hang a doubt on: or, wo upon thy life! Iago. My noble lord,- Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, Never pray more: abandon all remorse ;4 On horror's head horrors accumulate : Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, For nothing canst thou to damnation add, Greater than that. Iago. O grace! O heaven defend me! Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense?- God be wi' you; take mine office.-O wretched fool, That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!- Omonstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest, is not safe.- I thank you for this profit; and, from hence, I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence. Oth. Nay, stay:-Thou should'st be honest. Iago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool, 1 The mandrake has a soporific quality. 2 Possessedst. 3 The vilest of the camp. Pioneers were gen- Brally degraded soldiers. And loses that it works for. Oth. By the world, I think my wife be honest, and think she is not; I think that thou art just, and think thou art not; I'll have some proof: Her name, that was as fresh As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black As mine own face.-If there be cords, or knives, Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, I'll not endure it. Would, I were satisfied! Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion: I do repent me, that I put it to you. You would be satisfied? Oth. Would? nay, I will. Iago. And may: but, how? how satisfied, my Oth. lord? Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? Behold her tupp'd? Death and damnation! O! Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then, If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster, More than their own! What then? how then? What shall I say? Where's satisfaction? It is impossible, you should see this, Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkies, As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, If imputation, and strong circumstances,- Which lead directly to the door of truth,- Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. lago. I do not like the office: But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far,- Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love,- I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; And, being troubled with a raging tooth, I could not sleep. There are a kind of men so loose of soul, That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs; One of this kind is Cassio: In sleep I heard him say,-Sweet Desdemona, Let us be wary, let us hide our loves! And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hand, Cry,-O, sweet creature! and then kiss me hard, As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then Cried,-Cursed fate! that gave thee to the Moor! Oth. O monstrous! monstrous! Iago. Nay, this was but his dream Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion; 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs That do demonstrate thinly. Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. wise: yet we see nothing Iago. Nay, but be done; She may be honest yet. Tell me but this,- Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief, Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand? Oth. I gave her such a one; 'twas my first gift. Iago. I know not that: but such a handkerchief (I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day See Cassio wipe his beard with. Oth. If it be that,-- Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers, It speaks against her with the other proofs. Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives, One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! Now do I see 'tis true.-Look here, Iago; All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven: 4 All tenderness, all pity. 5 Speaking, manifest. 6 Since. 930 ACT III. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Tis gone.- Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell! Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne,' To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,2 For 'tis of aspics' tongues! lago. Pray, be content. Oth. O, blood, Iago, blood! Iago. Patience, I say! your mind, perhaps, may change. Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, Whose icy current and compulsive course Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on To the Propontic, and the Hellespont; Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, Till that a capable and wide revenge Swallow them up.-Now, by yond' marble heaven, In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. I here engage my words. lago. Do not rise yet.- [Kneels. Witness, you ever-burning lights above! You elements that clip us round about! Witness, that here lago doth give up The execution of his wit, hands, heart, To wrong'd Othello's service! let him command, And to obey shall be in me remorse, What bloody work soever. Oth. I greet thy love, Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun- teous, And will upon the instant put thee to't: Within these three days, let me hear thee say, That Cassio's not alive. Iago. My friend is dead; 'tis done, at your re- quest: But let her live. Oth Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw, To furnish me with some swift means of death For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-The same. Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cassio lies? Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where? Des. Why, man? Clo. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier lies, is stabbing Des. Go to: Where lodges he? Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse Full of crusadoes. And, but my noble Moor Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness As jealous creatures are, it were enough To put him to ill thinking. Emil. Is he not jealous? Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was born, Drew all such humours from him. Emil. Look, where he comes. Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio Be call'd to him.-How is't with you, my lord? Enter Othello. Oth. Well, my good lady:-[Aside. O, hard ness to dissemble!- How do you, Desdemona? Des. Well, my good lord. Oth. Give me your hand: This hand is moist, my lady. Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known' no sorrow. Oth. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart;- Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, Much castigation,' exercise devout; For here's a young and sweating devil here, That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, A frank one. Des. You may, indeed, say so; For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. Oth. A liberal hand: The hearts of old, gave hands; But our new heraldry is-hands, not hearts. Des. I cannot speak of this. promise. Oth. What promise, chuck? Come now, your Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum offends me; Lend me thy handkerchief. Des. Here, my lord.. I have it not about me. Oth. That which I gave you. Des. Oth. Not? Des. Oth. No, indeed, my lord. That handkerchief That is a fault: Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept it. "Twould make her amiable, and subdue my father Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you Entirely to her love; but if she lost it, where I lie. Des. Can any thing be made of this? Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me to devise a lodging, and say-he lies here, or he lies there, were to lie in my own throat. Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified by report? Clo. I will catechise the world for him; that is, make questions, and by them answer. Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him, I have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all will be well. Clo. To do this, is within the compass of man's wit and therefore I will attempt the doing it. Ex. Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief. Emilia? Emil. I know not, madam. 1 The heart on which thou wast enthroned, 2 Freight, load. 3 Capacious. 4 Embrace. Or made a gift of it, my father's eye Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hunt After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me; And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, To give it her. I did so: and take heed of't, Make it a darling like your precious eye; As nothing else could match. To lose or giv't away, were such perdition, Des. Is it possible? Oth. "Tis true: there's magic in the web of it; A sybil, that had number'd in the world The sun to make two hundred compasses, In her prophetic fury sew'd the work: The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk; And it was died in mummy, which the skillful Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 5 Not of malice to others, but of tenderness for him. 6 A Portuguese coin. 7 Penance, discipline. 9 Enchantress, SCENE IV. 931 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OE VENICE. Des. Indeed! 'is't true? Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to't well. Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never seen it. Oth. Ha! wherefore? Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the way? Des. Heaven bless us! Oth. Say you? Des. It is not lost; But what an if it were? Oth. Ha! Des. I say, it is not lost. Oth. Fetch't, let me see it. Des. Why, so I can, sir; but I will not now: This is a trick, to put me from my suit; I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. And, certainly, in strange unquietness. Iago. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon When it hath blown his ranks into the air; And, like the devil, from his very arm Puff'd his own brother;-And can he be angry? Something of moment, then: I will go meet him; There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. state.- Des. I pr'ythee, do so.-Something, sure, of Exit lago Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice, Made démonstrable here in Cyprus to him.- Hath puddled his clear spirit: and, in such cases, Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, Though great ones are their object. "Tis even so, For let our finger ache, and it indues Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense Of pain: Nay, we must think, men are not gods; Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind Nor of them look for such observances misgives. Des. Come, come; You'll never meet a more sufficient man. Oth. The handkerchief,- Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. Oth. The handkerchief,- Des. A man that, all his time, Hath founded his good fortune on your love; Shar'd dangers with you ;- Oth. Des. In sooth, You are to blame. Oth. Emil. Away! The handkerchief, [Exit Othello. Is not this man jealous? Des. I ne'er saw this before. Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: I am most unhappy in the loss of it. Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man: They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, They belch us. Look you! Cassio, and my husband. Enter Iago and Cassio. Iago. There is no other way; 'tis she must do't; And, lo, the happiness! go, and impórtune her. Des. How now? good Cassio? what's the news with you? Cas. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you, That, by your virtuous means, I may again Exist, and be a member of his love, Whom 1, with all the duty of my heart, Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd: If my offence be of such mortal kind, That neither service past, nor present sorrows, Nor purpos'd merit in futurity, Can ransom me into his love again, But to know so must be my benefit; So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content, And shut myself up in some other course, To fortune's alms. Des. Alas! thrice-gentle Cassio, My advocation is not now in tune; My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him, Were he in favour,2 as in humour, alter'd. So help me, every spirit sanctified, As I have spoken for you all my best; And stood within the blank³ of his displeasure, For my free speech! You must a while be patient: What I can do, I will; and more I will, Than for myself1 dare: let that suffice you. Iago. Is my lord angry? Emil. He went hence but now, 1 Vehement, violent. 2 In countenance.. 3 Within the shot of his anger. 4 Treason. As fit the bridal.'-Beshrew me much, Emilia, I was (unhandsome warrior as I am,) Arraigning his unkindness with my soul; But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness, And he's indited falsely. Emil. Pray heaven, it be state-matters, as you think; And no conception, nor no jealous toy, Concerning you. Des. Alas, the day! I never gave him cause. Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so; They are not ever jealous for the cause, But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster, Begot upon itself, born on itself. Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello's mind! Emil. Lady, amen. Des. I will go seek him.-Cassio, walk hereabout; If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, And seek to effect it to my uttermost. Cas. I humbly unank your ladyship. [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia Enter Bianca. Bian. Save you, friend Cassio! Cas. What make you from home; How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. What! keep a week away? seven days and nights? Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours More tedious than the dial eight score times? O weary reckoning! Cas. Pardon me, Bianca; I have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd; But I shall, in a more continuate time, Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, [Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief. Take me this work out." Bian. 0, Cassio, whence came this? This is some token from a newer friend. To the felt absence now I feel a cause: Is it come to this? Well, well. Cas. Woman, go to! Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, From whence you have them. You are jealous now, That this is from some mistress, some remembrance: No, in good troth, Bianca. Bian. Why, whose is it? Cas. I know not, sweet: I found it in my chamber, I like the work well; ere it be demanded, (As like enough it will,) I'd have it copied : 6 Time less interrupted. 7 The meaning is, not pick out the work, but 5 The nuptial feast. copy this work in another handkerchief. 932 ACT IV. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Take it and do it; and leave me for this time. Bian. Leave you! wherefore? Cas. I do attend here on the general; And think it no addition, nor my wish, To have him see me woman'd. Bian. Cas. Not that I love you not. Bian. Why, I pray you? But that you do not love me. I pray you, bring me on the way a little; And say, if I shall see you soon at night. Cas. "Tis but a little way, that I can bring you, For I attend here: but I'll see you soon. Bian. "Tis very good; I must be circumstanc'd. ACT IV. fulsome.-Handkerchief,-confessions.-handker- chief.-To confess, and be hang'd for his labour.3- First, to be hanged, and then to confess :-1 trem- ble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is not words, that shake me thus:-Pish!-Noses, ears, and lips: Is it possible?-Confess?-Hand kerchief!-O devil!- [Falls into a trance. Jago Work on. [caught:- My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, All guiltless meet reproach.-What, ho! my lord! Enter Cassio. [Exeunt. My lord, I say! Othello!-How now, Cassio? SCENE I.-The same. Enter Othello and lago. Iago. Will you think so? Oth. Iago. To kiss in private? Think so, Iago? What, Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss. Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed, An hour, or more, not meaning any harm? Oth. Naked abed. Iago, and not mean harm? It is hypocrisy against the devil: They that mean virtuously, and yet do so, The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: But if I give my wife a handkerchief, Oth. What then? Iago. Why then 'tis hers, my lord; and being hers, She may, I think, bestow't on any man. Oth. She is protrectress of her honour too; May she give that? Iago. Her honour is an essence that's not They have it very oft, that have it not: But, for the handkerchief- Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have got it:- Thou said'st,-0, it comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all,-he had my handkerchief." Tago. Ay, what of that? Oth. seen; for- That's not so good, now. Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you wrong? Or heard him say,-As knaves be such abroad, Who having, by their own importunate suit, Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose But they must blab- Oth. Hath he said any thing? Tago. He hath, my lord; but be you well assur'd, No more than he'll unswear. Oth. What hath he said? Iago. 'Faith, that he did,-I know not what he did. Oth. What? what? Iago. Lie Oth. With her? Iago. Cas. What is the matter? Tugo. My lord has fallen into an epilepsy; This is his second fit; he had one yesterday. Cas. Rub him about the temples. lago. No, forbear. The lethargy must have his quiet course: If not, he foams at mouth; and, by and by. Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : Do you withdraw yourself a little while, He will recover straight; when he is gone, I would on great occasion speak with you.- Exit Cassio. How is it, general? have you not hurt your head? Oth. Dost thou mock me? Iago. I mock you! no. by heaven: 'Would you would bear your fortunes like a man. Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. Iago. There's many a beast, then, in a populous city, And many a civil monster. Oth. Did he confess it? Good sir, be a man: Iago. Think every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd, May draw with you: there's millions now alive, That nightly lie in those unproper4 beds, Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better. O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch mock, To lip a wanton in a secure couch, And to suppose her chaste! No. let me know: And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. Oth. O, thou art wise; 'tis certain. Iago. Stand you a while apart; Confine yourself but in a patient list 5 Whilst you were here ere while mad with your grief, (A passion most unsuiting such a man.) Cassio came hither: I shifted him away, And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstacy; Bade him anon return, and here speak with me The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself, And mark the fleers, the gibes, the notable scorns, That dwell in every region of his face; For I will make him tell the tale anew.- Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when He hath, and is again to cope your wife; I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience; Or or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen, And nothing of a man. Dost thou hear, Iago? Oth. I will be found most cunning in my patience; But (dost thou hear?) most bloody. Iago. With her, on her! what you will. Oth. Lie with her! lie on her!-We say lie on But yet keep time in all. her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's 1 The raven was thought to be a constant at- tendant on a house infected with the plague. 2 Old spelling of suppled, i. e. softened. That's not amiss: Will you withdraw? [Othello, withdraws. Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, A housewife, that by selling her desires, 3 A proverbial saying. 4 Common. 5 Within the bounds of patience. f Hide. SCENE I. 933 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature, That dotes on Cassio,-as 'tis the strumpet's plague, To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one; He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain From the excess of laughter:-Here he comes :- Re-enter Cassio. As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad; And his unbookish' jealousy must construe Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour Quite in the wrong.-How do you now, lieutenant? Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition, Whose want even kills me. Iago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure of't. Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, [Speaking lower. How quickly should you speed. Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! Oth. Look, how he laughs already! [Aside. lago. I never knew a woman love man so. Cas. Alas, poor rogue! I think, i'faith, she loves me. Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. [Aside. Now he importunes him To tell it o'er: Go to; well said, well said. [Aside. Iago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her: Do you intend it? Cas. Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? [Aside. Cas. I marry her!-what? a customer! I pr'y- thee, bear some charity to my wit; do not think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! Iago. Do you hear, Cassio? Oth. Ha, ha, ha! Oth. So, so, so, so: They laugh that win. Aside. Iago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. lago. I am a very villain else. Oth. Have you scored me? Well. Aside. Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she is persuaded I will marry her out of her own love and flattery, not out of my promise. Oth. Iago beckons me; now he begins the story. [Aside. Cas. She was here even now; she haunts me in every place. I was, the other day, talking on the sea-bank with certain Venetians; and thither comes this bauble; by this hand, she falls thus about my neck;--- Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio! as it were: his gesture imports it. [Aside. Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so hales, and pulls me: ha, ha, ha!- Oth. Now he tells, how she pluck'd him to my chamber: 0, I see that nose of yours, but not that [Aside. dog I shall throw it to. Cas. Well, I must leave her company. Iago. Before me! look where she comes. Enter Bianca. Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew!4 marry, a per- fumed one.-What do you mean by this haunting of me? Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you' What did you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. 2 and not know who left it there! This is some of work, that you should find it in your chamber. minx's token, and I must take out the work? There, -give it your hobby-horse: wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work on't. Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca! how now? how now? Oth. By heaven, that should be my handker- chief! [Aside. Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you may: an you will not, come when you are next prepared for. [Exit. Iago. After her, after her. Cas. 'Faith I must, she'll rail in the street else. lago. Will you sup there? Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. Iago. Well, I may chance to see you; for I would very fain speak with you. Cas. Pr'ythee come; Will you? Iago. Go to; say no more [Exit Cassio. Oth. How shall I murder him, Iago? Iago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? Oth. O, Iago! Iago. And did you see the handkerchief? Oth. Was that mine? Iago. Yours, by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman, your wife! she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore. Oth. I would have him nine years a killing:- A fine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman! Iago. Nay, you must forget that. Oth. Ay, let her rot and perish, and be damned to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the world hath not a sweeter creature; she might lie by an emperors's side, and command him tasks. Iago. Nay, that's not your way. Oth. Hang her! I do but say what she is!-So delicate with her needle!-An admirable musician! O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear!- of so high and plenteous wit and invention!- Iago. She's the worse for all this. Oth. O, a thousand, a thousand times :-And then, of so gentle a condition! Iago. Ay, too gentle. Iago!-0, lago, the pity of it, lago! Oth. Nay, that's certain: But yet the pity of it, her patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give comes near nobody. Oth. I will chop her into messes :--Cuckold me Iago. O, tis foul in her. Oth. With mine officer! Iago. That's fouler. I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beau Oth. Get me some poison, lago; this night:- ty unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago. Iago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her. bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. Oth. Good, good: the justice of it pleases; very good. Iago. And, for Cassio,-let me be his undertaker: You shall hear more by midnight. [A trumpet within. Oth. Excellent good,-What trumpet is that same? Iago. Something from Venice, sure. "Tis Lodo- vico, I must take out the whole work?-A likely piece Come from the duke: and see, your wife is with him 1 Ignorant. 3 A common woman. 2 Title of lieutenant. 4 A polecat. 5 Of so sweet a disposition. 934 ACT IV. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. Lod. 'Save you, worthy general! With all my heart, sir. Oth. Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. [Gives him a packet. Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. [Opens the packet and reads. Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodo-I vico? Iago. I am very glad to see you, signior; Welcome to Cyprus. Lod. I thank you: How goes lieutenant Cassio? lago. Lives, sir. Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my lord An unkind breach: but you shall make all well. Oth. Are you sure of that? Des. My lord? Oth. This fail you not to do, as you will [Reads. Lod. He did not call: he's busy in the paper. Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? Des. A most unhappy one; I would do much To atone¹ them, for the love I bear to Cassio. Oth. Fire and brimstone! Des. Oth. Des. What, is he angry? Lod. My lord? Are you wise? May be, the letter mov'd him; For, as I think, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his government. Des. By my troth, I am glad on't. Oth. Des. Indeed. My lord? How, sweet Othello? [Striking her. Oth. I am glad to see you mad. Des. Oth. Devil! Des. I have not deserv'd this. Lod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice, Though I should swear I saw it: 'Tis very much; Make her amends, she weeps. Oth. O devil! devil! If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile :- Out of my sight! Des. I will not stay to offend you. Lod. Truly, an obedient lady ;- I do beseech your lordship, call her back. Oth. Mistress,-- Des. Oth. My lord? [Going. What would you with her, sir? Lod. Who, I, my lord? Oth. Ay; you did wish, that I would make her turn: The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, Could neither graze, nor pierce? Iago. He is much chang'd. Lod. Are his wits safe? is he not light of brain? Iago. He is that he is; I may not breathe my censure. What he might be,-if, what he might, he is not,- would to heaven, he were. Lod. What, strike his wife' Iago. 'Faith, that was not so well; Yet 'would I knew, That stroke would prove the worst. Lod. And new-create this fault? Or did the letters work upon his blood, Fago. Is it his use? Alas, alas! It is not honesty in me, to speak What I have seen and known. You shall observe him; And his own courses will denote him so, That I may save my speech: Do but go after, And mark how he continues. Lod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A room in the castle. Enter Othello, and Emilia. Oth. You have seen nothing then? Emil. Nor ever heard; nor ever did suspect. Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. Emil. But then I saw no harm: and then I heard Each syllable, that breath made up between them. Oth. What, did they never whisper? Emil. Never, my lord. Oth. Nor send you out o'the way? Emil. Never. Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor nothing? Emil. Never, my lord. Oth. That's strange. Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other, Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. If any wretch hath put this in your head, Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, There's no man happy; the purest of their wives Is foul as slander. Oth. Bid her come hither:-go.- Exit Einilia She says enough :-yet she's a simple bawd, That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets: And yet she'll kneel, and pray; I have seen her do't. Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, Des. My lord, what is your will? Oth, And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep: Pray, chuck, come hither. And she's obedient, as you say,-obedient,- Des. What is your pleasure? Oth. Let me see your eyes; Very obedient;-Proceed you in your tears.- Concerning this, sir,-O well-painted passion! Look in my face. Des. I am commanded home:-Get you away; What horrible fancy's this? I'll send for you anon.-Sir, I obey the mandate, Oth. Some of your function, mistress; [To Emil. And will return to Venice ;-Hence, avaunt! Leave procreants alone, and shut the door; [Exit Desdemona. Cough, or cry-hem, if any, body come: Cassio shall have my place. And,-sir, to-night, Your mystery, your mystery;-nay, despatch. I do entreat that we may sup together. [Exit Emilia. You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.-Goats and Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech [Exit. import? Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate I understand a fury in your words. Call-all-in-all sufficient?-this the noble nature But not the words. Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue Oth. Why, what art thon? Des. And loyal wife. monkies! 1 Reconcile. Your wife, my lord, your true કરમ OTHELLO AND DESDEMONA. OTHELLO.-"Why, what art thou?" DESDEMONA.-"Your wife, my lord, your true and loyal wife." "Othello," Act IV., Scene II. UNIV OF WICH SCENE II. 935 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double- damn'd, Swear-thou art honest. Des. Heaven doth truly know it. Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell. Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am I false? Oth. O Desdemona!-away! away! away! Des. Alas, the heavy day!-Why do you weep? Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord? If, haply, you my father do suspect, An instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him, Why, I have lost him too. Oth Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction; had he rain'd All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head; Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; I should have found in some part of my soul' A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at,- O! O! Yet could I bear that too; well, very well: But there, where I have garner'd' up my heart; Where either I must live, or bear no life; The fountain from the which my current runs, Or else dries up; to be discarded thence! Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads To knot and gender in!-turn thy complexion there! Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubim; Ay, there, look grim as hell! Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, That the sense aches at thee.-'Would, thou hadst ne'er been born! Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write whore upon? What committed! Committed!-0 thou public commoner! I should make very forges of my cheeks, That would to cinders burn up modesty, Did I but speak thy deeds.-What committed! Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks; The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, And will not hear it: What committed!- Impudent strumpet! Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. Oth. Are you not a strumpet? Des. No, as I am a Christian: If to preserve this vessel for my lord, From any other foul unlawful touch, Be-not to be a strumpet, I am none. Oth. What, not a whore? Des. Oth. Is it possible? I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel Exit, Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive?- How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? Des. 'Faith, half asleep. Emil. Good madam, what's the matter with my lord? Des. With who? Emil. Why, with my lord, madam Des. Who is thy lord? Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia; I cannot weep; nor answer I have none, But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night Lay on my bed my wedding sheets,-remember ;- And call thy husband hither. Emil. Here is a change, indeed! [Exit Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet. How have I been behav'd, that he might stick The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse? Re-enter Emilia, with lago. Iago. What is your pleasure, madam? How 13 it with you? Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young babes, Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks: He might have chid me so; for, in good faith, I am a child to chiding. Iago. What's the matter, lady? Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, As true hearts cannot bear. Des. Am I that name, Iago? Iago. What name, fair lady? Des. Such as, she says, my lord did I was. say Emil. He call'd her, whore; a beggar, in his drink, Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.2 Iago. Why did he so? Des. I do not know; I am sure, I am none such. Iago. Do not weep, do not weep; Alas, the day! Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches, Her father, and her country, and her friends, To be call'd-whore? would it not make one weep! Des. It is my wretched fortune. Iago. Beshrew him for it! How comes the trick upon him? Des. Nay, heaven doth know Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, Some busy and insinuating rogue, Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office, Have not devis'd this slander; I'll be hang'd else. Iago. Fie, there is no such man: it is impossible. Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him. Emil. A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his bones! Why should he call her, whore? who keeps her company? What place? what time? what form? what likeli hood? No, as I shall be saved. The Moor abus'd by some most villainous knave, Des. O, heaven forgive us! Oth. I cry you mercy, then; I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, That married with Othello.-You, mistress, Re-enter Emilia. That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, you! We have done our course; there's money for your pains; 1 Treasured up. 2 His drab. Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow :- 0, heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold. And put in every honest hand a whip, To lash the rascal naked through the world, Even from the east to the west! Speak within door. Iago. Emil. O, fie upon him! some such squire he was That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, And made you to suspect me with the Moor. Iago. You are a fool; go to. 3 Fellows. 4 Inside out 936 ACT IV OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Des. O good Iago, What shall I do to win my lord again? Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven, I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:- If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed; Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, Delighted them in any other form; Or that I do not yet, and ever did, And ever will,-though he do shake me off To beggarly divorcement,-love him dearly, Comfort forswear me! Unkindness may do much; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore; It does abhor me, now I speak the word; To do the act that might the addition' earn, Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. Iago. I pray you, be content; 'tis but his humour; The business of the state does him offence, And he does chide with you. Des. If 'twere no other,- Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets. Hark, how these instruments summon to supper! And the great messengers of Venice stay: Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. Enter Roderigo. How now, Roderigo? But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee indeed, which I have greater reason to believe now than ever,-I mean, purpose, courage, and valour,-1his night show it: if thou the next night following en- joyest not Desdemona, take me from this world with treachery, and devise engines for my life. Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason, and compass? Iago. Sir, there is especial commission come from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. Rod. Is that true? why, then Othello and Desde- mona return again to Venice. Iago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode be lingered here by some accident: wherein none can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio, Rod. How do you mean-removing of him? Iago. Why, by making him incapable of Othello's place; knocking out his brains. Rod. And that you would have me do? Iago. Ay, if you dare do yourself a profit, and a right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither will I go to him;-he knows not yet of his honour- able fortune: if you will watch his going thence (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one,) you may take him at your pleasure; I will be near to second your attempt, and he shall fall be- tween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with along with me; I will show you such a necessity in me. Iago. What in the contrary? Rod. Every day thou doff'st me2 with some device, Iago; and rather (as it seems to me now,) keep'st from me all conveniency, that suppliest me with the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer endure it: Nor am I yet pursuaded, to put up in peace what already I have foolishly suf- fered. Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too much; for your words and performance are no kin together. Iago. You charge me most unjustly. Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself out of my means. The jewels you have had from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have corrupted a votarist: You have told me-she has received them, and returned me expectations and comforts of sudden respect and acquittance ;3 but I find none. Iago. Well; go to; very well. Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 'tis not very well: By this hand, I say, it is very scurvy: and begin to find myself fobbed in it. lago. Very well. Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make myself known to Desdemona: if she will return me my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my unlawful solicitation; if not, assure yourself, I will seek satisfaction of you. Jago. You have said now. Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I protest intendment of doing. Iago. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and even, from this instant, do build on thee a better opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo: Thou hast taken against me a most just exception; but, yet, I protest, I have dealt most di- rectly in thy affair. Rod. It hath not appeared. Iago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared; and your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. 2 Putt'st me off. 1 Title. his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to waste: about it. Rod. I will hear further reason for this. Iago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Another room in the castle. En- ter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia and Attendants. Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no further. Oth. O pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your ladyship. Des. Your honour is most welcome. Olh. 0,-Desdemona, Des. Will you walk, sir?- My lord? Oth. Get you to bed on the instant, I will be re- turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look, it be done. Des. I will, my lord. [Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. Emil. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he did. Des. He says, he will return incontinent; He hath commanded me to go to bed, And bade me to dismiss you. Emil. Dismiss me! Des. It was his bidding; therefore good Emilia, Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu: We must not now displease him. Emil. I would, you had never seen him! Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, Pr'ythee, unpin me,-have grace and favour in them. Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed. 3 Requital. 4 Immediately. SCENE I. 93 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Des. All's one :-Good father! how foolish are Des. our minds!- If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me In one of those same sheets. Emil. Come, come, you talk. Des. My mother had a maid call'd-Barbara; She was in love; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, And did forsake her: she had a song of-willow, An old thing twas, but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it: That song, to-night, Will not go from my mind; I have much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side, And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch. Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? Des. No, unpin me here. This Lodovico is a proper man. Emil. A very handsome man. Des. And he speaks well. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. Emil. By my troth, I think I should; and un- do't, when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring; nor for measures of lawn; nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhibition: but for the whole world,-Why, who would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for't. Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for the whole world. Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'the world: and, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong in your own world, and you might quickly make it right. Des. I do not think there is any such woman. Emil. Yes, a dozen: and as many To the vantage, as would store the world they play'd for. Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have But, I do think, it is their husband's faults, walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his If wives do fall: Say, that they slack their duties, nether lip. I. Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow; [Singing. Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, Sing willow, willow, willow: The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans; Sing willow, &c. And pour our treasures into foreign laps; Or else break out in peevish jealousies, Or scant our former havings in despite; Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us, Why, we have galls; and, though we have some grace, Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know, Their wives have senses like them? they see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the As husbands have. What is that they do, stones; Lay by these: Sing willow, willow, willow: Pr'ythee, hie thee; he'll come anon.- When they change us for others? Is it sport? I think it is; And doth affection breed it? I think, it doth; Is't frailty, that thus errs? It is so to: And have not we affections? Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have? Sing all a green willow must be my garland. Then, let them use us well: else, let them know, II. The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such usage send, Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,- Nay, that's not next.-Hark! who is it that knocks? Not to pick bad from bad; but, by bad, mend! Emil. It is the wind. Des. I call'd my love, false love; but what said he then? Sing willow, &c. ACT V. [Exeunt Iago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will he come : If I court mo women, you'll couch with mo men. SCENE I-A street. Enter Iago and Roderigo. So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch; Doth that bode weeping? Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there Des. I have heard it said so.-O, these men, these men!- Dost thou in conscience think,-tell me, Emilia,- That there be women do abuse their husbands In such gross kind? Emil. There be some such, no question. Des Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world? Emil. Why would not you? Des. Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home: Quick, quick; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow: It makes us, or it mars us: think on that, And fix most firm thy resolution. Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in't. Iago. Here, at thy hand; be bold, and take thy sword. [Retires to a little distance. Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed; And yet he has given me satisfying reasons: 'Tis but a man gone :-forth, my sword; he dies. [Goes to his stand. No, by this heavenly light! Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to Emil. Nor I by this heavenly light; I might do't as well i'the dark. the sense.6 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, world? Every way makes my gain Live Roderigo, Emil. The world is a huge thing: 'Tis a great He calls me to a restitution large price For a small vice. Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd' from him, As gifts to Desdemona. 1 Wild, inconstant. 2 Mo for more. 3 Our former allowance of expence. 4 Sensation. 6 To the quick. 5 Unsheathed. 7 Fished. 938 ACT V. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. It must not be: if Cassio do remain, He hath a daily beauty in his life, That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor May unfold me to him; there stand I in much per": No, he must die:-But so, I hear him coming. Enter Cassio. Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he ;-Villain, thou diest. [Rushes from his post, and makes a pass at Cassio. Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, But that my coat is better than thou think'st; I will make proof of thine. Rod. [Draws, and wounds Roderigo. O, I am slain! [Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind in the leg, and exit. Cas. I am inaim'd for ever:-Help, ho! mur- der! murder! [Falls. Enter Othello, at a distance. Oth. The voice of Cassio:-Iago keeps his word. Rod. O, villain that I am! Oth. Hark! 'tis even so. Cas. O, help! ho! light! a surgeon! Oth. 'Tis he;-0 brave lago, honest, and just, That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong! Thou teachest me,-Minion, your dear lies dead, And your fate hies apace :-Strumpet, I come: Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are blotted; Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spotted. [Exit Othello. Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a distance. Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage?2 mur- der! murder! Gra. 'Tis some mischance; the cry is very direful. Cas. O, help! Lod. Rod. Hark! O wretched villain! Cas. That's one of them. Iago. O murderous slave! O villain; [lago stabs Roderigo. Rod. O damn'd Iago! O inhuman dog!- O! O! O! Iago. Kill men i'the dark;-Where be these bloody thieves? How silent is this town!-Ho! murder! murder! What may you be? are you of good, or evil? Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. Iago. Signior Lodovico? I cry you mercy; Here's Cassio hur Cassio? Lod. He, sir. lago. By villains. Gra Iago. Jago. How is it, brother? Cas. My leg is cut in two. Marry, heaven forbid !- Light, gentlemen; I'll bind it with my shirt. Enter Bianca. Bian. What is the matter, ho? who is't that cried? Iago. Who is't that cried? Bian. O my dear Cassio! My sweet Cassio! O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! Iago. O notable strumpet!-Cassio, may you suspect Who they should be, that have thus mangled you? Cas. No. Gra. I am sorry, to find you thus: I have been to seek you. Fago. Lend me a garter: So.-0, for a chair, To bear him easily hence! Bian. Alas, he faints:-0 Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash To be a party in this injury.- Patience a while, good Cassio.-Come, come; Lend me a light.-Know we this face, or no? Alas! my friend; and my dear countryman, Lod. Two or three groans;-it is a heavy night; Roderigo? no:-Yes, sure; O heaven! Roderigo. These may be counterfeits; let's think't unsafe To come in to the cry, without more help. Rod. Nobody come? then shall I bleed to death. Enter lago, with a light. Lod. Hark! Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and weapons. lago. Who's there? whose noise is this, that cries on murder? Lod. We do not know. Iago. Did you not hear a cry? Cas. Here, here; for heaven's sake, help me. Iago. What's the matter? Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. Lod. The same, indeed; a very valiant fellow. Iago. What are you here that cry so grievously? Cas. Iago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains! Give me some help. Iago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done this? Cas. I think, that one of them is hereabout, And cannot make away. Iago. O treacherous villains!- What are you there? come in, and give some help. [To Lodovico and Gratiano. Rod. O, help me here! 1 Out. 2 No passengers. Gra. What, of Venice? fago. Even he, sir; did you know him? Gra. Know him? ay. Iago. Signior Gratiano? I cry you gentle pardon; These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, That so neglected you. Gra. I am glad to see you. Iago How do you, Cassio ?- O, a chair, a chair! Gra. Roderigo! Iago. He, he, 'tis he :-0, that's well said;-the chair:- [A chair brought in, I'll fetch the general's surgeon.-For you, mistress Some good man bear him carefully from hence; To Bianca. Save you your labour. He that lies slain hero, Cassio. Was my dear friend: What malice was between you! Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the man. Iago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale ?--O, bear him out o'the air.- [Cassio and Rod. are borne off. Stay you, good gentlemen:-Look you pale, mis- tress? Do you perceive the ghastness of her eye?- Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon:- Behold her well; I pray you, look upon her; Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak. 3 Thick, cloudy. SCENE I. 939 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Though tongues were out of use. Enter Emilia. Emil. 'Las, what's the matter; what's the matter, husband? Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark, By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd; He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. Emil. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! Iago. This is the fruit of whoring.-Pr'ythee, Emilia, Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night:- What, do you shake at that? Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore shake not. Iago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet! Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest, As you that thus abuse me. Emil. As I? foh! fie upon thee! lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio dress'd:- Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale.- Emilia, run you to the citadel, And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd.- Will you go on, I pray?-This is the night, [Aside. That either makes me, or fordoes' me quite. [Exe. SCENE II-A bed-chamber: Desdemona in bed asleep. A light burning. Enter Othello. Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my sou,- Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!-- It is the cause.-Yet I'll not shed her blood; Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, And smooth as monumental alabaster. [Takes off his sword. Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. Put out the light, and then put out the light:2 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me:-but once put out thine, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat, Oth. Amen, with all my heart: Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me Oth. Humph! Des. And yet I fear you: for you are fatal then, When your eyes roll so: Why I should fear, I know not, Since guiltiness I know not; but yet, I feel, I fear. Oth. Think on thy sins. Des. They are loves I bear to you. Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving. Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: These are portents; but yet, I hope, I hope, They do not point on me. Oth. Peace, and be stil. Des. I will so: What's the matter? Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd, and gave thee, Thou gav'st to Cassio. Des. No, by my life and soul; Send for the man, and ask him. Oth. Sweet soul, take heed, Take heed of perjury; thou'rt on thy death-bed. Des. Ay, but not yet to die. Oth. Yes, presently: Thererefore confess thee freely of thy sin; Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, For to deny each article with oath, That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me! Oth. I say, amen. Des. And have you mercy too!-I never did Offend you in my life; never lov'd Cassio, But with such general warranty of heaven As I might love: I never gave him token. Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. O perjur'd woman' thou dost stone my heart, And mak'st me call, what I intend to do,- A murder, which I thought a sacrifice:4 I saw the handkerchief. Des. He found it then; That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy I never gave it him :-Send for him hither, rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither:-I'll smell it on the tree.-- [Kissing her. O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade Justice to break her sword!-One more, one more.- Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, And love thee after:-One more, and this the last: So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly; It strikes, where it doth love.-She wakes- Des. Who's there? Othello? Oth. Ay, Desdemona. Des. Will you come to bed, my lord? Oth. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? Des. Ay, my lord. Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime, Unreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace, Solicit for it straight. Des Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that? Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: I would not kill thy unprepared spirit; And let him confess a truth. Oth. He hath confess'd. How? unlawfully? Des. What, my lord? Oth. That he hath-us'd thee. Des. Oth. Ay. Des. Oth. He'll not say so. No, his mouth is stopp d; Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't." Des. My fear interprets then,-What, is he dead? Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great re- venge Had stomach for them all. Des. Alas! he is betray'd, and I undone.. Oth. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my face? Des. 0, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. Oth. Down, strumpet! Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. Oth. Nay, if you strive,- Des. Oth. No,-Heaven forfend !s-I would not kill thy soul. There is no pause. Des. Talk you of killing? Oth. Des. Have mercy on me! 1 Undoes. 3 Forbid. Ay, I do. Then heaven 2. e. The light of life. But half an hour. Being done, But while I say one prayer. [He smothers her. my lord! what ho Des. Oth. It is too late. Emil. [Within.] My lord! my lord! my lord! 4 A sacrifice atoning for thy crime. 5 Has taken measures. 940 ACT V. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE Oth. What noise is this?-Not dead? not yet quite dead? 1, that am cruel, am yet merciful; I would not have thee linger in thy pain.- So, so.¹ Emil. [Within.] What ho! my lord, my lord! Oth. Who's there? Emil. [Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you. Oth. Yes;-'tis Emilia:-by and by.-She's dead. Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death: The noise was high.-Ha! no more moving? Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were't good? I think, she stirs again :-No.-What's the best? If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife: My wife! my wife! what wife?-I have no wife: O, insupportable! O heavy hour! Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse Of sun and moon; and that the affrighted globe Should yawn at alteration.. Emil. [Within.] I do beseech you I may speak with you, O, good my lord! Oth. I had forgot thee: 0, come in, Emilia:- Soft,-by and by:-Let me the curtains draw.- Where art thou? What's the matter with thee [Unlocks the door. now? Enter Emilia. Emil. O, good my lord, yonder's foul murder done. Oth. What? now? Emil. But now, my lord! Oth. It is the very error of the moon; She comes more near the earth than she was wont, And makes men mad. Emil. Cassio, my lord, has killed a young Ve- netian, Call'd-Roderigo. Oth. And Cassio kill'd? Emil. Roderigo kill'd! No, Cassio is not kill'd. Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then murder's out tune, And sweet revenge grows harsh. Des. 0, falsely, falsely murder'd! Emil. Oth. That! what? Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say That she was false; 0, she was heavenly true! Oth. Cassio did tup her; ask thy husband else. 0, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell. But that I did proceed upon just grounds To this extremity; Thy husband knew it all. Emil. My husband? Oth. Thy husband. Emil. That she was false to wedlock? Oth. Nay, had she been true, Ay, with Cassio, If heaven would make me such another world Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,2 I'd not have sold her for it. Emil. My husband? Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; An honest man he is, and hates the slime That sticks on filthy deeds. Emil. My husband? Oth. What needs this itterance, woman? I say thy husband. Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with love! My husband say, that she was false? Oth. I He, woman My friend, thy husband, honest, honest. Iago say, thy husband: dost understand the word? Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart; She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. Oth. Ha! Emil. Do thy worst! This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, Than thou wast worthy her. Oth. Peace, you were best. Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do ma harm As I have to be hurt.4 0 gull! O dolt! As ignorant as dirt! Thou hast done a deed,- I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known, Though I lost twenty lives :-Help! help, ho! help! of The Moor has kill'd my mistress: Murder! murder! Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago. Mon. What is the matter? How now, general? Emil. O, are you come, Iago? you have done well, Alas! what cry is that? Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice :- Help! help, ho! help!-O lady, speak again! Sweet Desdemona! O, sweet mistress, speak! Des. A guiltless death I die. Emil. This deed? Des. O, who hath done Nobody; I myself; farewell: Commend me to my kind lord; O, farewell. [Dies. Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd? Emil. Alas, who knows? Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. Emil. She said so; I must needs repor: the truth. Oth. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell; Twas I that kill'd her. Emil. O, the more angel she, And you the blacker devil! Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. Oth. She was false as water. 1 It is supposed that some theatrical direction has been omitted, and that, when Othello says, 'So so,' he then stabs her. After the repetition of wounds, Desdemona might speak again with pro- priety, and yet very soon expire That men must lay their murders on your neck. Gra. What is the matter? Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man. He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false: I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain; Speak, for my heart is full. Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more Than what he found himself was apt and true. Emil. But did you ever tell him, she was false Iago. I did. Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned lie; Upon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie:- She false with Cassio!-Did you say, with Cassio? Iago. With Cassio, mistress; Go to, charm you? tongue. Emil. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak; My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. All. O heavens forfend !5 Emil. And your reports have set the murder or. Oth. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed 2 A precious stone. 3 Repetition. 4 5 'More can I bear than you can execute.' Forbid. SCENE II. 941 OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. Mon. O monstrous act! Emil. Come, guard the door without: let him not pass, But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain, Villany, villany, villany!-For 'tis a damned slave. I think upon't,-I think,-I smell't;-0 villany! I thought so then?-I'll kill myself for grief.- 0 villany, villany! [Exeunt Montano and Gratiano Oth. I am not valiant neither, But every puny whipster gets my sword. Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you But why should honour outlive honesty? home. [speak; Let it go all. Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to Emil. What did thy song bode, lady? "I'is proper I obey him, but not now: Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan, Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. And die in music; Willow, willow, willow.- Oth. 0! 0! O! [Hanging over his wife. Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor, Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar; So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent, So speaking as I think,-I die, I die. That e'er did lift up eye. Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber. Oth. 0, she was foul!-[Rising. It is a sword of Spain, the ice brook's temper;2- I scarce did know you, uncle: There lies your niece, 0, here it is :-Uncle, I must come forth. Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly Gra. [Within.] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear; stopp'd: I know, this act shows horrible and grim. Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead; Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now, This sight would make him do a desperate turn, Yea, curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation. Oth. "Tis pitiful: but yet Iago knows, That she with Cassio hath the act of shame [Dics. Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. Re-enter Gratiano. Gra. What is the matter? Oth. Behold! I have a weapon; A better never did itself sustain Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, That, with this little arm, and this good sword, I have made my way through more impediments A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it: Than twenty times your stop:-But, O vain boast And she did gratify his amorous works With that recognizance and pledge of love Which I first gave her: I saw it in his hand; It was a handkerchief, an antique token My father gave my mother. Emil. O heaven! O heavenly powers! Iago. Come, hold your peace. Emil. Twill out, 'twill out: I hold my peace, sir? no; No, I will speak as liberal' as the air; Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all, All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. Lago. Be wise, and get you home. Emil. Gra. I will not. Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now.- Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd; Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. Do you go back dismayed? 'tis a lost fear; Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires;-Where should Othello go? Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench! Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will burl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold my girl? Even like thy chastity. O cursed, cursed slave! Whip me, ye devils, From the possession of this heavenly sight! [Iago offers to stab his wife. Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! Fie! Wash me in steep-down gulf of liquid fire! 0 Desdemona! Desdemona! dead? Your sword upon a woman? Emil 0 thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou Dead? O! O! 0! speak'st of, I found by fortune, and did give my husband; But often, with a solemn earnestness (More than, indeed, belonged to such a trifle,) fle begg'd of me to steal it. Iago. Villainous whore! Emil. She gave it Cassio! no, alas; I found it, And I did give't my husband. Iago. Filth, thou liest. Emil. By heaven, I do not; I do not gentlemen: U murd'rous coxcomb! what should such a fool Do with so good a wife. [Iago stabs Emilia, then runs out. Oth. Are there no stones in heaven, But what serve for the thunder?-Precious villain! Gra. The woman falls; sure he has kill'd his wife. Emil. Ay, ay; O lay me by mistress' side! Gra He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon, Which I have here recovered from the Moor: 1 Free. 2 Steel is hardened by being put red-hot into very cold water. 60 Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio, carried in a chair, and Officers, with lago prisoner. Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man? Oth. That's he, that was Othello; here I am. Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. Oth. I look down toward his feet ;4-but that's a fable: If thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. [Othello wounds Iago. Lod. Wrench his sword from him. Iago. I bleed, sir! but not kill'd.. Oth. I am not sorry, neither; I'd have thee live, For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, Fall'n in the practices of a cursed slave, What shall be said to thee? Oth Why, any thing: An honourable murderer, if you will; For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. Lod. This wretch hath in part confessed his vil- lany: Did you and he consent in Cassio's death? 3 Account. 4 To see if his feet be cloven. 5 By the stratagem. 942 Acv. V. OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE. Oth. Ay. Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. Will you, I pray you, demand that demi-devil, Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body? Tago. Demand me nothing: What you know, you know: From this time forth I never will speak word. Lod. What? not to pray? Gra. Oth. Well, thou dost best. Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath fall'n, be- Oth. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee;-No way but this, [Falling upon Desdemona Killing myself, to die upon kiss. [Dies Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon; For he was great of heart. Lod. O Spartan dog, More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea! Look on the tragic loading of this bed; [To Iago. Torments will ope your lips. This is thy work: the object poisons sight;- Let it be hid.-Gratiano, keep the house, And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, For they succeed to you.-To you, lord governor, Remains the censure¹ of this hellish villain; The time, the place, the torture,-O enforce it! Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state, This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeunt. Which, as I think, you know not: Here is a letter, Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; And here, another; the one of them imports The death of Cassio to be undertook By Roderigo. Oth. O villain! Cas. Most heathenish, and most gross! Lod. Now here's another discontented paper, Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems, Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain; But that, belike, Iago in the interim Came in and satisfied him. Oth. O the pernicious caitiff!- How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief That was my wife's? Cas. I found it in my chamber: And he himself confess'd, but even now, That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose, Which wrought to his desire. Oth. O fool! fool! fool! Cas. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter,- How he upbraids Iago, that he made him Brave me on the watch; whereon it came That I was cast: And even but now he spake, After long seeming dead,-lago hurt him, Iago set him on. Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us; Your power and your command is taken off, And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,- If there be any cunning cruelty, That can torment him much, and hold him long, It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest, Till that the nature of your fault be known To the Venetian state :-Come, bring him away. Oth. Soft you; a word or two, before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know it; No more of that:-I pray you, in your letters, When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well; Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand, Like the base Júdean, threw a pearl away, Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdu'd eyes, Albeit unused to the melting mood, Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees Their medicinal gum: Set you down this: And say, besides,-that in Aleppo once, Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, I took by the throat the circumcised dog, And smote him-thus. Lod. O bloody period! Gra. [Stabs himself All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 1 Judgment. The beauties of this play impress themselves sc strongly upon the attention of the reader, that they can draw no aid from critical illustration. The fiery openness of Othello, magnanimous, artless, and credulous, boundless in his confidence, ardent in his affection, inflexible in his resolution, and obdurate in his revenge; the cool malignity of lago, silent in his resentment, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his interest and his vengeance; the soft simplicity of Desdemona, confident of mer- it, and conscious of innocence, her artless perseve- rance in her suit, and her slowness to suspect that she can be suspected, are such proofs of Shaks- peare's skill in human nature, as, I suppose, it is vain to seek in any modern, writer. The gradual progress which Iago makes in the Moor's conviction, and the circumstances which he employs to inflame him, are so artfully natural, that, though it will, perhaps, not be said of him as he says of himself, that he is a man not easily jealous, yet we cannot but pity him, when at last we find him perplexed in the extreme. There is always danger, lest wickedness, con- joined with abilities, should steal upon esteem, though it misses of approbation; but the character of lago is so conducted that he is from the first scene to the last hated and despised. Even the inferior characters of this play would be very conspicuous in any other piece, not only for their justness, but their strength. Cassio is brave, benevolent, and honest, ruined only by his want of stubbornness to resist an insidious invita- tion. Roderigo's suspicious credulity, and impa- tient submission to the cheats which he sees prac- tised upon him, and which, by persuasion, he suf- fers to be repeated, exhibit a strong picture of a weak mind, betrayed by unlawful desires, to a false friend; and the virtue of Emilia is such as we often find, worn loosely, but not cast off, easy to commit small crimes, but quickened and alarmed at atrocious villanies. The scenes from the beginning to the end are busy, varied by happy interchanges, and regularly promoting the progression of the story; and the narrative in the end, though it tells but what is known already, yet is necessary to produce the death of Othello. Had the scene opened in Cyprus, and the prece- ding incidents been occasionally related, there had been little wanting to a drama of the most exact and scrupulous regularity. JOHNSON. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VENUS AND ADONIS. Vilia miretur vulgus mihi flavus Apollo Poculu Castalia plena ministrat aqua. -Ovid. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, RIGHT HONOURABLE, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield: I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how e world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till 1 have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me stil so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation. Your Honour's in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. EVEN as the sun, with purple-colour'd face Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn; Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, And like a bold fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began,) The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, More white and red than doves or roses are, Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. Vouchsafe, thon wonder, to alight thy steed, And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow; If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed, A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know: Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses, And, being set, I'll smother thee with kisses. And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, But rather famish them amid their plenty, Making them red and pale with fresh variety, Ten kisses sliort as one, one long as twenty: A summer's day will seem an hour but short, Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport. With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm, The precedent of pith and livelihood, And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force, Courageously to pluck him from his horse. Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, Under the other was the tender boy, Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain, With leaden appetite, unapt to toy: She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire, He red for shaine, but frosty in desire. The studded bridle on a ragged bough Nimbly she fastens, (O how quick is love!) The steed is stalled up, and even now To tie the rider she begins to prove: Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust. So soon was she along, as he was down, Each leaning on their elbows and their hips, Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips: And kissing speaks with lustful language broken, If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open. He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears, Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs, To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: He says, she is immodest, blames her 'miss; What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, Till either gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone; Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, And where she ends she doth anew begin. Forc'd to content, but never to obey, Panting he lies, and breathing in her face; She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace. Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies; Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: Rain added to a river that is rank, Perforce will force to overflow the bank. J44 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, Twixt crimson shame and anger, ashy pale; Being red, she loves him best; and being white, Her best is better'd with a more delight. Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; And by her fair immortal hand she swears From his soft bosom never to remove, Till he take truce with her contending tears, Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet; And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. Upon this promise did he raise his chin, Like a di-dapper peering through a wave, Who being look'd on, ducks as quickly in; So offers he to give what she did crave; But when her lips were ready for his pay, He winks, and turns his lips another way. Never did passenger in summer's heat More thirst for drink than she for this good turn. IIer help she sees, but help she cannot get; She bathes in water, yet in fire must burn: Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted hoy; 'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, Even by the stern and direful god of war, Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, Who conquers where he comes, in every jar; Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have. Over my altars hath he hung his lance, His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red, Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. Thus him that overrul'd, I oversway'd, Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd, Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, For mast ring her that foil'd the god of fight. Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:- What see'st thou in the ground! hold up thy head; Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies: Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes? Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again, And I will wink, so shall the day seem night; Love keeps his revels where there be but twain; Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean, Never can blab, nor know they what we mean. The tender spring upon thy tempting lip Shews thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted; Make use of time, let not advantage slip; Beauty within itself should not be wasted: Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime, Rot and consume themselves in little time. Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, Ill-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold, Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not for thee; But having no defects, why dost abhor me? Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; [ing; Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turn- My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; My smooth, soft hand, were it with thy hand felt, Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, Or, like a nymph, with long, disheveii'd hair, Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen: Love is a spirit all compact of fire, Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky. From morn to night, even where I list to sport me Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? Is thine own heart to thine own face affected Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft. Narcissus so, himself himself forsook, And dy'd to kiss his shadow in th: brook. Torches are made to light, jewels io wear, Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use, Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse; Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty, Thou wert begot to get it is thy duty. Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed, Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? By law of nature thou art bound to breed, That thine may live when thou thyself art dead; AL su in spite of death thou dost survive, In that thy likeness still is left alive. By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them, And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat, With burning eye did hotly overlook them; Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, So he were like him, and by Venus' side. And now, Adonis, with a lazy spright, And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie! no more of love; The sun doth burn my face; I must remove." Ah me, (quoth Venus,) young, and so unkind! What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone? I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind Shall cool the heat of this descending sun; I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs: If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears. The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm, And lo, I lie between that sun and thee; The heat I have from thence doth little harm, Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me; And were I not immortal, life were done, Between this heavenly and earthly sun. Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth? Art thou a woman's son, and cannot feel What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth? O had thy mother borne so bad a mind, She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this? Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be muta; Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again, And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, Well painted idol, image dull and dead. Statue, contenting but the eye alone, Thing like a man. but of no woman bred; Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion, For men will kiss even by their own direction. VENUS AND ADONIS. 945 This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause; And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, And now her sobs do her intendments break. Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; Sometimes her arms infold him like a band: She would, he will not, in her arms be bound; And when from thence he struggles to be gone, She locks her lily fingers, one in one. Fondling she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here, Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be the park and thou shalt be my deer; Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale; Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. Within this limit is relief enough, Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, To shelter thee from tempest and from rain; Then be my deer, since I am such a park; No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark. At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain, That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple: Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, He might be buried in a tomb so simple; Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie, Why there love liv'd, and there he could not die. These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits, Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking: Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! Now which way shall sho turn! what shall she say; Her words are done, her woes the more increasing, The time is spent, her object will away, And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:" Pity (she cries) some favour-some remorse- Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. But lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by, A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud, Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud; The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, And now his woven girts he breaks asunder; The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, Whose hollow womb resounds like heav'n's thunder; The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth, Controlling what he was controlled with. His ears up prick'd; his braided, hanging mane Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end; His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, As from a furnace, vapours doth he send; His eye, which glistens scornfully like fire, Shews his hot courage and his high desire., Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps, With gentle majesty, and modest pride; Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps, As who would say, lo! thus my strength is try'd; And thus I do to captivate the eye Of the fair breeder that is standing by. What recketh he his rider's angry stir, His flattering holla, or his Stand. I say? What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur? For rich caparisons, or trappings gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. Look, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well proportion'd steed, His art with Nature's workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one, In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone. Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide, Look what a horse should have, he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares, Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And wher he run, or fly, they knew not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; She answers him, as if she knew his mind: Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind; Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracement with her heels. Then, like a melancholy male-content, He vails his tail, that like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent; He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume, His love perceiving how he is enrag'd, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. His testy master goeth about to take him; When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him; With her the horse, and left Adonis there: As they were mad, unto the wood they hie then, Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boisterous and unruly beast; And now the happy season once more fits, That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest; For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. An oven that is stopp'd or river stay'd, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage, So of concealed sorrow may be said; Free vent of words love's fire doth assauge; But when the heart's attorney once is mute, The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. He sees her coming, and begins to glow, (Even as a dying coal revives with wind,) And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind; Taking no notice that she is so nigh, For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. O what a sight it was, wistly to view How she came stealing to the wayward boy! To note the fighting conflict of her hue! How white and red each other did destroy! But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky Now was she just before him as he sat, And like a lowly lover down she kneels; With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print, As apt as new fallen snow takes any dint. O what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing: His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdained the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus like, her eyes did rain. 946 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, willful and unwilling, Show'd like to silver doves that sit a billing. Once more the engine of her thoughts began: O fairest mover on this mortal round, Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure thee. Give me my hand, saith he, why dost thou feel it? Give me my heart, saith she, and thou shalt have it; O give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it: Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard. For shame, he cries, let go, and let me go; My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so; I pray you hence, and leave me here alone: For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, Is how to get my palfrey from the mare. Thus she replies: Thy palfrey as he should, Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. Affection is a coal that must be cool'd; Else, suffered it will set the heart on fire: The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none; Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. How like a jade he stood tied to a tree, Servilely master'd with a leathern rein! But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, He held such petty bondage in disdain; Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. Who sees his true love in her naked bed, Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, His other agents aim at like delight? Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold, To touch the fire, the weather being cold? Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy; And learn of him, I earnestly beseech thee, To take advantage on presented joy; Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings O learn to love: the lesson is but plain, And, once made perfect, never lost again. I know not love, (quoth he,) nor will I know it, Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; "Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; My love to love is love but to disgrace it; For I have heard it is a life in death, [thee. teach That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath. Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd? Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? If springing things be any jot diminish'd, They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth; The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young, Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part, And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat: Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; To love's alarm it will not ope the gate. Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; For where & heart is hard they make no battery. What! cans't thou talk (quoth she), hast thou a tongue? O would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; I had my load before, now press'd with bearing; Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding, Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sor3 wounding. Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love That inward beauty and invisible; Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move Each part in me that were but sensible: Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, Yet should I be in love, by touching thee. Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me, And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch And nothing but the very smell were left me, Yet would my love to thee be still as much; For, from the still'tory of thy face excellng, Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by smelling But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, Being nurse and feeder of the other four, Would they not wish the feast should ever last, And bid suspicion double-lock the door? Lest jealousy, that sour, unwelcome guest, Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast. Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd, Which to his speech did honey passage yield; Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd Wreck to the sea-man, tempest to the field, Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gust and foul flaw to herdsmen and to herds. This ill presage advisedly she marketh; Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth, Or as the wolf doth grin before it barketh, Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, His meaning struck her ere his words begun: And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth. A smile re-cures the wounding of a frown, But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! The silly boy, believing she is dead, Claps her pale cheek till clapping makes it red; And in smaze break off his late intent, For sharply he did think to reprehend her, Which cunning love did wittily prevent: Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her! For on the grass she lies as she were slain, Till his breath breathed life in her again. He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard; He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd; He kisses her; and she by her good will, Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day, Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth, Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, So is her face illumin'd with her eye. Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. Were never four such lamps together mix'd, Had not his clouded with his brow's repine: But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light, Shone like the moon, in water seen by night. O where am I, quoth she, in earth or heaven Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? What hour is this? or morn, or weary even? Do I delight to die, or life desire? But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy; But now I dy'd, and death was lively joy. O thou didst kill me;-kill me once again; Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain, That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine; And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. VENUS AND ADONIS. 947 Long may they kiss each other, for this cure! Oh never let their crimson liveries wear! And as they last, their verdure still endure, To drive infection from the dangerous year! That the star-gazers, having writ on death, May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath. Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? To sell myself I can be well contented, So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing; Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. What is ten hundred kisses unto thee? Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone! Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble? Fair queen, quoth he, if any love you owe me, Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: Before I know myself, seek not to know me; No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, Or being early pluck'd, is sour to taste. Look, the world's comforter, but weary gait, His day's hot task hath ended in the West: The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late; The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest; The cold black clouds that shadow heaven's light, Do summon us to part and bid good night. Now let me say good night, and so say you; If you will say so, you shall have a kiss. Good night, quoth she; and, ere he says adieu, The honey fee of parting tender'd is: Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face. Till, breathless, he disjoin'd and backward drew The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drought: He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, (Their lips together glew'd,) fall to the earth. Now quick Desire hath caught her yielding prey, And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth; Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry. And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, With blind-fold fury she begins to forage; Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage; Planting oblivion, beating reason back, Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's wrack. Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, [ling, Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much hand- Or as the fleet-foot roe, that's tir'd with chasing, Or like the froward infant, still'd with dandling, He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. What wax so frozen but dissolves with temp'ring, And yields at last to every light impression? Things out of hope are compass'd oft with vent ring, Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward, But then woos best, when most his choice is froward. When he did frown, O had she then gave over, Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; What though the rose have pricks? yet is it pluck'd: Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast, Tet love breaks through, and picks them all at last. For pity now she can no more detain him; The poor fool prays her that he may depart; She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him; Bids him farewell, and looks well to her heart, The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, He carries thence encaged in his breast. Sweet boy, she says, this night I'll waste in sorrow, For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match f He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. The boar! (quoth she) whereat a sudden pale, Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, Usurps her cheeks; she trembles at his tale, And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: She sinketh down, still hanging on his neck, He on her belly falls, she on her back. Now is she in the very lists of love, Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: All is imaginary she doth prove, He will not manage her, although he mount her; That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, To clip Elysium and to lack her joy. Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes, Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw, Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, As those poor birds that helpless berries saw: The warm effects which she in him finds missing, She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. But all in vain; good queen, it will not be: She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd; Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee; She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. Fie, fie, he says, you crush me; let me go; You have no reason to withhold me so. Thou hadst been gone, quoth she, sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me, thou would'st hunt the boa O be advis'd; thou know'st not what it is With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never-sheath'd he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. On his bow-back he hath a battle set, Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes, like glow-worms shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes; Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, And whom he strikes, his crooked tushes slay. His brawny side, with hairy bristles armed, Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter: His short thick neck cannot be easily harmed; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part; through whom he rushes Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love's eye pays tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes; But having thee at vantage (wond'rous dread!) Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still; Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends, Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. Didst thou not mark my face? Wast it not white? Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright? Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast 945 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. For where love reigns, disturbing jealousy Doth call himself affection's centinel; Gives false alarms; suggesteth mutiny. And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill; Distemp'ring gentle love with his desire, As air and water doth abate the fire. This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy, This canker that eats up love's tender spring, This carry-tale, dissensious jealousy, [bring, That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, That if I love thee, I thy death should fear. And more than so, presenteth to mine eye The picture of an angry chafing boar, Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed, Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the head. What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, That trembling at the imagination, The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed? And fear doth teach it divination : I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty, Or at the roe, which no encounter dares: Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch to overshut his troubles, How he out-runs the wind, and with what care He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles: The many musits through the which he goes, Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. Sometime he runs among the flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell; And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies As if another chase were in the skies. By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still; Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell. Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low, never reliev'd by any. Lie quietly, and hear a little more; Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise: To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, Unlike thyself, thou bearest me moralize, Applying this to that, and so to so; For love can comment upon every woe. Where did I leave?-No matter where, quoth he; Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: The night is spent. Why, what of that, quoth she. I am, quoth he, expected of my friends; And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.- In night, quoth she, desire sees best of all. But if thou fall, O then imagine this, The earth in love with thee thy footing trips, And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. Rich preys make rich men thieves; so do thy l'ps Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn. Now, of this dark night I perceive the reason; Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason, For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine, Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's despite To shame the sun by day, and her by night. And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, To cross the curious workmanship of nature, To mingle beauty with infirmities, And pure perfection with impure defeature, Making it subject to the tyranny Of sad mischances and such misery: As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, Life-poising pestilence, and frenzies wood, The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint Disorder breeds by heating of the blood: Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair. And not the least of all these maladies, But in one minute's sight brings beauty under: Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities, Whereat th' imperial gazer late did wonder, Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done, As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun. Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, That on the earth would breed a scarcity, And barren dearth of daughters and of sons, Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night, Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light What is thy body but a swallowing grave, Seeming to bury that posterity Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, If thou destroy them not in their obscurity? If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. So in thyself thyself art made away; A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife Or their's, whose desperate hands themselves deslay, Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, But gold that's put to nse, more gold begets. Nay then, quoth Adon, you will fall again Into your idle over-handled theme; The kiss I gave you is bestowed in vain, And all in vain you strive against the stream, For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse, Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, And every tongue more moving than your own, Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown, For know, my heart stands armed in my ear, And will not let a false sound enter there; Lest the deceiving harmony should run Into the quiet closure of my breast; And then my little heart were quite undone, In his bed-chamber to be barr'd of rest. No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan, But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove? The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger; I hate not love, but your device in love, That lends embracements unto every stranger. You do it for increase; O strange excuse! When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. VENUS AND ADONIS. 949 Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name; Under whose simple semblance he hath fed Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame: Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, As caterpillars do the tender leaves. Love comforteth, like sun-shine after rain, But lust's effect is tempest after sun, Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies. More I could tell, but more I dare not say; The text is old, the orator too green. Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; My face is full of shame, my heart of teen; Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended, Do burn themselves for having so offended. With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, And homeward through the dark lawns runs apace; Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye; Which after him she darts, as one on shore Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend; So did the merciless and pitchy night Fold in the object that did feed her sight. Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are. Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; Even so confounded in the dark she lay, Having lost the fair discovery of her way. And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled, Make verbal repetition of her moans: Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: Ah me! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe! And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. She marking them, begins a wailing note, And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty: This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, And yet she hears no tidings of her love; She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily, And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. And as she runs, the bushes in the way Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face. Some twine about her thigh to make her stay; She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake, Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses, and her spright confounds. For now she knows it is no gentle chase, But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: Finding their enemy to be so curst, They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first. This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, Through which it enters to surprise her heart, Who overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, With cold-pale weakness numbs cach feeling part: Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy; Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd, She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy, And childish error that they are afraid; Bids them leave quaking, wills them fear no more: And with that word she spy'd the hunted boar; Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, Like milk and blood being mingled both together, A second fear through all her sinews spread, Which madly hurries her she knows not whither⚫ This way she runs, and now she will no further, But back retires, to rate the boar for murder. A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; She treads the paths that she untreads again; How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote; Her more than haste is mated with delays, How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, And still the choir of echoes answers so. Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short; If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight In such like circumstance, with such like sport; Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, End without audience, and are never done. For who hath she to spend the night withal, But idle sounds, resembling parasites, Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call, Soothing the humor of fantastic wits? She said, 'tis so; they answer all, 'tis so; And would say after her, if she said no. Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty; Who doth the world so gloriously behold. That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: O thou clear god, and patron of all light, From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow The beauteous influence that makes him bright, There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, May lend the light, as thou dost lend to other. Like the proceedings of a drunken brain; Full of respect, yet not at all respecting, In hand with all things, nought at all affecting. Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound, And asks the weary caitiff for his master; And there another licking of his wound, 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; And here she meets another sadly scowling, To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Against the welkin vollies out his voice; Another and another answer him, Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, Iufusing them with dreadful prophecies; So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. Hard-favor'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, Hateful divorce of love, (thus chides she death,) Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mear To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set Gloss on the "ose, smell to the violet? 950 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. If he be dead,-O no, it cannot be, Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it- O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see, But hatefully at random dost thou hit. Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. The destinies will curse thee for this stroke; They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower; Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weep- ing? What may a heavy groan advantage thee? Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see? Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. Here overcome, as one full of despair, She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd; But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain, And with his strong course opens them again. O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow! Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye; Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow, Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. Variable passions throng her constant woe, As striving which should best become her grief; All entertain'd, each passion labours so, That every present sorrow seemeth chief, But none is best; then join they all together, Like may clouds consulting for foul weather. By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla; A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well: The dire imagination she did follow This sound of hope doth labour to expel; For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass; Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass, To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. O hard-believing love, how strange it seems Not to believe, and yet too credulous! Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, Despair and hope make thee ridiculous; The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought; Adonis lives, and death is not to blame; It was not she that call'd him all to naught; Now she adds honor to his hateful name; She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings, Imperial supreme of all mortal things. No, no, (quoth she,) Sweet death, I did but jest; Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, When as I met the boar, that bloody beast, Which knows no pity, but is still severe; Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess,) I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. "Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue; Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; "Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; I did but act, he's author of thy slander: Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet Could rule them both without ten women's wit. Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; And that his beauty may the better thrive, With death she humbly doth insinuate; Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. O Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, To be of such a weak and silly mind, To wail his death, who lives, and must not die, Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind! For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear, As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. Even at this word she hears a merry horn, Whereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. As faulcon to the lure, away she flies; The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; And in her haste unfortunately spies The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight; Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, And there, all smother'd up in shade doth sit, Long after fearing to creep forth again; So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled Into the deep dark cabins of her head, Where they resign their office and their light To the disposing of her troubled brain; Who bids them still consort with ugly night, And never wound the heart with looks again Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. Whereat each tributary subject quakes; As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, Which with cold terrors doth men's mind confound: This mutiny each part doth so surprise, That from their dark beds, once more leap her eyes; And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd In his soft flank: whose wonted lily white No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd But stole his blood, and seemed with him to bleed. This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth; Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; Dumbly she passions, frantically she doteth; She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three And then she reprehends her mangling eye, That makes more gashes where no breach should be His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. My tongue cannot express my grief for one, And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead! My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead: Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire! So shall I die by drops of hot desire. Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast Of things long since, or anything ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him. ENUS AND ADONIS. 951 Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear! Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: Having no fair to loose, you need not fear; The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you: But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair; And therefore would he put his bonnet on, Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, Play with his locks; then would Adonis weop: And straight, in pity of his tender years, They both would strive who first should dry his tears. To see his face, the lion walk'd along Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him; To recreate himself, when he hath sung, The tiger would be tame, and gently hear him: If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey And never fright the silly lamb that day. When he beheld his shadow in the brook, The fishes spread on it their golden gills; When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, That some would sing, some other in their bills Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries; He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; Witness the entertainment that he gave; If he did see his face, why then I know, He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 'Tis true, 't is true thus was Adonis slain; He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, Who would not whet his teeth at him again, But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine Sheath'd, unaware, his tusk in his soft groin. Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; But he is dead, and never did he bless My youth with his; the more I am accurst. With this she falleth in the place she stood, And stained her face with his congealed blood. She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; She whispers in his ear, a heavy tale, As if he heard the woeful words she told; She lifts the coffer lids that close his eyes Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies. Two glasses, where herself, herself beheld A thousand times, and now no more reflect; Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, And every beauty robb'd of his effect: Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, That, you being dead, the day should yet be light. Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy, Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend; It shall be waited on with jealousy, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end; Ne'er settled equally, to high or low; That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, And shall be blasted in a breathing-while: The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile; The strongest body shall it make most weak, Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures It shall be raging mad, and silly-mild, Make the young old, the old become a child. It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear; It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust, It shall be merciful, and too severe, And most deceiving, when it seems most just; Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward, Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. It shall be cause of war, and dire events, And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire; Subject and servile to all discontents, As dry combustious matter is to fire; Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, They that love best, their love shall not enjoy. By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd, Was melted like a vapour from her sight And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white; Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Andonis' breath; And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, Since he himself is reft from her by death: She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) For every little grief to wet his eyes: To grow unto himself was his desire, And so 'tis thine; but know, it as good To wither in my breast, as in his blood. Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast, Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right: Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: There shall not be one minute of an hour, Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower. Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, Holding their course to Paphos, where their queeD Means to immure herself, and not be seen. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield: THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my un- tutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would shew greater; mean time, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness. Your Lordship's in all duty, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. THE ARGUMENT. Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the peo- ple's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome: and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus duds his wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was (according to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night, he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent, they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. FROM the besieg'd Ardea all in post, Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, And to Collatium bears the lightless fire, Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, And girdle with embracing flames the waist Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set This bateless edge on his keen appetite; When Collatine unwisely did not let To praise the clear unmatched red and white Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, With pure aspect did him peculiar duties. For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, Unlock'd the treasures of his happy state; What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent, In the possession of his beauteous mate; Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, That kings might be espoused to more fame, But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! And if possess'd, as soon decayed and dono As is the morning's silver-melting dew Against the golden splendour of the sun! An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun. Honour and beauty in the owner's arms, Are weekly fortress'd from a world of harms. Beauty itself doth of itself persuade The eyes of men without an orator; What needeth then apology be made To set forth that which is so singular? Or why is Collatine the publisher Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown From thievish ears, because it is his own? Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty Suggested this proud issue of a king; For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, Braving compare, disdainfully did sting His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaun The golden hap which their superiors want. But some untimely thought did instigate His all-too-timeless speed. if none of those: His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, Neglected all, with swift intent he goes To quench the coal which in his liver glows. O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold, Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old. When at Collatium this false lord arrived. Well was he welco n'd by the Roman dame, THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 953 Within whose face beauty and virtue strived Which of them both should underprop her fame: When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; When beauty boasted blushes, in despite Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. But beanty, in that white intituled, From Venus doves doth challenge that fair field; Then virtue claims from beauty, beauty's red, Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,- When shame assail'd the red should fence the white. This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. Of either's colour was the other queen, Proving from world's minority their right: Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; The sovereignty of either being so great, That oft they interchange each other's seat. This silent war of lilies and of roses Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, The coward captive vanquished doth yield To those two armies that would let him go, Rather than triumph in so false a foe. Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. This earthly saint, adored by this devil, Little suspecteth the false worshipper; For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil; Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear: So guiltless she securely gives good cheer And reverend welcome to her princely guest, Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd. For that he colour'd with his high estate, Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty: That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, Which, having all, all could not satisfy; But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store, That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes, Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies Writ in the glassy margents of such books; She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, More than his eyes were open'd to the light. He stories to her ears her husband's fame, Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; and decks with praises Collatine's high name, Made glorious by his manly chivalry, With bruised arms and wreaths of victory: Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. Far from the purpose of his coming thither, He makes excuses for his being there. No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear: Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, Upon the world dim darkness doth display, And in her vaulty prison stows the day. For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, Intending weariness with heavy spright; For, after supper, long he questioned With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night: Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight, And every one to rest himself, betakes, Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that wakes. As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining, Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining; Despair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining; And when great treasure is the meed proposed, Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed. Those that much covet, are with gain so fond, That what they have not (that which they possess) They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. The aim of all is but to nurse the life With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age; And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, That one for all, or all for one we gage; As life for honour, in fell battles' rage; Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost The death of all, and altogether lost. So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be The things we are, for that which we expect, And this ambitious foul infirmity, In having much, torments us with defect Of that we have: so then we do neglect The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, Make something nothing, by augmenting it. Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; And for himself, himself he must forsake: Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? When shall he think to find a stranger just, When he himself himself confounds, betrays To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days? Now stole upon the time the dead of night, When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes; No comfortable star did lend his light, No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries: Now serves the season that they may surprise The silly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still, While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm, Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm; But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, Doth too, too oft betake him to retire, Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth," Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye; And to the flame thus speaks advisely; As from this cold flint I enforc'd this fire, So Lucrece must I force to my desire. Here pale with fear he doth premeditate The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, And in his inward mind he doth debate What following sorrow may on this arise: Then looking scornfully, he doth despise His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust, And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust. Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not To darken her whose light excelleth thine! And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot With your uncleanliness that which is divine! Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine; Let fair humanity abhor the deed That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed 954 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! O foul dishonour to my household's grave! O impious act, including all foul harms! A martial man to be soft fancy's slave! True valour still a true respect should have; Then my digression is so vile, so base, That it will live engraven in my face. Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, To cipher me, how fondly I did dote: That my posterity, sham'd with the note, Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin To wish that I their father had not been. What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy: Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity, to get a toy? For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, Would with the sceptre straight be stricken down? If Collatinus dream of my intent, Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? This siege that hath engirt his marriage, This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, This dying virtue, this surviving shame, Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? O what excuse can my invention make, When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake? Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, But coward-like with trembling terror die. Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, Or lain in ambush to betray my life, Or were he not my dear friend, this desire Might have excuse to work upon his wife: As in revenge or quittal of such strife: But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. Shameful it is;-ay, if the fact be known: Hateful it is;-there is no hate in loving; I'll beg her love:-but she is not her own: The worst is but denial, and reproving: My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw, Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. Thus graceless, holds he disputation 'Tween frozen conscience, and hot-burning will, And with good thoughts makes dispensation, Urging the worser sense for vantage still: Which in a moment doth confound and kill All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed. Quoth he, she took me kindly by the hand, And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, Fearing some hard news from the warlike band Where her beloved Collstinus lies. O how her fear did make her colour rise! First red as roses, that on lawn we lay, Then white as lawn, the roses took away. And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, Fore'd it to tremble with her loyal fear! Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, Until her husband's welfare she did hear; Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? All orators are dumb, when beauty pleadeth; Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses: Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth: Affection is my captain, and he leadeth; And when his gaudy banner is display'd, The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd Then childish fear avaunt! debating die! Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age! My heart shall never countermand mine eye Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage, My part is youth, and beats these from the stage: Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize: Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies? As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. Away he steals with open listening ear, Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; Both which, as servitors to the unjust, So cross him with their opposite persuasion, That now he vows a league, and now invasion. Within his thought her heavenly image sits, And in the self-same seat sits Collatine; That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits, That eye which him beholds, as more divine, Unto a view so false will not incline; But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, Which once corrupted, takes the worser part; And therein heartens up his servile powers, Who flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, Paying more slavish tribute than they owe By reprobate desire thus madly led, The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. The locks between her chamber and his will, Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward; But as they open, they all rate his ill, Which drives the creeping thief to some regard The threshold grates the door to have him heard; Night-wand ring weesels shriek to see him there They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. As each unwilling portal yields him way, Through little vents and crannies of the place, The wind wars with his toreh, to make him stay, And blows the smoke of it into his face, Extinguishing his conduct in this case; But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scoreh, Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch: And being lighted, by the light he spies Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; He takes it from the rushes where it lies; And griping it, the needle his finger pricks: As who would say, this glove to wanton trieks Is not inur'd; return again in baste; Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him. He in the worst sense construes their denial; The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, He takes for accidental things of trial; Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial, Who with a ling ring stay his course doth let Till every minute pays the hour his debt. So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time, Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, To add a more rejoicing to the prime, And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. Pain pays the income of each precious thing; Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. Now is he come unto the chamber door That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE 955 So from himself fmpiety hath wrought, That for his prey to pray he doth begin, As if the heaven should countenance his sin. But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, Having solicited the eternal power, That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, And they would stand auspicious to the hour, Even there he starts:-quoth he, I must deflower; The powers to whom I pray, abhor this fact, How can they then assist me in the act? Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! My will is back'd with resolution: Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. The eye of heaven is out, and misty night Covers the shame that follows sweet delight. This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, And with his knee the door he opens wide: The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside; But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. The curtains being close, about he walks, Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head: By their high treason is his heart misled; Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon, To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. Look as the fair, and fiery-pointed sun, Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun To wink, being blinded with a greater light: Whether it is, that she reflects so bright, That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed: But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. O, had they in that darksome prison died, Then had they seen the period of their ill! Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side. In his clear bed might have reposed still: But they must ope, this blessed league to kill: And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, Swelling on either side to want his bliss; Between whose hills her head entomb'd is: Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, To be admir'd of lewd, unhallow'd eyes. Without the bed, her other fair hand was, On the green coverlet; whose perfect white Shew'd like an April daisy on the grass, With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, And, canopied in darkness, sweetly lay, Till they might open to adorn the day. Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; O modest wantons! wanton modesty! Showing life's triumph in the map of death, And death's dim look in life's mortality. Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, As if between them twain there were no strife, But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew, And him by oath they truly honoured, These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred; Who, like a foul usurper, went about From this fair throne to heave the owner out. What could he see, but mightily he noted? What did he note, but strongly he desired? What he beheld, on that he firmly doted, And in his will his willful eye he tired. With more than admiration he admired Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, So o'er this sleeping soul deth Tarquin stay, His rage of lust by gazing qualified; Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side, His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins. And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting, In bloody death and ravishment delighting, Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking. His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, His eye commends the leading to his hand; His hand, as proud of such a dignity, Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale Left their round turrets destitute and pale. They mustering to the quiet cabinet Where their dear governess and lady lies, Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, And fright her with confusion of their cries: She much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd. Imagine her as one in dead of night From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking: What terror tis! but she, in worser taking, From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view, The sight which makes supposed terror true. Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies; She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes; Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries; Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights His hand that yet remains upon her breast (Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!) May feel her heart (poor citizen!) distress'd, Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes witha!. This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin To sound a parley to his heartless foe, Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, The reason of this rash alarm to know, Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; But she with vehement prayers urgeth still, Under what colour he commits this ill. Thus he replies: The colour in thy face (That even for anger makes the lily pale, And the red rose blush at her own disgrace.) Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale: Under what colour am I come to scale Thy never-conquer'd fort; the fault is thine, For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide; Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night, Where thou with patience must my will abide, 956 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. My will that marks thee for my earth's delight, Which I to conquer sought with all my might; But as reproof and reason beat it dead, By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. I see what crosses my attempt will bring; I know what thorns the growing rose defends; I think the honey guarded with a sting; All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends: But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends; Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty. I have debated, even in my soul, His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth No penetrable entrance to her plaining: Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, Which to her oratory adds more grace. She puts the period often from his place, And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. She conjures him by high almighty Jove, By knighthood. gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall By her untimely tears, her husband's love, breed; But nothing can affection's course control, Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. I know repentant tears ensue the deed, Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy. This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, Which like a faulcon towering in the skies, Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade, Whose crooked beak threats if he mounts he dies: So under the insulting falchion lies Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells, With trembling fear as foul hear faulcon's bells. Lucrece, quoth he, this night must I enjoy thee: If thou deny, then force must work my way, For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay. To kill thine honour with thy life's decay: And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. So thy surviving husband shall remain The scornful mark of every open eye: Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy: And thou, the author of their obloquy, Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, And sung by children in succeeding times. But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend: The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; A little harm done to a great good end, For lawful policy remains enacted. The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted In a pure compound; being so applied, His venom in effect is purified. Then for thy husband's and thy children's sake Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot The shame that from them no device can take, The blemish that will never be forgot; Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: For marks descried in men's nativity Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye, He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause, While she the picture of pure piety, Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws. To the rough beast that knows no gentle right, Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite. Look, when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat, In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, Hindering their present fall by this dividing; So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. Yet foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth; Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth; By holy human laws, and common troth, By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. Quoth she, reward not hospitality With such black payment as thou hast pretended; Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee; Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended; He is no wood-man that doth bend his bow To strike a poor unseasonable doe. My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me; Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me; Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me. Thou look'st not like deccit; do not deceive me; My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee. If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans; All which together, like a troubled ocean, Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, To soften it with their continual motion; For stones dissolved to water do convert. O, if no harder than a stone thou art, Melt at my tears and be compassionate! Soft pity enters at an iron gate. In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee: Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? To all the host of heaven I complain thee, Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name, Thou art not what thou seem'st, and if the same, Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king; For kings like gods should govern every thing. How will thy shame be seeded in thine age, When thus thy vices bud before thy spring? If in thy hope thou dar'sť do such outrage, What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king? O be remember'd, no outrageous thing From vassal actors can be wip'd away; Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love: With foul offenders thou perforce must bear, When they in thee the like offences prove: If but for fear of this, they will remove; For princes are the glass, the school, the book, Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? Must he in thee read lectures of such shame Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern Authority for sin, warrant for blame, To privilege dishonour in thy name? Thou back'st reproach against long-living laud, And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee, From a pure heart command thy rebel will: Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. Thy princely office how can'st thou fulfil, When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say, He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way! THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 957 Think but how vile a spectacle it were To view thy present trespass in another. Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear: Their own transgressions partially they smother; This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother, O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies, That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes! To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier: I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal: Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire: His true respect will prison false desire, And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine. Have done, quoth he, my uncontrolled tide Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, And with the wind in greater fury fret: The petty streams that pay a daily debt To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste Add to his flow, and alter not his taste. Thou art, quoth she, a sea, a sovereign king; And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood Black lust, dishonour, shame misgoverning, Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. If all these petty ills shall change thy good, Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersed, And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave: Thou nobly base, they basely dignified; Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave: Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride; The lesser thing should not the greater hide; The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state- No more, quoth he, by heaven, I will not hear thee; Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate, Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee. That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, To be thy partner in this shameful doom. This said, he sets his foot upon the light, For light and lust are deadly enemies: Shame folded up in blind concealing night, When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. The wolf has seized his prey, the poor lamb cries, Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: For with the nightly linen that she wears, He pens her piteous clamours in her head; Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! The spots whereof could weeping purify, nier tears should drop on them perpetually. But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, And he hath won what he would lose again. This forced league doth force a further strife, This momentary joy breeds months of pain, This hot desire converts to cold disdain; Pure chastity is rifled of her store, And lust, the thief, far poorer than before. Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk The prey wherein by nature they delight; So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night: His taste delicious, in digestion souring, Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. U deeper sin than bottomless conceit Can comprehend in still imagination! Drunken desire must mit his receipt, Ere he can see his own abomination. While lust is in his pride, no exclamation Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek, With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, Feeble desire, all recreant, poor and meek, Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, For there it revels; and when that decays, The guilty rebel for remission prays. So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome, Who this accomplishment so hotly chased; For now against himself he sounds this doom. That through the length of times he stands disgraced; Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced; To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, To ask the spotted princess how she fares. She says, her subjects with foul insurrection Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, And by their mortal fault brought in subjection Her immortality, and made her thrall To living death, and pain perpetual: Which in her prescience she controlled still, But her fore-sight could not fore-stall their will. Even in his thought through the dark night he stealeth A captive victor, that hath lost in gain Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth, The scar that will, despite of cure, remain, Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. She bears the load of lust he left behind, And he the burthen of a guilty mind. He, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly thence, She, like a wearied lamb, lies panting there; He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear: He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear; She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath'd delight. Ile thence departs, a heavy convertite, She there remains, a hopeless cast-away: He in his speed looks for the morning light, She prays she never may behold the day: For day, quoth she, night-scapes doth open lay; And my true eyes have never practis'd how To cloak offences with a cunning brow. They think not but that every eye can see The same disgrace which they themselves behold: And therefore would they stiil in darkness be, To have their unseen sin remain untold; For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, And grave, like water that doth eat in steel, Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel. Here she exclaims against repose and rest, And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, And bids it leap from thence, where it may find Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite Against the unseen secrecy of night. O comfort killing night, image of hell! Dim register and notary of shame! Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame! Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame! Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator With close-tongued treason and the ravisher O hateful vapourous and foggy night, Since thou art guilty of my curseless crime, Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, Make war against proportioned course of time! Or if thou wilt perinit the sun to climb 958 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. With rotten damps ravish the morning air; Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick The life of purity, the supreme fair, Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; And let thy misty vapours march so thick, That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light May set at noon, and make perpetual night. Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,) The silver-shining queen he would distain; Her twinkling handmaids, too, by him defil'd, Through night's black bosom should not peep again; So should I have copartners in my pain: And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. Where now I have no one to blush with me, To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine, To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; But I alone, alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, Let not the jealous day behold that face Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace! Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, That all the faults which in thy reign are made May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! Make me not object to the tell-tale day! The night will shew, character'd in my brow, The story of sweet chastity's decay, The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow! Yea, the illiterate that know not how To 'cipher what is writ in learned books, Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name; The orator, to deck his oratory, Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame; Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, Will tie the hearers to attend each line, How Tarquin wronged me, I a Collatine. Let my good name, that senseless reputation, For Collatine's dear love he kept unspotted: If that be made a theme for disputation, The branches of another root are rotted, And undeserv'd approach to him allotted, That is as clear from this attaint of mine, As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar! Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar, How he in peace is wounded, not in war, Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, From me by strong assault it is bereft. My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, Have no perfection of my summer left, But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. Yet I am guiltless of thy honour's wreck; Yet for thy honour did I entertain him; Coming from thee, I could not put him back; For it had been dishonour to disdain him: Besides of weariness he did complain him, And talk'd of virtue:-O unlook'd for evil, When virtue is profan'd in such a devil. Why should the worm intrude the maiden bnd? Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? Or kings be breakers of their own behests f But no perfection is so absolute, That some impurity doth not pollute. The aged man that coffers up his gold, Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits, And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, And useless barns the harvest of his wits; Having no other pleasure of his gain, But torment that it cannot cure his pain. So then he hath it when he cannot use it, And leaves it to be master'd by his young; Who in their pride do presently abuse it: Their father was too weak, and they too strong, To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours. Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers The adder hisses where the sweet bird sings; What virtue breeds, iniquity devours: We have no good that we can say is ours, But ill-annexed opportunity Or kills his life, or else his quality. O Opportunity! thy guilt is great: "Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason; Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get; Whoever plots the sin thou point'st the season; 'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason, And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath; Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth: Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd! Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud: Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, Thy private feasting to a public fast; Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name; Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste; Thy violent vanities can never last. How comes it then, vile opportunity, Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, And bring him where his suit may be obtained! When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end? Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained? The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; But they ne er meet with opportunity. The patient dies while the physician sleeps; The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; Justice is feasting while the widow weeps; Advice is sporting while infection breeds; Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds! Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages; The heinous hours wait on them as their pages. When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, A thousand crosses kept them from thy aid; They buy thy help: but Sin ne'er gives a fee, He gratis cc mes; and thou art well appay'd As well to hear as grant what he hath said. My Collatine would else have come to me When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by ther. Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; Guilty of perjury and subornation; Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 959 Guilty of incest, that abomination: An accessary by thine inclination To all sins past, and all that are to come, From the creation to the general doom. Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care; Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare; Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are. O hear me then, injurious, shifting time! Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, Betray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me To endless date of never-ending woes? Time's office is to find the hate of foes; To eat up error by opinion bred, Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. Time's glory is to calm contending kings. To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, To stamp the seal of time in aged things, To wake the morn, and sentinel the night, To wrong the wronger till he render right; To ruinate preud buildings with thy hours, And smear with dust their glittering golden towers: To feed with worm-holes stately monuments, To feed oblivion with decay of things, To blot old books, and alter their contents, To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs; To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel: To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter, To make the child a man, the man a child, To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, To tame the unicorn and lion wild; To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd; To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, And waste huge stones with little water-drops. Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, Unless thou could'st return to make amends? One poor retiring minute in an age Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends: O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come back. I could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack! Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity, With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight. Devise extremes beyond extremity, To make him curse this cursed crimeful night. Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright; And the dire thought of his committed evil, Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans; Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, To make him moan, but pity not his moans: Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones; And let mild women to him lose their mildness, Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. Let him have time to tear his curled hair, Let him have time against himself to rave, Let him have time of time's help to despair; Let him have time to live a loathed slave, Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave, And time to see one that by alms doth live, Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. Let him have time to see his friends his foes, And merry fools to mock at him resort: Let him have time to mark how slow time goes In time of sorrow, and how swift and short His time of folly and his time of sport: And ever let his unrecalling crime Have time to wail the abusing of his time. O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill! At his own shadow let the thief run mad, Himself himself seek every hour to kill! Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill For who so base would such an office have As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave? The baser is he, coming from a king, To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate; For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, But little stars may hide them when they list. The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away; But if the like the snow-white swan desire, The stain upon his silver down will stay. Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'r they fly, But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. Out idle words, servants to shallow fools! Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators! Fusy yourselves in skill-contending schools, Debate where leisure serves with duli debators; To trembling clients be you meditator: For me, I force not argument a straw, Since that my case is past the help of law. In vain I rail at Opportunity, At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night: In vain I cavil with my infamy, In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite : This helpless smoke of words doth me no right. The remedy indeed to do me good, Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decres? Honour thyself to rid me of this shame; For if I die, my honour lives in thee, But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame: Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe, Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth, To find some desperate instrument of death. But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth, To make more vent for passage of her breath, Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth, As smoke from Etna, that in air consumes, Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in va.n Some happy mean to end a hapless life. I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife: But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife; So am I now:-O no, that cannot be; Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 01 that is gone, for which I sought to live, And therefore now I need not fear to die. To clear this spot by death, at least I give A badge of fame to slander's livery; A dying life to living infamy; Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know The stained taste of violated troth; I will not wrong thy true affection so, To flatter thee with an infringed oath; This bastard graff shall never come to growth He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute, That thou art doting father of his fruit. 960 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. For me, I am the mistress of my fate, And with my trespass never will dispense, Till life to death acquit my forc'd offence. I will not poison thee with my attaint, Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; My sable ground of sin I will not paint, To hide the truth of this false night's abuses: My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes like sluices, As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. By this, lamenting Philomel had ended The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, And solemn night with slow-sad gate descended To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow: But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. Revealing day through every crenny spies, And seems to point her out where sits weeping; To whom she sobbing spears: O eye of eyes, Why pry'st thou through ray window? leave thy peeping; Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleep- ing: Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, For day hath nought to do what's done by Light. Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: True grief is fond and testy as a child, Who wayward once, his mind with nought agrees. Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; Continuance tames the one; the other wild, Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still, With too much labour drowns for want of skill. So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, Holds disputation with each thing she views, And to herself all sorrow doth compare; No object but her passion's strength renews; And as one shifts, another straight ensues: Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words; Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. The little birds that tune their morning's joy, Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; Sad souls are slain in merry company; Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society: True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd, When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. "Tis double death to drown in ken of shore; He ten times pines, that pines beholding food: To see the salve doth make the wound ache more; Great grief grieves most at that would do it good; Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows; Grief dalliod with nor law nor limit knows. You mocking birds, quoth she, your tunes entomb Within your hollow swelling feather'd breasts, And in my hearing be you mute and dumb! (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:) Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, And with deep groans the diapason bear: For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill. And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, To imitate thee well, against my heart Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye; Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. These means, as frets upon an instrument, Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, As shaming any eye should thee behold, Some dark, deep desert, seated from the way, That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold, Will we find out; and there we will unfold To creatures stern sad tunes to change their kinds: Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, Wildly determining which way to fly, Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, That cannot tread the way out readily; So with herself is she in mutiny, To live or die which of the twain were better When life is sham'd, and Death Reproach's debtor. To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it, But with my body my poor soul's pollution" They that lose half, with greater patience bear it, Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. That mother tries a merciless conclusion, Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. My body or my soul, which was the dearer? When the one pure, the other made divine. Whose love of either to myself was nearer? When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. Ah me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, His leaves will wither, and his sap decay; So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, Her mansion batter'd by the enemy; Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, Grossly engirt with daring infamy: Then let it not be call'd impiety, If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole, Through which I may convey this troubled son. Yet die I will not, till my Collatine Have heard the cause of my untimely death; That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, And as his due, writ in my testament. My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife That wounds my body so dis'onoured. "Tis honour to deprive dishoncar'd life; The one will live, the other being dead: So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred; For in my death I murder shameful scorn: My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. Dear lord of that ear jewel I have lost, What legacy st all I bequeath to theo? My resolution. Love, shall be thy boast, By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be. How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me; Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. This brief abridgment of my will I make; My soul and body to the skies and ground; My resolution, husband, do you take; My honour be the knife's, that makes my wound; My shame be his that did my fame confound; And all my fame that lives, disbursed be To those that live, and think no shame of me. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 961 Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will; How was I overseen that thou shalt see it! My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, so be it. Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee; Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be. This plot of death when sadly she had laid, And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seems so As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, (For why? her face wore sorrow's livery;) But durst not ask of her audaciously Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set, Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: One justly weeps; the other takes in hand No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: Their gentle sex to weep are often willing; Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, And then they drown their eyes, or break their hearts: For men have marble, women waxen minds, And therefore are they form'd as marble will; The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill: Then call them not the authors of their ill, No more than wax shall be accounted evil, Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, Lays open all the little worms that creep: In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep; Through crystal walls each little mote will peep: Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks, Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd. Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild Peor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame, Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. The precedent whereof in Lucrece, view, Assail'd by night with circumstances strong Of present death, and shame that might ensue By that her death to do her husband wrong: Such danger to resistance did belong, That dying fear through all her body spread; And who cannot abuse a body dead? By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak To the poor counterfeit of her complaining; My girl, quoth she, or what occasion break But tell me, girl, when went-(and there she stayed Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence? Madam, ere I was up, reply'd the maid, The more to blame my sluggard negligence: Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense; Myself was stirring ere the break of day, And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. But lady, if your maid may be so bold, She would request to know your heaviness. O peace! quoth Lucrece; if it should he told, The repetition cannot make it less; For more it is than I can well express: And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, Where more is felt than one hath power to tell. Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen-. Yet save that labour, for I have them here. What should I say?-One of my husband's men, Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear A letter to my lord, my love, my dear, Bid him with speed prepare to carry it: The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill; Much like a press of people at a door, Throng her inventions, which shall go before. At last she thus begins: Thou worthy lord Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, Health to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see), Some present speed to come and visit me: My woes are tedious, though my words are brief. So I commend me from our house in grief; Here folds she up the tenour of her woe, By this short schedule Collatine may know Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; She dares not therefore make discovery, Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, Ere she with blood hath stain'd her stain'd excuse. Besides, the life and feeling of her passion She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her; When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter From that suspicion which the world might bear her With words, till action might become them better. To see sad sights moves more than hear them told. For then the eye interprets to the ear The heavy motion that it doth behold, When every part a part of woe doth bear. 'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear: Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, At Ardea to my lord with more than haste. The post attends, and she delivers it, Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast As lagging fowls before the northern blast. Speed more than speed, but dull and slow she deems, Extremity still urgeth such extremes. The homely villain court'sies to her low; And blushing on her with a stedfast eye Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, raining? If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: If tears could help, Line or would do me good. And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. But they whose guilt within their bosome lie, Imagine every eye beholds their blame; For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame 962 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. Such harmless creatures have a due respect To talk in deeds, while others saucily Promise more speed, but do it leisurely: Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, That two red fires in both their faces blazed; She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust, And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed; Her earnest eye did make him more amazed: The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish, The more she thought he spy'd in her some blemish. But long she thinks till he return again, And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. The weary time she cannot entertain, For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, That she her paints a little while doth stay, Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece Of skillful painting, made from Priam's Troy; Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, For Helen's rape the city to destroy, Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; Which the conceited painter drew so proud, As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. A thousand lamentable objects there, In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife The red blood reek'd to shew the painter's strife; And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. There might you see the labouring pioneer Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust; And from the towers of Troy there would appear The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust: Such sweet observance in this work was had, That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. In great commanders grace and majesty You might behold triumphing in their faces; In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; And here and there the paper interlaces L'ale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble. In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art Of physiognomy night one behold! The face of either 'cipher'd either's heart; Their face their manners most expressly told: In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd; But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent, Shew'd deep regard and smiling government. There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight; Making such sober action with his hand, That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight: In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. About him were a press of gaping faces, Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; All jointly listening, but with several graces, As if some mermaid did their ears entice; Some high, some low, the painter was so nice; The scalps of many, almost hid behind, To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; Here one being throng'd bears back, all blown and red; Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; And in their rage such signs of rage they bear As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, It seem'd they would debate with angry swords, For much imaginary work was there, Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, That for Achilles' image stood his spear, Grip'd in an armed hand; himself behind, Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind: A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, Stood for the whole to be imagined. And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy, When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to fell Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; And to their hope they such odd action yield, That, through their light joy, seemed to appear (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran, Whose waves to imitate the battle sought With swelling ridges; and their ranks began To break upon the galled shore, and then Retire again, till meeting greater ranks They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' bank To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come, To find a face where all distress is stel'd. Many she sees, where cares have carved some, But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. In her the painter had anatomiz'd Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's regn; Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd; Of what she was, no semblance did remain: Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein, Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, Shew'd life imprison'd in a body dead." On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, And bitter words to ban her cruel foes; The painter was no God to lend her those; And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong, To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. Poor instrument, quoth she, without a sound, I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue: And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. Shew me the strumpet that began this stir, That with my nails her beauty I may tear: Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear; Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here; And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die. Why should the private pleasure of some one Become the public plague of many moe? Let sin, alone committed, light alone Upon his head that hath transgressed 80. Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe: For one's offence why should so many fall, To plague a private sin in general? THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 963 Lo here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, Here manly Hector faints, here Trolius swounds; Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, And one man's lust these many lives confounds: Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes: For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell, Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; Then little strength rings out the doleful knell; So Lucrece set a-work, sad tales doth tell Tc pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow; Ebelends them words, and she their looks doth borrow. She throws her eyes about the painting, round, And whom she finds forlorn, she doth lament: At last she sees a wretched image bound, That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent; His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content: Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, So mild, that Patience, seem'd to scorn his woes. In him the painter labour'd with his skill To hide deceit, and give the harmless show An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe; Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so That blushing red 1.0 guilty instance gave, Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. But like a constant and confirmed devil, He entertained a show so seeming just, And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, That jealousy itself could not mistrust False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms, Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story The credulous old Priam after slew; Whose words, like wild-fire, burnt the shining glory Of rich-built Illion, that the skies were sorry, And little stars shot from their fixed places, When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces. This picture she advisedly perus'd, And chid the painter for his wondrous skill: Baying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd, So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill; And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, Such signs of truth in his plain fate she spy'd That she concludes the picture was bely'd. It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile (She would have said) can lurk in such a look; But Tarquir's shape came in her mind the while, And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took, It cannot be she in that sense forsook, And turn'd it thus: It cannot be, I find, But such a face should bear a wicked mind; For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, (As if with grief or travail he had fainted) To me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd With outward honesty, but yet defil'd With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish. Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise? For every tear he falls, a Trojan bleeds: His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds: Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. Such devils steal effects from agnuess hell; For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, And in that cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell; These contraries such unity do hold. Only to flatter fools, and make them bold: So Priam's trust false Sinon's tear doth flatter, That he finds means to burn his Troy with water. Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, That patience is quite beaten from her breast. She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, Comparing him to that unhappy guest Whose deed hath made herself herself detest: At last she smilingly with this gives o'er; Foul! fool! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore. Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, And time doth weary time with her complaining. She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, And both she thinks too long with her remaining: Short time scems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps; And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps. Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, That she with painted images hath spent; Being from the feeling of her own grief brought By deep surmise of other's detriment; Losing her woes in shows of discontent. It easeth some, though none it ever cured, To think their dolour others have endur'd. But now the mindful messenger, come back, Brings home his lord and other company; Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black; And round about her tear distainted eye Blue circles stream'd like rainbows in the sky. These water-galls in her dim element Foretell new storms to those already spent. Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, Amazedly in her sad face he stares: Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. He hath no power to ask her how she fares, But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, And thus begins: What uncouth ill event Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand? Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spont? Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, And tell thy grief, that we may give redress. Three times with sighs she gives her sorrows fire, Ere once she can discharge one word of woe: At length address'd to answer his desire, She modestly prepares to let them know Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe; While Collatine and his consorted lords With sad attention long to hear her words. And now this pale swan in her watery nest Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending: Few words, quoth she, shall fit the trespass best, Where no excuse can give the fault amending; In me more woes than words are now depending; And my laments would be drawn out too long, To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. Then be this all the task it hath to say:- Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed A stranger came, and on that pillow lay Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head; And what wrong else may be imagined By foul enforcement might be done to me, From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free. 964 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, With shining falchion in my chamber came A creeping creature with a flaming light, And softly cry'd, Awake, thou Roman dame, And entertain my love: else lasting shame On thee and thine this night I will inflict If thou my love's desire do contradict. For some hard-favor'd groom of thine, quoth he, Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, And swear I found you where you did fulfill The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill The lechers in their deed: this act will be My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. With this I did begin to start and cry, And then against my heart he set his sword, Swearing, unless I took all patiently, I should not live to speak another word: So should my shame still rest upon record, And never be forgot in mighty Roine The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, And far the weaker with so strong a fear; My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak: No rightful plea might plead for justice there: His scarlet lust came evidence to swear That my poor heauty had purloin'd his eyes, And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. O teach me how to make my own excuse! Or, at the least, this refuge let me find; Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse, Immaculate and spotless is my mind; That was not forc'd: that never was inclin'd To accessary yieldings, but still pure Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure. Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, At this request, with noble disposition Each present lord began to promise aid, As bound in knighthood to her imposition, Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she, How may this forced stain be wiped from me. What is the quality of mine offence, Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance? May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, My low-declined honour to advance? May any terms acquit me from this chance? The poison'd fountain clears itself again; And why not I from this compelled stain? With this, they all at once began to say, Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; While with a joyless smile she turns away The face, that map which deep impression bears Of hard misfortune carv'd in it with tears. No, no, quoth she, no dame, hereafter living, By my excuse shall claim oxcuses giving. Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, She throws forth Tarquin's name: He, he, she says, But more than he her poor tongue could not speak; Till after many accents and delays, Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, She utters this: He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, That guides this hand to give this wound to me. Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed; That blow did bail it from the deep unrest Of that polluted prison where it breathed: Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed Her winged sprite, and through her winds doth fly Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, Stood Collatine and all his lordly cre.; With head declin'd, and voice damin'd up with woe, Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleel, With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across, From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow The grief away, that stops his answer so: But wretched as he is, he strives in vain; What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. As through an arch the violent roaring tide Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste; Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast; In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past: Even so he sighs, his sorrows, make a saw, To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth, And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth Another power; no flood by raining slaketh. My woe too sensible thy passion maketh More feeling painful: let it then suffice To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. And for my sake, when I might charm thee so, For she that was thy Lucrece-now attend me: Be suddenly revenged on my foe, Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die; For sparing justice feeds iniquity. But ere I name him, you fair lords, quoth she, (Speaking to those that came with Collatine,) Shall plight your honorable faiths to me, With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine For 'tis a meritorious fair design, To chase injustice with revengeful arms; Himself on her self-slaughter'd bod; threw: And from the purple fountain Brutus drew The murderous knife, and as it left the place Her blood, in pure revenge, held it in chase; And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide In two slow rivers, that the crimson Llood Circles her body in on every side, Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd About the mourning and congealed face Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes, Which seems to weep upon the tainted place; And ever since as pitying Lucrece' woes, Corrupted blood some watery token shows; And blood untainted still doth red abide, Blushing at that which is so putrify'd. Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries, That life was mine, which thou hast here depriv'd. If in the child the father's image lies, Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'd? Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd. If children pre-decease progenitors, We are their offspring, and they none of ours. Poor broken glass, I often did behold In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born: But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn! And shiver'd all the beauty of thy glass, Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies harms. That I no more can see what once I was. THE RAPE OF LUCRECE 965 O time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer If they surcease to be that should survive. Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger And leave the faltering, feeble souls alive? The old bees die, the young possess their hive. Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see Thy father die, and not thy father thee! By this starts Collatine as from a dream, And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place: And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face. And counterfeits to die with her a space; Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, And live to be revenged on her death. The deep vexation of his inward soul Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; Who mad that sorrow should his use control, Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart's aid, That no man could distinguish what he said. Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, But through his teeth as if the name he tore, This windy tempest, till it blew up rain, Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more; At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er; Then son and father weep with equal strife, Who should weep most for daughter or for wife. The one doth call her his, the other his, Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. The father says she's mine: 0 mine she is Replies her husba : Do not take away My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say lle weeps for her, for she was only mine, And only must he wail'd by Collatine. O, quoth Lucretius, I did give that life, Which she to early and too late hath spill'd. Woe, woe, quo. Collatine, she was my wife, I own'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd. My daughter and my wife with clamours fill'd The dispers'd air, who holdig Lucrece' life, Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my wife. Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' sile, Seeing such emulation in their woe, Began to clothe his wit iz state and pride, Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. He with the Romans was esteem'd so As silly jeering idiots are with kings, For sportive words, and uttering foolish things But now he throws that shallow habit by, Wherein deep policy did him disguise; And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly, To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise; Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds? Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, For this foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, To slay herself that should have slain her foe. Courageous Roman, do not steer thy heart In such relenting dew of lamentations, But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, That they will suffer these abominatians, Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced, By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. Now by the Capitol that we adore, And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained, By heaven's fair sun, that breeds e fat earth's store, By all our country's rights in Rome maintained, And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late coraplained Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, We will revenge the death of this true wife. This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow; And to his protestation urg'd the rest, Who wondering at him, did his words allow: Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow: And that deep vow which Brutus made before, He doth again repeat, and that they swore. When they had sworn to this advised doom, They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thorou To shew the bleeding body thorough Rome, And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: Which being done with speedy diligence, The Komans plausibly did give consent, To Tarquin's everlasting banishment SONNETS. L FACM fairest creatures we desire increase That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decrease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel, Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. II. When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held: Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, Where all the tressure of thy lusty days: To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou could'st answer-This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new-made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. III. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thon viewest, Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother, For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond, will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Ca.is back the lovely April of her prime: So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. But if thou live, remember'd not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou span1 Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank, she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used. lives thy executor to be. V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same, And that unfair which fairly doth excel; For never-resting time leads summer on To hideons winter, and confounds him there: Sap-check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ershadow'd, and bareness everywhere: Then, were not summer's distillation left, A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it, nor no renombrance what it was, But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show: their substance still lives sweet VI. Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan That's for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier, be it ten for one: Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee: Then, what could death do if thou should'st depar Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir VII. Lo, in the orient, when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each ander eye Doth homage to his new appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage; But when from high-most pitch, with weary car Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are From bis low tract, and look another way: So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a sor. VIIL Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lovst thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? If the tre concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions marred, do offend thine ear, They do bus sweetly chide thee who confounds In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. Mark how one string, sweet, husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee, "thou single wilt prove none." SONNETS. 967 IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, That thou consum'st thyself in single life? Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die The world will wail thee like a mateless wife; The world will be thy widow and still weep, That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private widow well may keep, By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend, Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. No love towards others in that bosom sits, That on himself such murderous shame commits. X. For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many, But that thou none lov'st, is most evident; For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O change thy thought, that I may change my mind: Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love? Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine and thee. XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st In one of thine, from that which thou departest: And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, Thon may'st call thine, when thou from youth con- vertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; Without this, folly, age, and cold decay. If all were minded so, the times should cease, And three-score years would make the world away. Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: Look whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more; Which bounteous gift thou should'st in bounty cherish; She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby, Thou should st print more, nor let that copy die. XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence, Bave breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. XIII. O that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer your's, than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease, Find no determination: then you were Yourself again, after yourself's decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold Against the stormy gusts of winter's day, And barren rage of death's eternal cold? O! none but unthrifts:-Dear, my love, you know You had a father; let your son say so. XIV. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality: Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say, with princes if it shall go well, By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And (constant stars) in them I read such art, As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself to store thou would'st convert, Or else of thee this I prognosticate, Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. XV. When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge state presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky; Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful time debateth with decay To change your day of youth to sullied night; And, all in war with time, for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new. XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? Ard fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme. Now stand you on the top of happy hours; And many maiden gardens yet unset With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth, uor outward fair, Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. To give away yourself, keeps yourself still; And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parte If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say this poet lies, Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, And stretched metre of an antique song; But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice:-in it, and in my rhyme. XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair some times declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 968 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleet'st, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world, and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; Him in thy course untainted do allow, For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young. XX. A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion: A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false woman's fashion: An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in bue, all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes, and woman's souls amazeth And for a woman wert thou first created; Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she pick'd thee out for woman's pleasure, Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure. XXI. So it is not with me as with that muse, Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse; Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, And every fair with his fair doth rehearse; Making a complement of proud compare, With enn and moon, with earth and sea's rich genis, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare That heaven's air in his huge rondure hems. O let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: Let them say more that like of hear-say well; I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. XXII. My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou art of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which, in thy breast doth live, as thine in me; How can I then beelder than thou art? O therefore love, be of thyself so wary, As I not for myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierco thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart, So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might. O let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presages of my speaking breast; Who plead for love, and look for recompence, XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stel'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective it is best painter's art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictur'd lies, Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee: Yet eyes thus cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart. XXV. Let those who are in favor with their stars, Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour most. Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride l'es buried, For at a frown they in their glory die, The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foll', Is from the book of honour razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: Then happy I, that love and am beloved, Where I may not remove, nor be removed. XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to shew my wit, Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare in wanting words to shew it: But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: Till whatsoever star that guides my moving. Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tattered loving, To shew me worthy of thy sweet respect: Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, Till then, not shew my head where thou may'st prove me. XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see, Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself no quiet find. XXVIII. How can i then return in happy plight, That ain debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppress'd? And each, though enemies to either's reign, Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee, I tell the day to please him, thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven! More than that tongue that more hath more ex- So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night: press'd. O learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the even, But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem longer SONNETS. 969 XXIX. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee,-and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; Then can I drown an eye unus'd to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, And moan the expence of niany a vanish'd sight; Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. XXXI. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of thy lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give: That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I lov'd I view in thee, And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. XXXII. If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bettering of the time: And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought! Had my friend's muse grown with his growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style rll read, his for his love. XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face with meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace; Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow; But out! alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth: Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. XXXIV. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in thy rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak, That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace. Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss; The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross. Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. XXXV. No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy miss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, (Thy adverse party is thy advocate.) And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessory needs must be To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me. XXXVI. Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame: Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thon take that honour from thy name; But do not so: I love thee in such sort; As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. XXXVII. As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy word and truth; For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store; So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, Whilst thou this shadow doth such substance give, That I in thy abundance am suffic'd, And by a part of all thy glory live. Look what is best, that best I wish in thee; This wish I have; then ten times happy me! XXXVIII. How can my muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight, For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thyself dost give invention light? Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine, which rhymers invocate: And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to out-live long date. If my slight muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 970 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. XXXIX. O now thy worth with manners may I sing When thou art all the better part of me! What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee? Even for this let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one, Thet by this separation I may give That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone. absence, what a torment would'st thou prove, Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave To entertain the time with thoughts of love, (Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,) And that thou teachest how to make one twain, By praising him here, who doth hence remain. XL. Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all: What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call: All mine was thine, before thou had'st this more. Then if for my love thou iny love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blain'd, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my property; And yet love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites: yet we must not be foes. XLI. Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd: And when a woman woos, what woman's son Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd? Ah me! but yet thou might'st, my sweet, forbear, And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Who lead thee in their riot even there Where thou art fore'd to break a two-fold truth; Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. XLIL That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:- Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her: And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross: But here's the joy; my friend and I are one: Sweet flattery !-then she loves but me alone. XLIII. When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed; Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so? How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day, When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay? All days are nights to see, till I see thee, And nights brig days when dreanis do show thee me. XLIV. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way: For then, despite of space, I would be brought From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee. For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought, To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone But that, so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend time's leisure with my moan; Receiving nought by elements so slow But heavy tears badges of either's woe. XLV. The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide: The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone, Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy: Until life's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: This told, I joy; but then no longer glad I send them back again, and straight grow sad. XLVI. Mine eyes and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To 'cide this title is impannelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part, As thus mine eye's due is thy outward part, And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. XLVII. Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other; When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smothe. With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart: Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: So, either by thy picture or my love, Thyself away art present still with me; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee; Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart to heart's and eyes delight. XLVIII. How careful was I when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That, to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort now my greatest grief, Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, Are left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou may'st coine and part: And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear, For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. SONNETS. 971 XLIX. Against that time, if ever that time come, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast its utmost sum, Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects, Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye; When love, coverted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity, Against that time do I ensconce me here Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand against myself uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since, why to love, I can allege no cause. L. How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek,-my weary travel's end,- Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, "Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend!" The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee: The bloody spur cannot provoke him on That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side; For that same groan doth put this in my mind, My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. LI. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; In winged speed no motion shall I know: Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; Since from thee going he went wilful slow, Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set. Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. LIII. What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring and foizon of the year: The one doth shadow of your beauty shew, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessed shape we know. In al! external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart. LIV. O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye, As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses. But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth. LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Marsis' sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. LVI. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said, Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: So, love, be thou: although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new Come daily to the banks, that, when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view: Or call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare LVII. Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and time of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servants once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, Save, where you are how happy you make those: So true a fool is love, that in your will (Though you do anything) he thinks no ill. LVIII. That God forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure: Oh let ine suffer (being at your beck) The imprison'd absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list; your charter is so strong, That you yourself may privilege your time; Do what you will, to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell: Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. 972 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LIX. If there be nothing new, but that, which is, Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which labouring for invention bear amiss The second burthen of a former child? O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done! That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended or whe'r better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O! sure I am, the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise. LX. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And Lothing stands but for his scythe to mow, And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. LXI. Is it thy will, thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home, into my deeds to pry; To find out shaines and idle hours in me, The scope and tenour of thy jealousy? O no! thy love, though much, is not so great: It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake: For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all-too-near. LXII. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account, And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shews me myself indeed, 'Bated and chopp'd with tann'd iniquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, Self so self-loving were antiquity. "Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. LXIII. Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night; And all those beauties, whereof now he's king, Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring; For such a tine do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in then still green. LXIV. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd The rich proud cost of out-worn bury'd age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store: When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate- That time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. LXV. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack! Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. LXVI. Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,- As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn; And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-ty'd by authority, And folly (ductor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain Ill: Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. LXVII. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety That sin by him advantage should atchieve, And lace itself with his society? Why should false painting imitate his cheek, And steal dead seeing of his living hue? Why should pure beauty indirectly seek Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, Beggar'd of blood, to blush through lively veins ? For she hath no exchequer now but his, And proud of many, lives upon his gains. O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had, In days long since, before these last so bad. LXVIII. Thus in his cheek the map of days out-worn, When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, Or durst inhabit on a living brow: Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head, Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay. Ir him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, itself, and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to make his beauty new; And him as for a map doth nature store, To shew false art what beauty was of yore. SONNETS. 973 LXIX. Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd: But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, In other accents do this praise confound, By seeing farther than the eye hath shewn. They look into the beauty of thy mind, And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds: Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, To solve is this,-that thou dost common grow. LXX. That thou art blai'd shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air, So thou be good, slander doth but prove Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time: For canker vice the sweetest bads doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime, Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days Either not assail d or victor being charg'd; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd; If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe. LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell; Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if (I say) you look upon this verse, When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; But let your love even with my life decay: Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. LXXII. O lest the world should task you to recite What merit liv'd in me that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I, Than niggard truth would willingly impart; O, lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth. LXXIII. That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare rnin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang, In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sun-set fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st which makes thylove more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. When thou reviewest this, thou dost review The very part was consecrate to thee. The earth can have but earth, which is his due My spirit is thine, the better part of me; So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, The prey of worms, my body being dead; The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, Too base of thee to be remembered. The worth of that, is that which it contains, And that is this, and this with thee remains. LXXV. So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground, And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found: Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Now counting best to be with you alone, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure: Sometime all full with feasting on your sight And by and by clean starved for a look: Possessing or pursuing no delight, Save what is had or must froL. you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit dayy day, Or gluttoning on all, or all av ay. LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why, with the time, do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds starge: Why write I still all one, ever the saine, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? O know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument; So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent: For as the sun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told. LXXVII. Thy glass will shew thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste: The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book this learning may'st thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly shew, Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Thou by thy dial's shady stealth inay'st know Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look, what thy memory cannot contain, Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind, These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. LXXVIII. So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learned's wing, And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine, and born of thee. In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; But thou art all my art, and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance. 62 974 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LXXIX. Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace: But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, And my sick muse doth give another place. I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen; Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour: beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. Then thank him not for that which he doth say, Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. LXXX. O how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me tongue-ty'd, speaking of your fame! But since your worth (wide as the ocean is,) The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, My saucy bark, inferior far to his, On your broad main doth wilfully appear. Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, While he upon your soundless deep doth ride; Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, He of tall building, and of goodly pride: Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, The worst was this;-my love was my decay. LXXXI. Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die. The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read; And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse. When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen,) Where breath most breathes,-even in the mouths of men. LXXXII. I grant thou wert not married to my muse, And therefore may'st without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject blessing every book. Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, Finding thy worth a limit past my praise; And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd What strained touches rhetoric can lend, Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend; And their gross painting might be better us'd Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd. LXXXIII. I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set. I found, or thought I found, you did exceed The barren tender of a poet's debt: And therefore have I slept in your report, That you yourself, being extant, well might show How far a modern quill doth come too short Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. This silence for my sin you did impute, Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; For I impair not beauty, being mute, When others would give life, and bring a tomb. There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, Than both your poets can in praise devise. LXXXIV. Who is it that says most? which can say more, Than this rich praise,-that you alone are you? In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew. Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, That to his subject lends not seme small glory: But he that writes of you, if he can tell That you are you, so dignifies his story, Let him but copy what in you is writ, Not making worse what nature made so clear, And such a counter-part shall fame his wit, Making his style admired every where. You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse LXXXV. My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compil'd, Reserve their character with golden quill, And precious phrase by all the muses fill'd. I think good thoughts, while others write good words, And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen To every hymn that able spirit affords, In polish'd form of well-refined pen. Hearing you praised, I say, 'tis so, 'tis true, And to the most of praise add something more: But that is in my thought, whose love to you, Though words come hind-most, holds his rank before Then others for the breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. LXXXVI. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, That bid my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortai pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor his compeers by night Giving him aid, my verse astonished. He, nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors, of my silence cannot boast; I was not sick of any fear from thence. But when your countenance fill'd up his line, Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled minc. LXXXVII. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing: My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking: So thy great gift, upon misprison growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. LXXXVIII. When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of Scorn, Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forswor With mine own weakness being best acquainted, Upon thy part I can set down a story Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted; That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: And I by this will be a gainer too; For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, The injuries that to myself I do, Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. SONNETS. 975 LXXXIX. Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, And I will comment upon that offence; Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt; Against thy reasons making no defence. Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, To set a form upon desired change, As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will, I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange: Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell; Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong, And haply of our old acquaintance tell. For thee, against myself I'll vow debate, For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. XC. Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Nor while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss; Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite, But in the onset come: so shall I taste At first the very worst of Fortune's might: And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. XCI. Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; And every humour hath its adjunct pleasure, Wherein it finds a joy above the rest; But these particulars are not my measure, All these I better in one general best. Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, Of more delight than hawks or horses be; And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take All this away, and me most wretched make. XCII. But do thy worst to steal thyself away, For term of life thou art assured mine; And life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine. Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, When in the least of them my life hath end. I see a better state to me belongs Than that which on thy humour doth depend. Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. O what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But what's so blessed fair that fears no blot?- Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not: XCIII. So shall I live, supposing thou art true, Like a deceived husband; so love's face May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: For there can live no hatred in thine eye, Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. In many looks the false heart's history Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, But heaven in thy creation did decree, That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, If thy sweet virtue answer not the show! XCIV. They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do shew, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expence: They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet Though to itself it only live and die; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed out-braves his dignity; For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. XCV. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! That tongue that tells the story of thy days, Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; Naming thy name blesses an ill report. O what a mansion have those vices got, Which for their habitation chose out thee! What beauty's veil doth cover every blot, And all things turn to fair that eyes can see! Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege: The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge. XCVI. Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport: Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less: Thou mak'st false graces that to thee resort As on the finger of a throned queen The basest jewel will be well esteem'd So are those errors that in thee are seen, To truths translated, and for true things deern's How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, If like a lamb he could his looks translate! How many gazers might'st thou lead away, If thou would'st use the strength of all thy st But do not so; I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. XCVII. How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness every where! And yet this time remov'd was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime, Like widow'd wombs afte. their lord's decease; Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasure wait on thee, And thou away, the very birds are mute; Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's nest XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trir Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, Nor praise the deep vermillion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play: 976 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide:- Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white had stolen of both, And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; But for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so loug To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem In gentle numbers time so idly spent; Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey, If Time hath any wrinkle graven there; If any, be a satire to decay, And make Time's spoils despised every where. Give my love fame faster than time wastes life; So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. CL. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends, For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd? Both truth and beauty on my love depends: So dost thou too, and ther ein dignify'd. Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say, Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd, Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay: But best is best, if never intermix'd?- Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so; for it lies in thee It make him much out-live a gilded tomb, And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. Then do thy office, Muse: I teach thee how To make him seem long hence as he shews now. CII. My love is strengthen'd though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where. Our love was new, and then but in the spring, When I was wont to greet it with my lays; As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, And stops his pipe in growth of riper days; Not that the summer is less pleasant now Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, But that wild music burthens every bough, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, Because I would not dull you with my song. CIII. Adack! what poverty my muse brings forth, That having such a scope to shew her pride, The argument, all bare, is of more worth, Than when it hath my added praise beside. O blame me not if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful, then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend, Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, Your own glass shews you, when you look in it. CIV. To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold Have from the forest shook three summers' prida Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. CV. Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idle show, Since all alike my songs and praises be, To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence; Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd, One thing expressing, leaves ont difference. Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wond'rous scope afforde Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. CVI. When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhime, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring: And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. CVIL Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come Can yet the lease of my true love control, Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, And the sad augurs mock their own presage: Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhime, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrant's crests and tombs of brass are spent. CVIII. What's in the brain that ink may character, Which hath not figur'd to thee, my true spirit? What's new to speak, what's new to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy: but yet, like prayers divine, I must each day say o'er the very same; Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. So that eternal love in love's fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page: Finding the first conceit of love there brod, Where tire and outward form would shew it dead. SONNETS. 977 CIX. O never say that I was false of heart. Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart, As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have rang'd, Like him that travels, I return again; Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,- So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stain'd, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. CX. Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view, CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, Or whether shall I say mine eyes saith true, And that your love taught it this alchymy, To make of monsters and things indigest. Such cherubims as your sweet self resemble, Creating every bad a perfect best, As fast as objects to his beams assemble? O'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: Mine eye well knows what with his gust is greeing, And to his palate doth prepare the cup: If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. CXV. Those lines that I before have writ, do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer; Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most Yet then my judgment knew no reason why dear, Made old offences of affections new. Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth Askance and strangely; but, by all above, These blenches gave my heart another youth, And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. Now all is done, save what shall have no end: Mine appetite I never more will grind On newer proof, to try an older friend, A god in love, to whom I am confin'd. Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even to thy pure and most, most loving breast. CXI. O for my sake do you with fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means, which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Potions of eyesell, 'gainst my strong infection; No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance to correct correction. Pity me, then, dear friend, and I assure ye, Even that your pity is enough to cure me. CXII. Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all-the-world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your tongue; None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. In so profound abysm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my adder's sense To critic and to flatterer stopped are. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:- You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides methinks are dead. CXIII. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about, Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth lack; Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, For his own vision holds what it doth catch: For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature The mountain or the sea, the day or night, The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Alas! why, fearing of time's tyranny, Might I not then say, now I love you best, When I was certain o'er incertainty. Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe; then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow? CXVI. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and checks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. CXVII. Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all Wherein I should your great deserts repay; Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, That I have hoisted sail to all the winds And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and error down, And on just proof, surmise accumulate, Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate: Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. CXVIIL Like as, to make our appetites more keen, With eager compounds we our palate urge: As, to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge; Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding, And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, to anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assured. And brought to medicine a healthful state, Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 978 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. CXIX. What potions have I drunk of Syren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, In the distraction of this madding fever! O benefit of ill! now I find true That better is by evil still made better; And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuk'd to my content, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. CXX. That you were once unkind, befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken, As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time; And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. O that our night of woe might have remember'd My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd The humble salve which wounded bosom fits! But that your trespass now becomes a fee; Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. CXXI. "Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd, When not to be receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are trailer spies, CXXIV. If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd, As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'a No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it not grows with heat, nor drowns with showers To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. CXXV. Were it aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or lay'd great bases for eternity, Which prove more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No;-let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul, When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. CXXVI. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein shew'st Thy lover s withering, as thy sweet self grow'st! If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou go'st onwards, still will pluck thee back, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill No, I am that I am; and they that level At my abuses, reckon up their own: I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shewn: Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad, and in their badness reign. CXXII. Thy gift, thy tables are within my brain Full character'd with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain, Beyond all date, even to eternity: Or at the least so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist; Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. That poor retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score; Therefore to give them from me was I bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more! To keep an adjunct to remember thee, Were to import forgetfulness in me. CXXIII. No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange: They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire, Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wondering at the present nor the past; For thy records and what we see doth lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste. This I do vow, and this shall ever be, I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure; She may detain, but not still keep her treasure: Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, And her quietus is to render thee. CXXVII. In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame. For since each hand hath put on nature's power, Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour, But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited; and they mourners seem At such, who not born fair, no beauty lack, Slandering creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, That every tongue says, beauty should do so. CXXVIII. How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. SONNETS. 979 CXXIX. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof,-and prov'd, a very woe; Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream: All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. CXXX. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,-yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go,- My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground; And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she bely'd with false compare. CXXXI. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan: To say they err, I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And, to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. CXXXII. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain; Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. CXXXIII. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet's friend must be? Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engross'd, Of him, myself and thee, I am forsaken; A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol: And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee, Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. CXXXIV. So now I have confess'd that he is thine, And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind; He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, Under that bond that him as fast doth bind The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use, And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake; So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost; thou hast both him and Ine; He pays the whole, and yet I am not free. CXXXV. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, And will to boot, and will in over-plus: More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, Not one vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will One will of mine, to make thy large will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill; Think all but one, and me in that one Will. CXXXVI. If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill. Will will fulfill the treasure of my love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove; Among a number one is reckon'd none. Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores' account I one must be; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lov'st me,-for my name is Will CXXXVII. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd? Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world's commo place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face; In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. CXXXVIII. When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies; That she might think me some untutor'd youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtilties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false speaking tongue, On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. But wherefore says she not, she is unjust? And wherefore say not I, that I am old? O love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 980 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. CXXXIX. O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; Use power with power, and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my oppressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain. CXL. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach theo wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; (As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, CXLIV. Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still; The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell. Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out. CXLV. Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Breath'd forth the sound that said, I hate, To me that languish'd for her sake: But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet Was us'd in giving gentle doom; And taught it thus a-new to greet: No news but health from their physicians know :) I hate she alter'd with an end For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee: Now this ill-wresting world has grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed me. That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd, That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away. I hate from hate away she threw, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go And sav'd my life, saying-not you. wide. CXLI. In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone: But my five wits, nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. CXLII. Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine; Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example may'st thou be deny'd! CXLIII. Lo as a careful house-wife runs to catch One of her feather'd creature's broke away, Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch, In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. CXLVI. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thon pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And, death once dead, there's no more dying then. CXLVII. My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with ever more-unrest: My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, At random from the truth vainly express'd; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as bell, as dark as night. CXLVIII. O me! what eyes hath love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled? That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote. What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no How can it? O how can Love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view; The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. SONNETS. 981 CXLIX. Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I, against myself, with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? Nay if thou low'r'st on me do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? What merit do I in myself respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. CL. O from what power hast thou this powerful might, What insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warranties of skill, That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O, though I love what others do abhor, With others thou should'st not abhor my state; If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. CLI. Love is too young to know what conscience is; Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweat self prove. For thou betraying me, I do betray My noble part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason; But rising at thy name, doth point out thee As bis triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. CLII. In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost; For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy: And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I, To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie. CLIII. Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure, But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast: I sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest, But found no cure; the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. CLIV. The little love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep, Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from love's fire took heat perpeta, Growing a bath and helpful remedy For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' this Came nere for cure, and this by that I pai Love's fire beats water, water cools net lev. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. L DID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Persuade my heart to this false perjury? Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment, A woman I forswore; but I will prove, Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. My vow was breath, and breath a vapor is; Then thou fair sun which on my earth dost shine, Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is: If broken, then it is no fault of mine. If by me broke, what fool is not so wise To break an oath to win a paradise? IL Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook, With young Adonis, lovely fresh and green, Did court the lad with many a lovely look, Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. She told him stories to delight his ear; She shew'd him favours to allure his eye; To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there: Touches so soft still conquer chastity. But whether unripe years did want conceit, Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, But smile and jest at every gentle offer: Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward; He rose and ran away; ah fool too froward! III. If love makes me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove: Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live, that art can com- prehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- mend; All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder, Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dread- ful thunder, Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly tongue. IV. Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, A longing tarriance for Adonis made, Under an osier growing by a brook, A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen. Hot was the day; she hotter that did look For his approach, that often there has been. Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by, And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim ; The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye. Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him: He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood; Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood? V. Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle, Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty; Brighter than glass is, and yet, as glass is, brittle, Softer than wax, and yet as iron, rusty: A little pale, with damask die to grace her. None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing; How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, Dreading my love, the loss whereof stil fearing. Yet in the midst of all her pure protestrags, Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings, She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth; She burnt out love, as soon as straw outbarneth; She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing; She bade love last, and yet she felt a turning. Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. VI. If music and sweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov'st the one and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, As passing all conceit, needs no defence. Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound, That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes, And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, Whenas himself to singing he betakes. One god is god of both, as poets feign; One night loves both, and both in thee remain. VII. * * * Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild; Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds; She silly queen, with more than love's good will, Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds. Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth! See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore: She shewed hers; he saw more wounds than one, And blushing fled, and left her all alone. VIII. Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded! Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 983 I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have; For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy Will, And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; For why? I craved nothing of thee still; O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee; Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. IX. Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her, Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him: She told the youngling how good Mars did try her, And as he fell to her she fell to him. Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me: And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms: Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me; As if the boy should use like loving charms. Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, And with her lips on his did act the seizure; And as she fetched breath, away he skips; And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. Ah! that I had my lady at this bay, To kiss and clip me till I run away! X. Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like wintry weather: Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short. Youth is nimble, age is lame. Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee; O, my love, my love is young. Age, I do defy thee; O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long. XI. Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly; A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud; A brittle glass, that's broken presently: A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. And as goods lost are seld or never found, As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh, As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground, As broken glass no cement can redress, So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. Good night, good rest. XII. Ah! neither be my share; She bade good night, that kept my rest away; And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay. Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-morrow; Farewell I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether. May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, May be, again to make me wander thither: Wander, a word for shadows like myself, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. XIII. Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east! My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest, Not daring trust the office of mine eyes. While Philomelia sits and sings, I sit and mark, And wish her lays were tuned like the lark; For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty. And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-morrow. Were I with her, the night would post too soon; But now are minutes added to the hours: To spite me now, each minute seems an hour; Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers! Pack night, peep day: good day, of night now borrow; Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow. XIV. That liked of her master as well as well might be, It was a lording's daughter, the fairest oue of three, Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see, Her fancy fell a turning. [fight, Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight; To put in practice either, alas it was a spite Unto the silly damsel. But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain That nothing could be us'd to turn them both to gain, For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with dis- dain: Alas she could not help it! Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away: Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; For now my song is ended. XV. On a day (alack the day!) Love, whose month was ever May, Spy'd a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air, Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'gain passage find; That the lover sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath: Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But alas my hand hath sworn, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me, That I am forsworn for thee; Thou for whom even Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. XVI. My flocks feed not, My ewes breed not, My rams speed not, All is amiss: Love's denying, Faith's defying, Heart's renying, Causer of this. All my merry jigs are quite forgot, All my lady's love is lost, God wot: Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, There a nay is placed without remove. One silly cross Wrought all my loss; O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame! For now I see, Inconstancy More in women than in men remain. 984 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS In black mourn I, All fears scorn I, Love hath forlorn me, Living in thrall: Heart is bleeding, All help needing, (O cruel speeding!) Fraughted with gall. My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell, My wether's bell rings doleful knell; My curtail dog that wont to have play'd, Plays not at all, but seems afraid; With sighs so deep, Procures to weep, In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. How sighs resound Through heartless ground, Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! Clear wells spring not, Sweet birds sing not, Green plants bring not Forth; they die: Herds stand weeping, Flocks all sleeping, Nymphs back peeping Fearfully. All our pleasure known to us poor swains, All our merry meetings on the plains, All our evening sport from us is fled, All our love is lost, for love is dead. Farewell, sweet love, Thy like ne'er was For sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Poor Coridon Must live alone, Other help for him I see that there is none. XVII. When as thine eye hath chose the dame, And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike, Let reason rule things worthy blame, As well as fancy, partial might: Take counsel of some wiser head, Neither too young, nor yet unwed. And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, Lest she some subtle practice smell; (A cripple soon can find a halt:) But plainly say thou lov'st her well, And set her person forth to sale. What though her frowning brows be bent, Her cloudy looks will calm ere night; And then too late she will repent, That thus dissembled her delight; And twice desire, ere it be day, That which with scorn she put away. What though she strive to try her strength, And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, Her feeble force will yield at length, When craft had taught her thus to say: "Had women been so strong as men, In faith you had not had it then." And to her will frame all thy way; Spare not to spend,-and chiefly there Where thy desert may merit praise, By ringing in thy lady's ear: The strongest castle, tower, and town, The golden bullet beats it down. Serve always with assured trust, And in thy suit be humble, true; Unless thy lady prove unjust, Press never thou to choose anew: When time shall serve, be thou not slack To proffer, though she put thee back. The wiles and guiles that women work, Dissembled with an outward show, The tricks and toys that in them lurk, The cock that treads them shall not know. Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for nought? Think women still to strive with men, To sin, and never for to saint: There is no heaven, by holy then, When time with age shall them attaint. Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed. But soft; enough, too much I fear, Lest that my mistress hear my song She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear, To teach my tongue to be so long: Yet will she blush, here be it said, To hear her secrets so bewray'd. XVIII As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring: Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone: She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was a great pity: Fie, fle, fle, nor would she cry, Teru, Teru, by and by: That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shewn, Made me think upon mine own. Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; None take pity on thy pain: Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee. King Pandion, he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: All thy fellow birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing. Even so, poor bird, like thee, None alive will pity me. Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, Thou and I were both beguil'd. Every one that flatters thee, Is no friend in misery. Words are easy like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; But if store of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call: And with such like flattering, Pity but he were a king." If he be adict to vice, Quickly him they will entice; If to woman he be bent, They have him at commandement; THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 9$5 But if fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown: They that fawn'd on him before, Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need; If thou sorrow, he will weep: If thou wake, he cannot sleep: Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattering foe. XIX. Take, oh. take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn: And those eyes the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow, Are of those that April wears, But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee. XX. Let the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul pre-currer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing Save the eagle, feather'd king: Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music ean, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou, treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With the breath thou givest and talk'st, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commerce: Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they lov'd as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distincts, division none; Number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder: Distance, and no space was seen "Twixt the turtle and his queen: But in them it were a wonder. So between them love did shine, That the turtle saw his right Flaming in the phoenix' sight: Either was the other's mine. Property was thus appall'd, That the self was not the same; Single nature's double name Neither two nor one was call'd Reason, in itself confounded, Saw division grow together; To themselves yet either-neither, Simple were so well compounded. That it cried, how true a twain Seemeth this concordant one! Love hath reason, reason none, If what parts can so remain. Whereupon it made this threne To the phoenix and the dove, Co-supremes and stars of love; As chorus to their tragic scene. THRENOS, Beauty, truth, and rarity, Grace in all simplicity, Here inclos'd in cinders lie. Death is now the phoenix nest; And the turtle's loyal breast To eternity doth rest, Leaving no posterity:- "Twas not their infirmity, It was married chastity. Truth may seem, but cannot be: Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; Truth and beauty buried be. To this urn let those repair That are either true or fair; For these dead birds sigh a prayer. A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. FROM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded A plaintful story from a sistering vale, My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, And down I .ay to list the sad tun'd tale: Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale, Tearing off papers, breaking rings a-twain, Storming a world with sorrow's wind and rain. Upon her head a plaited hive of straw, Which fortified her visage from the sun, Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw The carcase of a beauty spent and done. Time had not scythed all that youth begun, Nor youth all quit: but, spite of heaven's fell rage, Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, Which on it had conceited characters. Laundring the silken figures in the brine That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, And often reading what contents it bears: As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, In clamours of all size, both high and low. Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, As they did battery to the spheres intend; Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend Their view right on; anon their gazes lend To every place at once, and nowhere fix'd, The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat, Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride; For some untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat, Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, Though slackly braided in loose negligence. A thousand favours from a maund she drew Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, Which one by one she in a river threw, Upon whose weeping margent she was set,- Like usury, applying wet to wet, Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall, Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. folded scheduies had she many a one, Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood; Crack'd many ring of p ed gold and bone, Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; Found yet more letters sadly rena'din blood, With sleided silk feat and affectedly Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes, And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; Cry'd O false blood! thou register of lies, What unapproved witness dost thou bear! Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here! This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, Big discontent so breaking their contents. A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, (Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle w Of court, of city, and had let go by The swiftest hours,) observed as they f; Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew, And, privileg'd by age, desires to know In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. So slides he down upon his grained bat, And comely-distant sits he by her side; When he again desires her, being sat, Her grievance with his hearing to divide, If that from him there may be aught apply'd Which may her suffering ecstacy assuage, "Tis promis'd in the charity of age. Father, she says, though in me you behold The injury of many a blasting hour, Let it not tell your judgment I am old; Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: I might as yet have been a spreading flower Fresh to myself, if I had self-apply'd Love to myself, and to no love beside. But woe is me! too early I attended A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) Of one by nature's outwards so commended, That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face: Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place; And when in his fair parts she did abide, She was new lodg'd and newly deified. His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; And every light occasion of the wind Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find; Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind; For on his visage was in little drawn, What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. Small show of man was yet upon his chin; His phoenix down began but to appear, Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear Yet show'd his visage by that cost most dear; And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best 'twere as it was, or best without. His qualities were beauteous as his form, For maiden-tongu'd he was, and thereof free; Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm, As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth, Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. But quickly on his side the verdict went, His real habitude gave life and grace To appertainings and to ornament A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 987 Accomplish'd in hirnself, not in his case: All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, Came for additions; yet their purpos'd trim Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kind of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong. For his advantage still did wake and sleep: To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, He had the dialect and different skill, Catching all passions in his craft of will; That he did in the general bosom reign Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted, To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty, following where he haunted: Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted: And dialogu'd for him what he would say, Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. Many there were that did his picture get, To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; Like fools that in the imagination set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd; And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them, Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. So many have, that never touch'd his hand, Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) What with his art in youth, and youth in art, Threw my affections in his charmed power, Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. Yet did I not, as some my equals did, Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded; Finding myself in honour so forbid, With safest distance I mine honour shielded: Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. But ah! who ever shunn'd with precedent The destin'd ill she must herself assay? Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content, To put the by-pass'd perils in her way? Counsel may stop a while what will not stay; For when we rage, advice is often seen By blunting us to make our wits more keen. Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, That we must curb it upon others' proof, To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. O appetite, from judgment stand aloof! The one a palate hath, that needs will taste, Though reason weep, and cry it is thy last. For further I could say, this man's untrue, And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew, Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; Thought, characters, and words, merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. And long upon these terms I held my city, Till thus he 'gan besiege me: Gentle maid, Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, And be not of my holy vows afraid: That's to you sworn, to none was ever said; For feasts of love I have been call'd unto. Tl now did ne'er invite, nor ever vow. All my offences that abroad you see, Are errors of the blood, none of the mind: Love made them not; with acture they may be, Where neither party is nor true nor kind: They sought their shame that so their shame did find And so much less of shame in me remains, By how much of me their reproach contains. Among the many that mine eyes hath seen, Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd, Or my affection put to the smallest teen, Or any of my leisures ever charm'd: Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd; Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood; Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of grief and blushes, aptly understood In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood; Effects of terror and dear modesty, Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. And lo! behold these talents of their hair, With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, I have receiv'd from many a several fair, (Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. The diamond; why t'was beautiful and hard, Whereto his invis'd properties did tend; The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard Weak sight their sickly radiance do amend; The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend With objects manifold; each several stone, With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan. Lo! all these trophies of affections hot, Of pensive and subdu'd desires the tender, Nature hath charg'd me that I heard them not, But yield them up where I myself must render, That is, to you, my origin and ender: For these of force, must your oblations be, Since I their altar, you empatron me. O then advance of yours that phraseless hand, Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise Take all these similes to your own command, Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise; What me your minister, for you obeys, Works under you; and to your audit comes Their distract parcels in combined sums. Lo! this device was sent me from a nun, Or sister sanctified of holiest note; Which late her noble suit in court did shun, Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, But kept cold distance, and did thence remove, To spend her living in eternal love. But O, my sweet, what labour is't to leave The thing we have not, mastering what not strives Playing the place which did no form receive, Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves: She that her fame so to herself contrives, The scars of battle scapeth by the flight, And make her absence valiant, not her might. O pardon me, that in my boast is true; The accident which brought me to her eye, Upon the moment did her force subdue, And now she would the caged cloister fly: Religious love put out religion's eye: Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd, And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. How mighty then you are, O hear me tell! The broken bosoms that to me belong, Have emptied all their fountains in my well, And mine I pour your ocean all among: I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 988 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Most for your victory us all congest, As compound love to physic your cold breast. My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, Who disciplin'd and dieted in grace, Believ'd her eyes when I the assail begun, All vows and consecrations giving place. O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space, In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, For thou art all, and all things else are thine. When thou impressest. what are precepts worth Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, How coldly those impediments stand forth Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame? Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame; And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine; And supplicant their sighs to you extend, And leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, Lending soft audience to my sweet design, And credent soul to that strong-bounded oath That shall prefer and undertake my troth. This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, Whose sights till then were level'd on my face; Each cheek a river running from a fount With brinish current downward flow'd apace: 0, how the channel to the stream gave grace! Who, glaz'd with crystal, gave the glowing roses That flame through water with their hue incloses. O, father, what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear! But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear? What breast so cold that is not warned here? O, cleft effect? cold modesty, hot wrath, Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath! For lo! his passion, but an art of craft, Even there resolv'd my reason into tears: There my white stole of chastity I daff'd, Shook off my sober guards and civil fears, Appear to him, as he to me appears, All melting; though our drops this difference bore His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. In him a plentitude of subtle matter, Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, Of burning blushes or of weeping water, Of swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves, To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, In either's aptness as it best deceives. Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows; That not a heart which in his level came, Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, Showing fair nature is both kind and taine; And veil'd in them, would win whom he would malm When he most brunt in heart-wish'd luxury, Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity. Thus merely with the garment of a Grace The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd, That the unexperiene'd gave the tempter place, Which, like a cherubim, above them hover'd. Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd: Ah me! I fell; and yet do question make What I should do again for such a sake. O, that infected moisture of his eye, O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did Яy, O, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd, O, all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd, Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, And new pervert a reconciled maid BOUND JUL 25 1933 UNI or MICH. 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