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Full text of "The complete works of William Shakespeare : arranged in their chronological order"

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: 2HAM YOUNG UNIVERSITY 
PROVO, UTAH 






■\ 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
Brigham Young University 



http://www.archive.org/details/completeworksofw1892shak 



j 



/ 



'*& 



THE COMPLETE WORKS 



OF 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



ARRANGED IN THEIR CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, 



EDITED E"Z" 



W. G. CLARK and w. ALDIS WRIGHT. 



With an Introduction to each Play, adapted from the Shakespearean Primer of 



PROFESSOR DOWDEN. 



ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GILBERT, R. A. 



CHICAGO: 

MORRILL, HIGGINS & CO., 

1892. 



a. CONVEY COWp. 

CHICAGO 

P «HV Tt .RS AND BlNO £f,S 



THE LrBRAfc* 

faxiGHA^ YOUNG UNIVERSITY 

PROVO, UTAH 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

• Titus Andronicus, 1 

King Henry VI.. Past I., 29 

Love's Labour's Lcst, 59 

• The Comedy of Errors, 88 

The Two Gentlemen of Verona, 108 

A Midsummer-Night's Dream, 132 

• King Henry VI. , Part II., 155 

" III., 189 

^Richard III 223 

•Romeo and Juliet, 264 

/ •Richard II., 297 

King John, 327 

The Merchant of Venice, 355 

• King Henry IV., Part I., . 383 

" »• "* " II., . 414 

• King Henry V., 447 

•The Taming of the Shrew, . 481 

The Merry Wives of Windsor, 509 

Much Ado About Nothing, 537 

* As You Like It, <- 564 

Twelfth Night, 592 

Julius Caesar, 618 

• Hamlet, 645 

* All's Well That Ends Well 686 

Measure for Measure, 716 

Troilus and Cressida, 745 

•Othello, 782 

King Lear, 819 

Macbeth, 856 

Antony and Cleopatra, 882 

Coriolanus, 919 



CONTENTS. 
vin , — 

958 
Timon of Athens, y&5 

Pericles, ••'•.' -.q^ 

Cymbeline, • ' -^,Q 

k THE Tempest 3 

The Winter's Tale, 

King Henry VIII., 

POEMS. 

1H1 

Venus and Adonis, 

T . . 1155 

The Rape of Lucrece, 

-r. ... 11<;> 

The Passionate Pilgrim, 

lloO 

Sonnets, ^ 

A Lover's Complaint, • " 

The Phoznix and the Turtle, ....••• 



, 1209 

GLOSSARY, . ■ ' 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



(WRITTEN ABOUT 1588-90.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

The great majority of English critics either reject this play altogether, upon the ground that 
in style and subject it is unlike any other work of Shakespeare, or accept as true the tradition of 
Ravenscroft, who altered the play in 1G87, that "it was not his [Shakespeare's]," but that he only 
gave " some master-touches to one or two of the principal parts or characters." Says one critic-. 
" Shakespeare's tragedy is never bloodily sensual ; . . . . this play is a perfect slaughter-house, and 

the blood makes appeal to all the senses It reeks blood, it smells of blood, we almost feel 

that we have handled blood— it is so gross." Besides the tradition of Ravenscroft, the external 
evidence with reference to the authorship of Titus is the following : (1) It is mentioned by Meres 
(1598) among other undoubted plays of Shakespeare, t (2) It is printed m the First Folio. A play 
called Titus and Vespasian was acted in 1592, and though itself lost, a translation into German, 
acted early in the 17th century by English comedians in Germany, remains in existence. It is not 
the piny attributed to Shakespeare. Henslowe also mentions a Titus and Andronicus as a new 
plav. acted January 23, 1594 : it is doubtful whether this was the Shakespearean play. If it be, and 
it was then written, the tragedy is certainly not by Shakespeare. It is impossible to believe that m 
1594, when Shakespeare had written his Venus and Adonis and his Lucrece, he could have dealt so 
coarsely with details of outrage and unnatural cruelty as does the author of this tragedy. Ben 
Jonson, in the introduction to Bartholomew Fair (1614). spdaks of Titus Andronicus, with Jtrouimo, 
as belonging to M twenty-five or thirty vears" previously: this would carry back the date of the 
play (if it be of this Titus Andronicus that Jonson speaks) to 1589, or earlier. That it was a play 
of that period, and was re-touched by Shakespeare, we may accept as the opinion best supported by 
internal evidence and by the weight ot critical authority. The importance of the tragedy lies in 
the fact that, if Shakespeare wrote it, we find him as a young man carried away by the intluence of 
a " storm and stress " movement similar to that which urged Schiller to write his Robbers. 
Titus Andronicus belongs essentially to the pre-Shakespearean group of bloody tragedies, of which 
Kyd's Spanish Tragedy is the most conspicuous example. If it is of Shakespearean authorship, 
it may be regarded as representing the years of crude and violent youth before he had found his 
true self ; his second tragedy, Romeo and Juliet, as representing the years of transition ; and 
Hamlet, the period of maturity and adult power. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of 
Rome, and afterwards declared Emperor. 

Bassianus, brother to Saturninus ; in love 
with Lavinia. 

Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, gene- 
ral against the Goths. 

Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the people, 
and brother to Titus. 

Lucius, 1 

M artius, \ sons to Titus AndroQicus - 

Mutius, J 

Young Lucius, a boy, son to Lucius. 

Publius, son to Marcus the Tribune. 

Sempronius, ) 

Caius, V kinsmen to Titus. 

Valentine, j 



^Emilius, a noble Roman. 

Alarbus, ) 

Demetrius, > sons to Tamora. 

Chiron, ) 

Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 

A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown ; 

Romans. 
Goths and Romans. 
Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
Lavinia, daughter of Titus Andronicus. 
A Nurse. 

Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and 
Attendants. 

Scene : Rome, and the country near it 
(l) 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act & 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Borne. Before the Capitol. 
The Tomb of the Andronici appearing; the 
Tribunes and Senators aloft. Enter below, 
from one side, Saturninus and Jus fol- 
lowers : and, from the other side, Bassianus 
and his Followers ; with drum and colors. 
Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
Defend the justice of my cause with arms, 
And, countrymen, ray loving followers, 
Plead my successive title with your swords : 
I am his first-born son, that was the last 
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome ; 
Then let my father's honors live in me, 
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
Bas. Romans, friends, followers, favorers 
of my right 
If ever Bassianus, Cresar s son, w 

Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome. 
Keep then this passage to the Capitol 
And suffer not dishonor to approach 
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
To justice, continence and nobility ; 
But let desert in pure election shine, 
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 

Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the 
crown. 

Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and 
by friends 
Ambitiously for rule and empery, 
Know that the people of Rome, for whom we 
stand , 20 

A special party, have, by common voice, 
In election for the Roman empery, 
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius 
For many good and great deserts to Rome 
A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
Lives not this day within the city walls : 
He by the senate is accited home 
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
Hath yoked a nation strong, train' d up in 
arms. 30 

Ten years are spent since first he undertook 
This cause of Rome and chastised with arms 
Our enemies' pride : five times he hath re- 
turn' d 
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
In coffins from the field ; 
And now at last, laden with honor's spoils, 
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
Let us entreat, by honor of his name, 
Whom worthily you would have now succeed. 
And in the Capitol and senate's right, 41 

Whom y»u pretend to honor and adore, 
That you withdraw you and abate your 

strength ; 
Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should, 
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm 
my thoughts ! 

Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy 
In thy uprightness and integrity, 



And so I love and honor thee and thine, 

Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, 50 

And her to whom my thoughts are humbled 

all, 
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
That I will here dismiss my loving friends, 
And to my fortunes and the people's favor 
C< mmit my cause in balance to be weigh' d. 
[Exeunt the followers of Bassianus. 
Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward 
in my right, 
I thank you all and here dismiss you all, 
And to the love and favor of my country 
Commit myself, my person and the cause. 

[Exeunt the followers of Saturninus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me 60 
As I am confident and kind to thee. 
Open the gates, and let me in. 
Bas. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 
[Flourish. Saturninus and Bassianus 
go up into the Capitol. 

Enter a Captain. 
Cap. Romans, make way : the good An- 
dronicus, 
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
Successful in the battles that he fights, 
With honor and with fortune is return' d 
From where he circumscribed with his sword^ 
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter Martius 
and Mutius ; after them, two Men bearing 
a coffin covered with black ; then Lucius and 
Qui'ntus. After them, Titus Andronicus ; 
and then Tamora, with Alarbus, Deme- 
trius, Chiron, Aaron, and other Goths, 
prisoners ; Soldiers and people following. 
The Bearers set down the coffin, and Titus 

Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 

weeds ! 70 

Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her 

fraught, 
Returns with precious lading to the bay 
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchor- 
age, 
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, 
To re-salute his country with his tears, 
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 
Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! 
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, 
Half of the number that King Priam had, 80 
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead ! 
These that survive let Rome reward with love ', 
These that I bring unto their latest home, 
With burial amongst their ancestors : 
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe 

my sword. 
Titus, unkind and careless of thine own, 
Why suffer' st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ? 
Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[The tomb is opened. 
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,90 
And sleep in peace^lain in your country s waral 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



sacred receptacle of my joys, 

Sweet ceil of virtue and nobility, 

How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 

That thou wilt never render to me more ! 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the 
Goths, 
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile 
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, 
Before this earthy prison of their bones ; 
That so the shadows be not unappeased, 100 
Nor we disturb' d with prodigies on earth. 

Tit. I give him you, the noblest that sur- 
vives, 
The eldest son of this distressed queen. 

Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren ! Gracious 
conqueror, 
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
And if thy sous were ever dear to thee, 
O, think my son to be as dear to me ! 
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, 
To beautify thy triumphs and return, 110 

Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, 
But must my sons be slaughter' d in the streets, 
For valiant doings in their country's cause ? 
0, if to fight for king and commonweal 
Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 
Draw near them then in being merciful : 
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge : 
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon 

me. 121 

These are their brethren, whom you Goths 

beheld 
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain 
Religiously they ask a sacrifice : 
To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, 
To appease their groaning shadows that are 
gone. [straight ; 

Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire 

And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 

Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martins, and 

Mutius, ivith Alarbus. 

Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety ! 130 

Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ? 

Bern. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious 
Rome. 
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
To tremble under Titus' threatening looks. 
Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal 
The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of 

Troy 
With opportunity of sharp revenge 
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, 
May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths — 
When Goths were Goths and Tamora was 
queen— 140 

To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 

Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and 
Mutius, with their swords bloody. 

Luc. See, lord and father, how we have 
perform' d 



Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd, 

And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 

Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the 

sky. 
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren, 
And with loud'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let it be so ; and let Andronicus 
Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 

[Trumpets sounded, and, the coffin laid 

in the tomb. 
In peace and honor rest you here, my sons ; 
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in 

rest, 151 

Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no 

storms. 
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 
In peace and honor rest you here, my sons ! 

Enter Lavinia. 

Lav. In peace and honor live Lord Titus 
long ; 
My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears 
I render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 160 
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy, 
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome : 
,^0, bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud ! 
Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly 
reserved 
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! 
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise ! 

Enter, beloio, Marcus Andronicus and Tri- 
bunes; re-enter Saturninus and Bassianus 
attended. 

Marc. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved 
brother, 
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome ! 170 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother 
Marcus. 

Marc. And welcome, nephews, from suc- 
cessful wars, 
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame ! 
Fair lords, your fortunes are alhce in all, 
That in your country's service drew your 

swords : 
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
That hath aspired to Solon's happiness 
And triumphs over chance in honor's bed. 
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 179 
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust, 
This palliament of white and spotless hue ; 
And name thee in election for the empire, 
With these our late-deceased emperor's sons : 
Be candidatus then, and put it on, 
And help to set a head on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits 
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness: 
What should I don this robe, and trouble you ? 
Be chosen with proclamations to-day, 190 

To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act 



\nd set abroad new business for you all? 
Rome I have been thy soldier forty years, 
And led my country's strength successfully, 
And buried one and twenty valiant sons, 
Knighted in held, slain manfully in arms), 
In right and service of their noble country : 
Give me a staff of honor for mine age, 
But not a sceptre to control the world : 
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 200 
Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the 

empery. 
Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst 

thou tell ? 
Tit. Patience, Prince Saturninus. 
Snt. Romans, do me right : 

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe 

them not 
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor. 
Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell, 
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts ! 
Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the 
good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to 
thee 210 

The people's hearts, and wean them from 
themselves. 
Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, 
But honor thee, and will do till I die : 
~My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
I will most thankful be ; and thanks to men 
Of noble minds is honorable meed. 
. Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes 

here, 
T ask your voices and your suffrages : 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus? 

Tribunes. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 221 
The people will accept whom he admits. 

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit 1 
make, 
That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope, 
Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, 
And ripen justice in this commonweal: 
Then, if you will elect by my advice, 
Crown him, and say ' Long live our emperor !' 
Marc. VVith voices and applause of every 
sort, 230 

Patricians and plebeians, we create 
Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor, 
And say ' Long live our Emperor Saturnine ! ' 
[A long flourish till they come dovm. 
Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done 
To us in our election this day, 
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: 
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name and honorable family, 
Lavinia will I make my empress, 240 

Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart, 
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please 
thee ? 
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and in this 
match 



I hold me highly honor'd of your grace: 
And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine, 
King and commander of our commonweal, 
The wide world's emperor, do 1 consecrate 
My sword, my chariot and my prisoners ; 
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: 
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 251 
Mine honor's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! 
How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts 
Rome shall record, and when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Tit. [To Tamora] Now, madam, are you 
prisoner to an emperor ; 
To him that, for your honor and your state, 
Will use you nobly and your followers. 260 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
That I would choose, were 1 to choose anew. 
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance : 
Though chance of war hath wrought this 

change of cheer, 
Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes : madam, he comforts you 
Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths. 
Lavinia, you are not displeased with this? 270 

Lav. Not I, my lord ; sith true nobility 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let 
us go; 
Ransomless here we set our prisoners free : 
Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and 
drum. 

[Flourish. Saturninus courts Tamora 

in dumb show. 

Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid 

is mine. [Seizing Lavinia. 

Tit. How, sir! are you in earnest then, my 

lord ? 
Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolved withal 
To do myself this reason and this right. 
Marc. ' Suum cuique ' is our Roman jus- 
tice : 280 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius 

live. 
Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! Where is the em- 
peror's guard ? 
Treason, my lord ! Lavinia is surprised ! 
Sat. Surprised ! by whom ? 
Bas. By him that justly may 

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
[Exeunt Bassianus and Marcus with Lavinia. 
Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence 
away, 
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. 
[Exeunt Lucius, Quintiis, and Martius. 
Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring 

her back. 
Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 289 

Tit. What, villain boy ! 

Barr'sfc me my way in Rome ? [Stabbing 

Mutius. 
Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! [Dies. 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[During the fray, Saturninus, Tamora, 
Demetrius, Chiron and Aaron go out 
and re-enter, above. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and, more 

than so, 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine ; 
My sons would never so dishonor me : 
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to he his 

wife, 
That is another's lawful promised love. [Exit. 
Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her 

not, 
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 300 
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, 
Confederates all thus to dishonor me. 
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale, 
But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus, 
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of 

thine, 
That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 
Tit. . monstrous ! what reproachful words 

are these ? 
Sat. But go thy ways ; go, give that 

changing piece 
To him that flourish' d for her with his sword : 
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy ; 311 
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded 

heart. 
Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen 

of Goths, 
That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her 

nymphs 
Dost overshine the gallant' st dames of Rome, 
If thou be pleased with this my sudden 

choice, 
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
And will create thee empress of Rome, 320 
Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud 

my choice ? 
'And here I swear by all the Roman gods, 
Sith priest and holy water are so near 
And tapers burn so bright and every thing 
In readiness for Hymenaeus stand, 
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espoused my bride along with me. 
Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to 

Rome I swear, 
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, 330 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, 

accompany 
Your noble emperor and his lovely bride, 
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered : 
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 
[Exeunt all but Titus. 
Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. 



Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 339 
Dishonor' d thus, and challenged of wrongs ? 

Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and 
Martius. 

Marc. O Titus, see, 0, see what thou hast 
done ! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, 
Nor thou, nor these, confederatesjn the deed 
That hath dishonor' d all our family ; 
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 
Luc, But let us give him burial, as be- 
comes ; 
Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this 
tomb : 
This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
Which I have sumptuously re-edified : 351 
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors 
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : 
Bury him where you can ; he comes not here. 

Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; 
He must be buried with his brethren. 

Quin. ) And shall, or him we will accom- 

Mart. \ pany. 

Tit. ' And shall ! ' what villain was it 

spake that word ? 
Quin. He that would vouch it in any place 
but here. 360 

Tit. What, would you bury him in my 

despite ? 
Marc. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee 
To pardon Mutius and to bury him. 

Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon 
my crest, 
And, with these boys, mine honor thou hast 

wounded : 
My foes I do repute you every one ; 
So, trouble me no more, but get you gone. 
Mart. He is not with himself ; let us 

withdraw. 
Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 

[Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. 

Marc. Brother, for in that name doth 

nature plead, — 370 

Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 

speak, — 
Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will 

speed. 
Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my 

soul, — 
Iaic. Dear father, soul and substance of 

us all, — 
Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
That died in honor and Lavinia' s cause. 
Thou art a Roman ; be not barbarous : 
The Greeks upon advice did bury A jax 
That slew himself ; and wise Laertes' son 380 
Did graciously plead for his funerals : 
Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy, 
Be barr'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise, 

The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw, 



6 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act i, 



To be dishonor' d by my sons in Rome ! 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[Mutius is put into the tomb. 
Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, 
with thy friends, 
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. 
All. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for 
noble Mutius ; 
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 
Marc. My lord, to step out of these dreary 
dumps, 391 

How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome ? 

Tit. I know not, Marcus ; but I know it is : 
Whether by device or no, the heavens can 

tell : 
Is she not then beholding to the man 
That brought her for this high good turn so 

far? 
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 

Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, Satur- 
ninus attended, Tamora, Demetrius, Chi- 
ron, and Aaron ; from the other, Bassia- 
nus, Lavinia, and others. 
Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your 
prize : 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride ! 
Bas. And you of yours, my lord ! I say 
no more, 401 

Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave. 
Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have 
power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my 
own, 
My truth-betrothed love and now my wife ? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine. 
Sat. 'Tis good, sir: you are very short with 
us *, 
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 410 
Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I 
may, 
Answer I must and shall do with my life. 
Only thus much I give your grace to know : 
By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here, 
Is in opinion and in honor wrong'd ; 
That in the rescue of Lavinia 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath 
To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 420 
Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine, 
That hath express'd himself in all his deeds 
A father and a friend to thee and Rome. 
Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my 
deeds : 
'Tis thou and those that have-dishonor' d me. 
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, 
How I have loved and honor' d Saturnine ! 
Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 430 
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past 
Sat, What, madam I be dishonor' d openly, 



And basely put it up without revenge ? 

Tarn. Not so, my lord ; the gods of Rome 
forfend 
I should be author to dishonor you ! 
But on mine honor dare I undertake 
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all ; 
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs : 
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,440 
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. 
[Aside to Sat J My lord, be ruled by me, be 

won at last ; 
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
You are but newly planted in your throne : 
Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, 
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
And so supplant you for ingratitude, 
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, 
Yield at entreats ; and then let me alone : 
I'll find a day to massacre them all 450 

And raze their faction and their family, 
The cruel father and his traitorous sons, 
To whom I sued for my dear son's life, 
And make them know what 'tis to let a queen 
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. 
[Aloud.] Come, come, sweet emperor ; come, 

Andronicus ; 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the 

heart 
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 

Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath 
prevail' d. 

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my 
lord : 460 

These words, these looks, infuse new life in 
me. 

Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily, 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; 
And let it be mine honor, good my lord, 
That I have reconciled your friends and you. 
For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
My word and promise to the emperor, 
That you will be more mild and tractable. 470 
And fear not, lords, and you, Lavinia ; 
By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his 
highness, 
That what we did was mildly as we might, 
Tendering our sister's honor and our own. 

Marc. That, on mine honor, here I do pro- 
test. 

Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no 
more. 

Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must 
all be friends : 479 

The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
I will not be denied : sweetheart, look back. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's 
here, 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults : 
Stand up. 
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[found a friend, and sure as death I swore 
I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two 

brides, 
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. 
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 491 
Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty 
To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
With horn and hound we'll give your grace 
bonjour. 
Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT n. 



Scene I. Rome. Before the Palace. 

Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
Safe out of fortune's shot ; and sits aloft, 
Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash; 
Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach. 
As when the golden sun salutes the morn, 
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
And overlooks the highest-peering hills ; 
So Tamora : 

Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait, 10 

And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy 

thoughts, 
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, 
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph 

long 
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes 
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! 
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon this new-made empress. 20 

To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, 
This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph, 
This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's. 
Holloa ! what storm is this? 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, braving. 

Bern. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit 
wants edge, 
And manners, to intrude where I am graced ; 
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all ; 
And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 30 
'Tis not the difference of a year or two 
Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate : 
I am as able and as fit as thou 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
And plead my passions for Lavinia' s love. 

Aar. [Aside] Clubs, clubs ! these lovers 
will not keep the peace. 

Bern. Why, boy, although our mother, un- 
advised, 
Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, 



Are you so desperate grown, to threat your 
friends ? 40 

Go to ; have your lath glued within your sheath 
Till you know better how to handle it. 

Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I 
have, 
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare 
Bern. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave ? 

[They draw. 
Aar. [Coming forward] Why, how now, 
lords ! 
So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 
And maintain such a quarrel openly ? 
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge : 
I would not for a million of gold 
The cause were known to them it most con- 
cerns ; 50 
Nor would your noble mother for much more 
Be so dishonor' d in the court of Rome. 
For shame, put up. 

Bern. Not I, till I have sheathed 

My rapier in his bosom and withal 
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his 

throat 
That he hath breathed in my dishonor here. 
Chi. For that I am prepared and full re- 
solved. 
Foul-spoken coward, that thunder' st with thy 

tongue, 
And with thy weapon nothing darest perform ! 
Aar. Away, I say ! 60 

Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, 
This petty brabble will undo us all. 
Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jet upon a prince's right ? 
What, is Lavinia then become so loose, 
Or Bassianus so degenerate, 
That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd 
Without controlment, justice, or revenge ? 
Young lords, beware ! and should the em- 
press know 
This discord's ground, the music would not 
please. 70 

Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the 
world : 
I love Lavinia more than all the world. 
Bern. Youngling, learn thou to make some 
meaner choice : 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 
Aar. Why, are ye mad? or know ye not 
in Rome 
How furious and impatient they be, 
And cannot brook competitors in love ? 
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 

Would I propose to achieve her whom I love. 80 
Aar. To achieve her ! how ? 
Bern. Why makest thou it so strange ? 
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved. 
What, man! more water glideth by the mill 
Than wots the miller of ; and easy it is 
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know : 
Though Bassianus be the emperor's brothov, 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act ii. 



Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. 
Aar. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus 

may. 90 

Dem. Then why should he despair that 

knows to court it 
With words, fair looks and liberality ? 
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, 
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ? 
Aar. Why, then, it seems, some certain 

snatch or so 
Would serve your turns. 
Chi. Ay, so the turn were served. 

Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 
Aar. Would you had hit it too ! 

Then should not we be tired with this ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye ! and are you such 

fools 
To square for this ? would it offend you, 

then, 100 

That both should speed ? 
Chi. Faith, not me. 

Dem. Nor me, so I were one. 

Aar. For shame, be friends, and join for 

that you jar : 
'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
That you affect ; and so must you resolve, 
That what you cannot as you would achieve, 
You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
Take this of me : Lucrece was not more chaste 
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
A speedier course than lingering languishment 
Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop : 
The forest walks are wide and spacious ; 
And many unfrequented plots there are 
Fitted by kind for rape and villany : 
Single you thither then this dainty doe, 
And strike her home by force, if not by words : 
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit 
To villany and vengeance consecrate, 121 

Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
And she shall file our engines with advice, 
That will not suffer you to square yourselves, 
But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
The emperor's court is like the house of 

Fame, 
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears : 
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and 

dull; 
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take 

your turns ; 
There serve your lusts, shadow'd from 

heaven's eye, 130 

And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 

Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no coward- 
ice, 
Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits , 
Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A forest near Rome. Horns and 
cry of hounds heard. 

Enter Titus Andronicus, with Hunters, &c, 
Marcus., Lucius, Quintus, oM Ma&tius, 



Tit, The hunt is up, the morn is bright and 

grey, 
The fields are fragrant and the woods are 

green : 
Uncouple here and let us make a bay 
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride 
And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal, 
That all the court may echo with the noise. 
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours, 
To attend the emperor's person carefully : 
I have been troubled in my sleep this night, 
But dawning day new comfort hath inspired. 10 

A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. 
Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Bassianus, 
Lavinia, Demetrius, Chiron, and At- 
tendants. 
Many good morrows to your majesty ; 
Madam, to you as many and as good : 
I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lord ; 
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
Bas. Lavinia, how say you ? 
Lav. I say, no ; 

I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
Sat. Come on, then; horse and chariots let 
us have, 
And to our sport. [To Tamora] Madam, now 

shall ye see 
Our Roman hunting. 

Marc. I have dogs, my lord, 20 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
And climb the highest promontory top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where 
the game 
Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the 
plain. 
Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse 
nor hound, 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene III. A lonely part of the forest. 

Enter Aaron, with a bag of gold. 

Aar. He that had wit would think that I 
had none, 
To bury so much gold under a tree, 
And never after to inherit it. 
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly 
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, 
Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
A very excellent piece of villany : 
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest 

[Hides the gold. 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 

Enter Tamora. 

Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st 

thou sad, 10 

When every thing doth make a gleeful boast ? 
The birds chant melody on every bush, 
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, 
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind 
And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground : 
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us ait, 
And, whilst the babbling echo raocta the 

hounds, 



Scene iil] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, 
As if a double hunt were heard at once, 19 
Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise ; 
And, after conflict such as was supposed 
The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd, 
When with a happy storm they were surprised 
And curtain' d with a counsel-keeping cave, 
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melo- 
dious birds 
Be unto us as is a nurse's song 
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. 
Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your 
desires, 30 

Saturn is dominator over mine : 
What signifies my deadly-standing eye, 
My silence and my cloudy melancholy, 
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls 
Even as an adder when she doth unroll 
To do some fatal execution ? 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs : 
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, 
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, 40 
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in 

thee, 
This is the day of doom for Bassianus : 
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, 
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity 
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
Seestthou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, 
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. 
Now question me no more ; we are espied ; 
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, 
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 50 
Tarn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me 

than life ! 
Aar. No more, great empress ; Bassianus 
comes : 
Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. 

[Exit. 
Eater Bassianus and Lavinia. 

Bas. Who have we here ? Rome's royal 
empress, 
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ? 
Or is it Dian, habited like her, 
Who hath abaudoued her holy groves 
To see the general hunting iu this forest ? 

Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps! 
Had I the power that some say Dian had, 61 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds 
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 

Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horn- 
ing ; 
And to be doubted that your Moor and you 
Are singled forth to try experiments : 
Jove shield your husband from his hounds 
to-day ! 70 

"Tis pity they should take him for a stag. 
Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cim- 
merian 



Doth make your honor of his body's hue, 
Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
Why are you sequester' d from all your train, 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly 

steed, 
And wander' d hither to an obscure plot, 
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, 
If foul desire had not conducted you ? 

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, 
Great reason that my noble lord be rated M 
For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, 
And let her joy her raven-color' d love ; 
This valley fits the purpose passing well. 
Bas. The king my brother shall have note 

of this. 
Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him 

noted long : 
Good king, to be so mightily abused ! 

Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all 

this ? 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron. 

Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our 

gracious mother ! 
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? 
Tarn. Have I not reason, think vou, to look 

pale? !)1 

These two have 'ticed me hither to this place : 
A barren detested vale, you see it is ; 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and 

lean, 
O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe : 
Here never shines the sun; here nothing 

breeds, 
Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven : 
And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, 
They told me, here, at dead time of the night, 
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 
Would make such fearful and confused cries 
As any mortal body hearing it 
Should straight falfmad, or else die suddenly. 
No sooner had they told this hellish tale , 
But straight they told me they would bind 

me here 
Unto the body of a dismal yew, 
And leave me to this miserable death : 
And then they call'd me foul adulteress. 
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
That ever ear did hear to such effect : 111 

And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
This vengeance on me had they executed. 
Revenge it, as you love your mother's lite. 
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 
Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son. 

[Stubs Bassianus. 
Chi. And this for me, struck home to show 

my strength. 

[Also stabs Bassianus, who dies. 
L>av. Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous 

Tamora, 
For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! 
Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall 

know, my boys, 120 

Your mother's nand shall right your mother's 

wrong. 



10 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act ii. 



Dem. Stay, madam ; here is more belongs 
to her ; 
First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw : 
This minion stood upon her chastity, 
Upon h~r nuptial vow, her loyalty, V 

tAnd with that painted hope braves your 

mightiness : 
And shall she carry this unto her grave ? 
Chi, An if she do, I would I were an eu- 
nuch. 
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
Tain. But when ye have the honey ye de- 
sire, 131 
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 
Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make 
that sure. 
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy 
That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 
Lav. Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's 

face, — 
Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with 

her ! 
Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but 

a word. 
Dem. Listen, fair madam ; let it be your 
glory 
To see her tears; but be your heart to them 
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 141 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach 
the dam ? 
O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee; 
The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to 

marble ; 
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. 
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike : 
[ To Chiron] Do thou entreat her show a woman 
pity. 
Chi. What, wouldst thou have me prove 

myself a bastard ? 
Lav. 'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a 
lark : 
Yet have I heard, — 0, could I find it now ! — 
The lion moved with pity did endure 151 

To have his princely paws pared all away : 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
The whilst their own birds famish in their 

nests : 
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 
Tarn. I know not what it means ; away with 

her ! 
Lav. O, let me teach thee ! for my father's 
sake, 
That gave thee life, when well he might have 

slain thee, 
Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 103 

Tarn, Hadst thou in person ne'er offended 
me, 
Even for his sake am I pitiless. 
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
To save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
But fierce Andronicus would not relent ; 
Therefore, away with her, and use her as you 

will, 
The worse to her, the better loved of me. 



Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
And with thine own hands kill me in this 

place! 
For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; 170 
Poor 1 was slain when Bassianus died. 

Tarn. What begg'st thou, then ? fond 

woman, let me go. 
Lav. 'Tis present death I beg ; and one 
thing more 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
And tumble me into some loathsome pit, 
Where never man's eye may behold my body; 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of 
their lee : 
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 180 
Dem. Away! for thou hast stay' d us here 

too long. 
Lav. No grace ? no womanhood ? Ah, 
beastly creature ! 
The blot and enemy to our general name ! 
Confusion fall— 

Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring 
thou her husband : 
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
[Demetrius throws the body of Bassianus 
into the pit ; then exeunt Demetrius and 
Chiron, dragging off Lavinia. 
Tarn. Fareweil, my sons : see that you 
make her sure. 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, 
Till all the Andronici be made away. 
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 190 
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius. 

Aar. Come on, my lords, the better foot 
before : 
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit 
Where I espied the panther fast asleep. 

Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it 

bodes. 
Mart. And mine, I promise you; were't not 
for shame, 
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 

[Falls into the pit. 
Quin. What, art thou fall'n ? What subtle 
hole is this, 
Whose mouth is cover' d with rude-growing 

briers, 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed 
blood 200 

As fresh as morning dew distill' d on flowers? 
A very fatal place it seems to me. 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the 
fall? 
Mart. O brother, with the dismall'st ob- 
ject hurt 
That ever eye with sight made heart lament I 
Aar. [Aside] Now will I fetch the king to 
find them here, 
Tli at he thereby may give a likely guess 
How these were they that made away his 
brother. [Exit* 



Scene rv.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



11 



Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help 
me out 209 

From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole? 
Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; 
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints : 
My heart suspects more than mine eye can 
see. 
Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining 
heart, 
Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 
Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compas- 
sionate heart 
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise ; 
O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 220 
Was I a child to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
All on a heap, like to a slaughter' d lamb, 
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 

'tis he ? 
Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
Which, like a taper in some monument, 
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
And shows the ragged entrails of the pit : 230 
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus 
When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. 

brother, help me with thy fainting hand — 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath — 
Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 

As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 

Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help 
thee out ; 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 

1 may be pluck' d into the swallowing womb 
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 240 
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without 

thy help. 
Quin. Thy hand once more ; I will not 
loose again, 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
Thou canst not come to me ; I come to thee. 

[Falls in. 

Enter Saturninus with Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me : I'll see what hole is 
here, 
And what he is that now is leap'd into it. 
Say, who art thou that lately didst descend 
Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus : 
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 251 
To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 
Sat. My brother dead ! I know thou dost 
but jest : 
He and his lady both are at the lodge 
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
"Tis not an hour since I left him there. 
Mart. We know not where you left him all 
alive ; 
But, out, alas ! here have we found him dead. 
He-enter Tamora, icith Attendants ; Titus 
Andronicus, and Lucius. 



Tarn. Where is my lord the king 7 
Sat. Here, Tamora, though grieved with 
killing grief. 260 

Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus ? 
Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
wound : 
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 

Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
The complot of this timeless tragedy ; 
And wonder greatly that man's face can fold 
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 
{She giveth Saturnine a letter 
Sat. [Reads] ' An if we miss to meet him 
handsomely — 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean — 
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him : 270 
Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy 

reward 
Among the nettles at the elder-tree 
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit 
Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.' 

Tamora ! was ever heard the like ? 
This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. 
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out 
That should have murdered Bassianus here. 

Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of 
gold. 280 

Sat. [To Titus] Two of thy whelps, fell curs 
of bloody kind, 
Have here bereft my brother of his life. 
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison 
There let them bide until we have devised 
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
Tarn. What, are they in this pit ? O won- 
drous thing ! 
How easily murder is discovered ! 

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 

1 beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 290 
Accursed, if the fault be proved in them, — 

Sat. If it be proved ! you see it is apparent. 
Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ? 
Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 
Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their 
bail ; 
For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow 
They shall be ready at your highness' will 
To answer their suspicion with their lives. 
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them : see thou 
follow me. 
Some bring the murder'd body, some the 
murderers : 300 

Let them not speak a word ; the guilt is plain ; 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than 

death, 
That end upon them should be executed. 

Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king; 
Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. 
Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk 
with them. • [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the forest. 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron icith La* 
vinia, ravished; ker hands cut otf\ and her 
tongue cut out. 



12 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act hi. 



Dem. So. now go tell, an if thy tongue can 
speak, 
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd 
thee. 
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy 
meaning so, 
A.n if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. 
Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she 

can scrowl. 
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash 

thy hands. 
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands 
to wash ; 
And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang 

myself. 
Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit 
the cord. 10 

{Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. 

Enter Marcus 

Mar. Who is this ? my niece, that flies away 

so fast ! 
Cousin, a word ; where is your husband ? 
If I do dream, would all my wealth would 

wake me ! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! 
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare 
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments, 
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to 

sleep in, 
And might not gain so great a happiness 20 
As have thy love ? Why dost not speak to me? 
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, 
Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee, 
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy 

tongue. 
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, 
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, 
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face 31 
Blushing to be encountered with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say 'tis so ? 
0, that I knew thy heart ; and knew the beast, 
That I might rail at him, to ease my mind! 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
And in a tedious sampler sew'dher mind: 
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee ; 
A craftier" Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, 41 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, 
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
0, had the monster seen those lily hands 
Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute, 
And make the silken strings delight to kiss 

them, 
He would not then have touch'd them for his 

life ! 
Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony 
Which that sweet tongue hath made. 



He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell 
asleep 50 

As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 

Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; 

For such a sight will blind a father's eye : 

One hour's storm will drown the fragrant 
meads ; 

What will whole months of tears thy father's 
eyes ? 

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee : 

O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. Borne. A street 

Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with 
Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on 
to the place of execution ; Titus going be- 
fore, pleading. 

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble trib- 
unes, stay ! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; 
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
For all the frosty nights that I have watch' d ; 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ; 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons, 
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought 
For two and twenty sons I never wept, 1( 

Because they died in honor's lofty bed. 

{Liethdown; the Judges, &c.,passbi 
him, and Exeunt. 
For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad 

tsars : 
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame 

and blush. 
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
That shall distil from these two ancient urns, 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers : 
In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still ; 
In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow, 20 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 

Enter Lucius, with 7iis sivord drann. 

O reverend tribunes ! O gentle, aged men ! 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
And let me say, that never wept before, 
My tears are now prevailing orators. 

Luc. O noble father, you lament in vain : 
The tribunes hear you not : no man is by ; 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 
Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me 
plead. 30 

Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you, — 
Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears 

you speak. 
Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man; if they did 
hear, 
They would not mark me, or if they did 
mark, 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



13 



They -would not pity me, yet plead I must ; 

t And bootless unto them 

Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
Who, though they cannot answer my distress 
Yet in some sort they are better than the 

tribunes, 
For that they will not intercept my tale : 40 
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
Receive my tears and seem to weep with me ; 
And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
A stone is soft as wax, — tribunes more hard 

than stones ; 
A stone is silent, and offendeth not, 
And tribunes with their tongues doom men 

to death. [Risen. 

But wherefore stand' st thou with thy weapon 

drawn ? 
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their 

death : 
For which attempt the judges have pro- 
nounced 50 
My everlasting doom of banishment. 

Tit. happy man! they have befriended 

thee. 
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive 
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ? 
Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey 
But me and mine : how happy art thou, then, 
From these devourers to be banished ! 
But who comes with our brother Marcus here? 

Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 

Marc. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to 
weep ; 
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break : 60 
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 

Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it, 

then. 
Marc. This was thy daughter. 
Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 

Luc. Ay me, this object kills me ! 
TU. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon 
her. 
Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Hath made thee handless in thy father's 

sight ? 
What fool hath added water to the sea, 
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy? 
My grief was at the height before thou earnest, 
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds. 71 
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in 

vain ; 
And they have nursed this woe, in feeding 

life ; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
And they have served me to effectless use: 
Now all the service I require of them 
Is that the one will help to cut the other. 
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath mar- 
tyr'd thee ? 81 

Marc. O, that delightful engine of her 
thoughts, 



That blabb'd them with such pleasing elo- 
quence, 
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage, 
Win re. like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear ! 
Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this 

deed? 
Marc. 0, thus I found her, straying in the 

park. 
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer 
That hath received some unrecuriug wound. 90 
Tit. It was my deer; and he that wounded 

her 
Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead; 
For now I stand as one upon a rock 
Environed with a wilderness of sea, 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by 

wave, 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are 

gone ; 
Here stands my other son, a banished man, 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes: 
But that which gives my soul the greatest 

spurn, 101 

Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. 
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, 
It would have madded me : what shall I do 
Now I behold thy lively body so? 
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ; 
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr <| 

thee : 
Thy husband he is dead : and for his death 
Thy brothers are condemn' d, and dead bv 

this. 109 

Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her ! 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh 

tears 
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew 
Upon a gather' d lily almost wither' d. 
Marc. Perchance she weeps because they 

kill' d her husband ; 
Perchance because she knows them innocent. 
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be 

joyful, 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. 
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips. 120 

Or make some sign how I may do thee ease : 
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
And thou, and I, sit round about some 

fountain, 
Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry, 
With miry slime left on them by a flood ? 
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long 
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? 
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine? 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb 

shows 131 

Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
What shall we do ? let us, that have our 

tongues, 



14 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act hi 



Plot some device of further misery, 
To make us wonder' d at in time to come. 
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for, 
at your grief, 
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 
Marc. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, 

dry thine eyes. 
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I 
wot 
Thy napkin cawiot drink a tear of mine, 140 
For thou, poor man, hast drown' d it with 
thine own. 
Luc. All, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy 

cheeks. 
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark I I understand 
her signs : 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
That to her brother which I said to thee : 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet, 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
O, what a sympathy of woe is this, 
As far from help as Limbo is from bliss ! 

Enter Aaron. 

Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the em- 
peror 150 
Sends thee this word, — that, if thou love thy 

sons, 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop off your hand, 
And send it to the king : he for the same 
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ; 
An 1 that shall be the ransom for their fault. 
Tit. O gracious emperor ! gentle Aaron ! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark. 
That gives sweet-tidings of the sun's uprise? 
With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 160 
My hand: 

Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off ? 
Luc. Stay, father ! for that noble hand 
of thine, 
That hath thrown down so many enemies, 
Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the 

turn : 
My youth can better spare my blood than 

you ; 
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' 
lives. 
Marc. Which of your hands hath not de- 
fended Rome, 
And rear'd aloit the blood} 1- battle-axe, 
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?170 
O. none of both but are of high desert : 
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
To ransom my two nephews from their death ; 
Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 
Aar. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall 
go along, 
For fear they die before their pardon come. 
Marc. My hand shall go. 
Luc. By heaven, it shall not go ! 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more : such wither' d 
herbs as these 
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought 
thy sou, 180 



Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 
Marc. And, for our father's sake an£ 
mother's care, 
Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 
Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my 

hand." 
Iaic. Then I'll go fetch an axe. 
Marc. But I will use the axe. 

[Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. 
Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them 
both : 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
Aar. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will 
be honest, 
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : 190 
But I'll deceive you in another sort, 
And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass. 

[Cats off Titus's hand. 

Re-enter Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Now stay your strife : what shall be 

is dispatch' d. 
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : 
Tell him it was a hand that warded him 
From thousand dangers ; bid him bury it ; 
More hath it merited ; that let it have. 
As for my sons, say I account of them 
As jewels purchased at an easy price ; 
And yet dear too, because I bought mine 

own. 200 

Aar. I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand 
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. 
[Aside] Their heads, I mean. O, how this 

villany 
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! 
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. 

[Exit. 
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to 

heaven, 
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : 
If anv power pities wretched tears, 
To that I call! [To Lav.] What, wilt thou 

kneel with me ? 210 

Do, then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear 

our prayers ; 
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin 

dim, 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime 

clouds 
When they do hug him in their melting 

bosoms. 
Marc. O brother, speak with possibilities, 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no 

bottom ? 
Then be my passions bottomless with them. 
Marc. But yet let reason govern thy la- 
ment. 
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries. 
Then into limits could I bind my woes : 22l 
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth 

o'erflow ? 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
Threatening the welkin with his big-swola 

face? 



SCENE II.] 



TITUS ANBRONICUS. 



15 



And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? 
I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
Then must my earth with her continual tears 
Become a deluge, overflow' d and drown' d ; 
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes, 231 
lint like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with their bitter 
tongues. 

Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a 
hand. 

Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou re- 
paid 
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
Thy griefs theirsports, thy resolution mock'd ; 
That woe is me to think upon thy woes 240 
More than remembrance of my father's death. 

[Exit. 
Marc. Now let hot iEtna cool in Sicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
These miseries are more than may be borne. 
To weep with them that weep doth ease some 

deal ; 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so 
deep a wound, 
And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! 
That ever death should let life bear his name, 
Where life hath no more interest bat to 
breathe ! [Lavinia kisses Titus. 

Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is com- 
fortless 251 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have 

an end ? 
Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : die, An- 
dronicus ; 
Thou dost not slumber : see,thy two sons'heads 
Thy warlike hand,thy mangled daughter here, 
Thy other banish 'd son, with this dear sight 
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs ; 260 
Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal 

sight 
The closing up of our most wretched eyes ; 
Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still ? 
Tit. Ha, ha, ha! 
Marc. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not 

with this hour. 
Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
And would usurp upon my watery eyes, 269 
And make them blind with tributary tears : 
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? 
For these two heads do seem to speak to me, 
And threat me I shall never come to bliss 
Till all these mischiefs be return'd again 
Even in their throats that have committed 
them. 



Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
You heavy people, circle me about, 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head ; 
And in this hand the other will I bear. 281 
Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd : these arms ! 
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between 

thy teeth. 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight ; 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there: 
And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 

[Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. 

Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble 
father, 289 

The wof ull'st man that ever lived in Rome : 
Farewell, proud Rome ; till Lucius come aga in, 
He leaves his pledges dearer than his life : 
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! 
But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives 
But in oblivion and hateful griefs. 
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 
And make proud Saturnine and his empress 
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 

Scene II. A room in Titus's house. A 
banquet set out. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Laventa, and young 
Lucius, a Boy. 
Tit. So so ; now sit : and look you eat no 

more 
Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot: 
Thy niece, and I, poor creatures, want our 

hands, 
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
With folded arms. This poor right hand of 

mine 
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
Who, when my heart, all mad with misery, 
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 10 
Then thus, I thump it down. 
[To Lavinia.'] Thou map of woe, that thus 

dost talk in signs ! 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous 

beating, 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing,girl,kill it with groans ; 
Or get some little knife between thy teeth. 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall 
May run into that sink and soaking in 
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 20 
Marc. Fie, brother, fie ! teach her not thus 

to lay 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 
Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote 

already ? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
What violent hands can she lay on her life ? 



16 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act it. 



Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of 

hands ; 
To bid Maeaa tell the tale twice o'er, 
How Troy was burnt and he made miserable ? 
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands, 
Lest we remember still that we have uone. 30 
Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk, 
As if we should forget we had no hands, 
If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! 
Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this: 
Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she 

says ; 
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; 
She sa\ s she drinks no other drink but tears, 
Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her 

cheeks : 
Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought ; 
In tny dumb action will I be as perfect 40 
As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to 

heaven, 
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a 

sign, 
But I of these will wrest an alphabet 
And by still practif > learn to know thy mean- 
ing. 
Boy. Good grandsire, leave . these bitter 

deep laments : 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion 

moved, 
Doth weep to see his grandsire' s heaviness. 
Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made 

of tears, 50 

And tears will quickly melt thy life away. 

[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. 
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy 

knife ? 
Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; 

a fly. 
Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st 

my heart ; 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: 
A deed of deatli done on the innocent 
Becomes not Titus' brother : get thee gone ; 
I see thou art not for my company. 
Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and 

mother ? 60 

How would he hang his slender gilded wings, 
And buzz lamenting doings in the air ! 
Poor harmless fly, 

That, with his pretty buzzing melody, 
Came here to make us merry ! and thou hast 

kill'd him. 
Marc. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill- 
favor' d fly, 
Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd 

him. 
Tit. O, 0, 0, 
Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 70 

Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; 
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor 
Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
There's for thyself, and that's forTamora. 



Ah, sirrah ! 

Yet, I think, we are not brought so low, 
But that between us we can kill a fly 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so 

wrought on him, 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 80 
Tit. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with 

me : 
I'll to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
Sad stories chanced in the times of old. 
Come, boy, and go with me : thy sight is 

young, 
And thou shalt read when mine begin to 

dazzle. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. Rome. Titus's garden. 

Enter young Lucius, and Lavinta running 
after him, and the boy flies from her, with 
books under his arm. Then erter Titus 
and Marcus. 

Young Luc. Help, grandsire, help ! my 
aunt Lavinia 
Follows me every where, I know not why ; 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift ehe comes. 
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; d) not fear 

thine aunt. 
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do 

thee harm. 
Young Luc. Ay, when my father was in 

Rome she did. 
Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by 

these signs ? 
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : somewhat doth 
she mean : 
See, Lucius, see how much she makes of 
thee. 10 

Somewhither would she have thee go with her 
Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more cai > 
Read to her sons than she hath read to thee 
Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. 
Marc. Canst thou not guess wherefore she 

plies thee thus ? 
Young Luc. My lord, I know not, I, nor 
can I guess, 
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad; 
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 20 

Ran mad through sorrow : that made me to fear, 
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, 
And would not, but in fury /fright my youth : 
Which made me down to throw my books, 

and fly, — 
Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet 

aunt : 
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
Mare* Lucius, I will. 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



17 



[Lavinia turns over ivith her stumps the 
books which Lucius has let fall. 
Tit. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what 
means this ? 30 

Some book there is that she desires to see. 
Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, hoy. 
But thou art deeper read, and better skill' d : 
Come, and take choice of all my library, 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. 
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ? 
Marc. I think she means that there was 
more than one 
Confederate in the fact : ay, more there was ; 
Or else to heaven she heaves them for re- 
venge. 40 
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth 

so? 
Young Luc. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Meta- 
morphoses ; 
My mother gave it me. 

Marc. For love of her that's gone, 

Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
Tit. Soft ! see how busily she turns the 
leaves ! [Helping h>v. 

What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read ? 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape ; 
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoys 
Marc. See, brother, see ; note how she 
quotes the leaves. 50 

Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, 
SAveet girl, 
Ravish 'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy 

woods ? 
See, see ! 

Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt — 
O, had we never, never hunted there ! — 
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
By nature made for murders and for rapes. 
Marc. O, why should nature build so foul 
a den, 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies ? 60 

Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are 
none but friends, 
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 
Marc. Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit 
down by me. 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! 
My lord, look here : look here, Lavinia : 
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst, 
This after me, when I have writ my name 70 
Without the help of any hand at all. 

[He writes his name wth his staff, and 

guides it with feet and mouth. 

Cursed be that heart that forced us to this 

shift! 
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at 

last, 
What God will have discover'd for revenge: 
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows 
plain, 



That we may know the traitors and the truth ! 
[She takes the staff in her mouth, and 
guides it with her stumps, and writes. 
Tit. O, do ye read, my lord, what she 
hath writ ? 
Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.' 
Marc What, what ! the lustful sons of 
Tamora 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 80 

Tit. Magni Dominator poli, 
Tarn lentus audis scelera ? tani lentus vides ? 
Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord; although 
I know 
There is enough written upon this earth 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel; 
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's 

hope ; 
And swear with me, as, with the woful fere 
And father of that chaste dishonor'd dame, 90 
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape, 
That we will prosecute by good advice 
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach 

Tit. Tis sure enough, an you knew how. 
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then be- 
ware : 
The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once, 
She's with the lion deeply still in league. 
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, 
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 
You are a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it 
alone ; 101 

And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, 
And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
Will blow these sands," like Sibyl's leaves, 

abroad, 
And where's your lesson, then ? Boy, what 
say you ? 
Young Luc. I say, my lord, that if I were 
a man, 
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 
Marc. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hath 
full oft 110 

For his ungrateful country done the like. 
Young Luc. And, uncle, so will I, an if I 

live. 
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armory ; 
Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy, 
Shalt carry from me to the empress 9 sons 
Presents that I intend to send them both : 
Come, come ; thou' It do thy message, wilt 
thou not ? 
Young Luc. Ay, with my dagger in theii 

bosoms, grandsire. 
Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee an- 
other course. 
Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house : 
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court : 121 
Ay, marry, will we, sir ; and we'll be waited on. 
[Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Young Luc. 
Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man 
groan 



c8 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act 



IV 



And not relent, or not compassion him ? 
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, 
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart 
Than foemen's marks upon his batter' d 

shield ; 
But yet so just that he will not revenge. 
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus! 

[Exit. 

Scene II. The same. A room in the palace. 

Enter, from one side, Aaron, Demetrius, 
and Chiron ; from the other side, young 
Lucius, and an Attendant, ivith a bundle 
of weapons, and verses lorit upon them. 

( 7/ i. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius ; 
He hath some message to deliver us. 
Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad 

grandfather. 
Young Luc. My lords, with all the hum- 
bleness I may, 
I greet your honors from Andronicus. 
{Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound 
you both ! 
Dem. Grarnercy, lovely Lucius : what's the 

news ? 
Young Luc. [Aside'] That you are both de- 
cipher'd that's the news, 
For villains mark'd with rape. — May it please 

you, 
My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me 
The goodliest weapons of his armory 11 

To gratify your honorable youth, 
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
And so I do, and with his gifts present 
Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, 
You may be armed and appointed well : 
And so I leave you both : [Aside] like bloody 
villains. 

[Exeunt young Lucius and Attendant. 
Dem. AVhat'shere? A scroll: and written 
round about ? 
Let's see : 

[Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, 20 
Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu.' 
Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it 
well: 
I read it in the grammar long ago. 

Aar. Ay, just ; a verse in Horace ; right, 
you have it. 
[Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! 
Here's no sound jest! the old man hath 
found their guilt ; [with lines, 

And sends them weapons wrapped about 
...u..,.. i,e,> ond their feeling, to the quick. 
. at were our witty empress well afoot, 
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit : 30 
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. 

And now, young lords, was'tnot a happy star 
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
Captives, to be advanced to this height ? 
It did me good, before the palace gate 
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a 
lord 
Basely insinuate and send us gifts. 



Aar, Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius ? 
Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? 40 

Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman 
dames 
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 

Chi. A charitable wish and full of love. 

Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to 
say amen. 

Chi. And that would she for twenty thou- 
sand more. 

Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all the 
gods 
For our beloved mother in her pains. 

Aar. [Aside] Pray to the devils ; the gods 
have given us over. 

[Trumpets sound within. 

Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets 
flourish thus ? 

Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 

Dem. Soft J who comes here ? 51 

Enter a Nurse, ivith a blackamoor Child in 
her arms. 

Nur. Good morrow, lords : 

O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor ? 
Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at 
all, 
Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? 
Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
Aar. Why what a caterwauling dost thou 
keep! 
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine 
arms? 
Nur. O, that which I would hide from 
heaven's eye, 
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's dis- 
grace ! 60 
She is deliver'd, lords ; she is deliver'd. 
Aar. To whom ? 

Nur. I mean, she is brought a-bed. 

Aar. Well, God give her good rest ! What 

hath he sent her ? 
Nur. A devil. 
Aar. Why, then she is the devil's dam ; a 

joyful issue. 
Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrow- 
ful issue : 
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime • 
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's 
point. 71 

Aar. 'Zounds, ye whore ! is black so base 
a hue ? 
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, 
sure. 
Dem. Villain, what hast thou done ? 
Aar. That which thou canst not undo. 
Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
Dem. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast 
undone. 
Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed 

choice ! 
Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend ! 



Scene ii.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



19 



Chi. It shall not live. 80 

Aar. It shall not die . 

Nur. Aaron, it must ; the mother wills it 

so. 
Aar. What, must it, nurse ? then let no 
man but I 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's 
point : 
Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon dis- 
patch it. 
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy 
bowels up. 

[Takes the Child from the Nurse, 

and draws. 

Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your 

brother ? 
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, 
That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point 91 
That touches this my first-born son and heir ! 
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
With all his threatening band of Typhon's 

brood, 
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted 

boys ! 
Ye white-limed walls ! ye alehouse painted 

signs ! 
Coal-black is better than another hue, 
In that it scorns to bear another hue ; 100 

For all the water in the ocean 
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, 
Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
Tell the empress from me, I am of age 
To keep mine own, excuse it how she can. 
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress 

thus ? 
Aar . My mistress is my mistress ; this my- 
self, 
The vigor and the picture of my youth : 
This before all the world do I prefer ; 
This raaugre all the world will I keep safe, 110 
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
Dem. By this our mother is forever shamed. 
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul 

escape. 
Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom 

her death. 
Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 
Aar. Why, there's the privilege your 
beauty bears : 
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with 

blushing 
The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
Here's a young lad framed of another leer : 
Look, how the black slave smiles upon the 
father, 120 

As who should say ' Old lad, I am thine own.' 
He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed 
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you. 
And from that womb where you imprison' d 

were 
He is enfranchised and come to light : 
Nay, he is your brother by the sur«c side, 



Although my seal be stamped in his face. 
Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the 

empress ? 
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be 
done, 
And we will all subscribe to thy advice : 130 
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 
Aar. Then sit we down, and let us ah 
consult. 
My son and I will have the wind of you : 
Keep there : now talk at pleasure' of your 
safety. [They sit. 

Dem. How manv women saw this child of 

his? 
Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we join 
in league, 
I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, 
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, 
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. 
Rut say, again, how many saw the child ? 140 

Nur. Cornelia the midwife and myself ; 
And no one else but the deliver' d empress. 
Aar. The empress, the midwife, and your- 
self : 
Two may keep counsel when the third's away : 
Go to the empress, tell her this I said. 

[He kills the nurse. 
Weke, weke ! so cries a pig prepared to the 
spit. 
Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ? where- 
fore didst thou this ? 
Aar. O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : 
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours, 
A long-tongued babbling gossip ? no, lords, 
no : 150 

And now be it known to you my full intent. 
Not far, one Muli lives, my countryman ; 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, 
And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
And how by this their child shall be ad- 
vanced, 
And be received for the emperor's heir, 
And substituted in the place of mine, 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 160 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye, lords ; ye see I have given her 
physic, [Pointing to the nurse. 

And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
The fields are near, and you are gallant 

grooms : 
This done, see that you take no longer days, 
But send the midwife presently to me. 
The midwife and the nurse well made away, 
Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 

Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
With secrets. 

Dem. For this care of Tamora, 170 

Herself and hers are highly bound to thee. 

[Exeunt Dem. and Chi. bearing oft' the 
Nurse's body. 
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow 
flies ; 
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
A.ud secretly to greet the empress' friends. 



20 



TITUS ANDRON1CUS. 



[Act iv. 



Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you 

hence ; 
For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
I'll make you feed on berries and on roots, 
And ffeed on curds and whey, and suck the 

goat, 
And cabin in a cave, and bring you up 
To be a warrior, and command a camp. 180 

[Exit. 

Scene III. The same. A public place. 

Enter Titus, bearing arrows with letters at 
the ends of them; loith him, Marcus, young 
Lucius, Publius, Skmpkonius, Caius, and 
other Gentlemen, with bows. 

Tit. Come, Marcus ; come, kinsmen ; this 

is the way. 
Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; 
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there 

straight. 
Terras Astrsea reliquit : 
Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's 

fled. 
Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, 

shall' 
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; 
Happily you may catch her in the sea ; 
Yet there's as little justice as at land : 
No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do 

it; 10 

'Tis you must dig with mattock and with 

spade, 
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth: 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I pray you, deliver him this petition ; 
Tell him, it is for justice and for aid, 
And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. 
Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable 
"What time I threw the people's suffrages 
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. 20 
Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd: 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her 

hence ; 
And, kinsmen, then Ave may go pipe for justice. 
Marc. O Publius, is not this a heavy case, 
To see thy noble uncle thus distract? 

Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us 

concerns 
By day and night to attend him carefully, 
And feed his humor kindly as we may, 
Till time beget some careful remedy. 30 

Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past 

remedy. 
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 

Tit. Publius, how now ! how now, my 

masters ! 
What, have you met with her ? 
Pub. No, my good lord ; but Pluto sends 

you word, 
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall : 
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ' d, 



He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or some- 
where else, 40 

So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with 
delays. 

I'll dive into the burning lake below, 

And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. 

Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, 

No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size ; 

Put metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, 

Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs 
can bear : 

And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, 

We will solicit heaven and move the gods 50 

To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs. 

Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, 
Marcus ; [He (/ires (hem the arrows. 

Ad Jovem,' that's for you: here, Ad Apol- 
linem : ' 

Ad Martem,' that's for myself : 

Here, boy, to Pallas : here, to Mercury : 

To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine ; 

You were as good to shoot against the wind. 

To it, boy ! Marcus, loose when I bid. 

Of my word, I have written to effect ; 

There's not a god left unsolicited. 60 

Mare. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts intft 
the court : 

We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. [.They shoot] O, 
well said, Lucius ! 

Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. 
Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the 
moon ; 

Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
Tit. Ha, ha ! 

Publius, Publius, what hast thou done ? 

See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' 
horns. 
Marc. This was the sport, my lord : when 
Publius shot 70 

The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 

That down fell both the Ram's horns in the 
court ; 

And who should find them but the empress' 
villain ? 

She laugh' d, and told the Moor he should 
not choose 

But give them to his master for a present. 
Tit. Why, there it goes: God give his lord- 
ship joy ! 

Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeom 
in it. 

News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post 

is come. 
Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ? 
Shall I have justice ? what says Jupiter ? 79 

Clo. O, the gibbet-maker ! he says that he 
hath taken them down again, for the man 
must not be hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ? 

Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter ; I never 
drank with him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier 5 

Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 



Scene iv.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



21 



Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? 

Clo. From heaven I alas, sir, I never came 
there: God forbid I should be so bold to 
press to heaven in my young days. Why, I 
am going with my pigeons to the tribunal 
plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my 
uncle and one of the emperial's men. 

Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to 
eerve for your oration ; and let him deliver the 
pigeons to the emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to 
the emperor with a grace ? 

Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say 
grace in all my life. 101 

Tit. Sirrah, come hither : make no more 
ado, 
But give your pigeons to the emperor : 
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold ; meanwhile here's money for thy 

charges. 
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a 
grace deliver a supplication ? 

Clo. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. 
And when you come to him, at the first ap- 
proach you must kneel, then kiss his foot, 
then deliver up your pigeons, and then look 
for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir ; see you 
do it bravely. 

Clo. I warrant you, sir, let me alone. 

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife ? come, let 
me see it. 
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; 
For thou hast made it like an humble sup- 
pliant. 
And when thou hast given it the emperor, 
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 

Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 120 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, fol- 
low me. [Exeunt, 

Scene IV. The same. Before the palace. 
Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Demetrius, 

Chiron, Lords, and others; Saturninus 

with the arrows in his hand that Titus shot. 

Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ! 
was ever seen 
An emperor in Rome thus overborne, 
Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the ex- 
tent 
Of egal justice, used in such contempt ? 
My lords, you know, as know the mightful 

gods, 
However these disturbers of our peace 
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath 

pass'd, 
But even with law, against the wilful sons 
Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
His sorrows have so overwhelm' d his wits, 10 
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, 
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war ; 
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ! 
What's this but libelling against the senate, 



And blazoning our injustice every where ? 
A goodly humor, is it not, my lords ? 
As who would sa3 r , in Rome no justice were. 20 
But if I live, his feigned ecstasies 
Shall be no shelter to these outrages : 
But he and his shall know that justice lives 
In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep, 
He'll so awake as she in fury shall 
Cut off the proud' st conspirator that lives. 
Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Satur- 
nine, 
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts. 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 30 
Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarr'd 

his heart ; 
And rather comfort his distressed plight 
Than prosecute the meanest or the'best 
For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it 

shall become 
High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : 
But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick, 
Thy life-blood out : if Aaron now be wise, 
Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. 

Enter Clown. 

How now, good fellow ! wouldst thou speak 

with us ? 

Clo. Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be 

emperial. 40 

Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the 

emperor. 
Clo. 'Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give 
you good den : I have brought 3011 a letter and 
a couple of pigeons here. 

[Saturninus reads the letter. 
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him 

presently. 
Clo. How much money must I have ? 
Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hanged. 
Clo. Hanged! by'r lady, then I have 
brought up a neck to a fair end. 

[Exit guarded. 
Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 50 
Shall I endure this monstrous villany ? 
I know from whence this same device pro- 
ceeds : 
May this be borne ? — as if his traitorous sons, 
That died by law for murder of our brother, 
Have by my means been butcher' d wrong 

fully ! 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ; 
Nor age nor honor shall shape privilege : 
For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughter* 

man ; 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me 

great, 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 

Enter ^Emilius. 

What news with thee, JEmilius ? Gl 

sEmil. Arm, arm, my lord ; — Rome never 

had more cause. 
The Goths nave gather' d head ; and with a 

power 
Of high-resolved men. bent to the spoil, 



22 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act v. 



ITiey hither march amain, under conduct 
Df Luctas, son to old Andronicus ; 
*V*ho threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
ka much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? 
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head 70 
As flowers with frost or grass beat down with 

storms : 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
'Tis he the common people love so much , 
Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
When I have walked like a private man, 
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, 
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their 
emperor. 
Tarn. Why should you fear ? is not your 

city strong ? 
Sat. Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius, 
And will revolt from me to succor him. 80 

Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like 
thy name. 
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ? 
The eagle suffers little birds to siug, 
And is not careful what they mean thereby, 
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings 
He can at pleasure stint their melody : 
Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou em- 
peror, 
I will enchant the old Andronicus 
With words more sweet, and yet more dan- 
gerous, 90 
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep, 
When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
The other rotted with delicious feed. 
Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 
Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will : 
For I can smooth and fill his aged ear 
With golden promises ; that, were his heart 
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
[To sEmilius] Go thou before, be our ambassa- 
dor : 100 
Say that the emperor requests a parley 
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting 
Even at his father's house, the old Andron- 
icus. 
Sat. iEmilius, do this message honorably : 
And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
Bid him demand what pledge will please him 
best. 
JEmil. Your bidding shall 1 do effectually. 

[Exit. 
Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus, 
Km\ temper him with all the art I have, 
To pluck proud mucins from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 111 
A.nd bury all thy fear in my devices. 
Hat. Then go successantly, and plead to him. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. Plains near Rome. 
Enter Lucius with an army of Goths, with 
drum, and colors. 



Luc. Approved "warriors, and my faithful 
friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
Which signify what hate they bear their em- 
peror 
And how desirous of our sight they are. 
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles wit- 
ness, 
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs, 
And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, 
Let him make treble satisfaction. 
First Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the 
great Andronicus, 
Whose name was once our terror, now our 
comfort ; 10 

Whose high exploits and honorable deeds 
lngratefuf Rome requites with foul contempt, 
Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou leadst, 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day 
Led by their master to the flowered fields, 
And be avenged on cursed Tamora. 
All the Goths. And as he saith, so say we 

all with him. 
Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you 
all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ? 

Enter a Goth, leading Aaron with his Child in 
his arms. 

Sec. Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our 
troops I stray' d 20 

To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 
And, as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
I heard a child cry underneath a wall. 
I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse . 
' Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam ' 
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, 
Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor : 
But where the bull and cow are both milk- 
white, 31 
They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
Peace, villain, peace !' — even thus he rates the 

babe, — 
' For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth ; 
Who, when he knows thou art the empress' 

babe, 
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' 
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon 

him, 
Surprised him suddenly, and brought him 

hither, 
To use as you think needful of the man. 
Luc. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate 
devil 40 

That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand ; 
This is the pearl that pleased your empress' 

_ eye, 
And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. 
Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst tho*i 

convey 
This growing image of thy fiend-like face ? 
Why dost not speak ? what, deaf ? not a word'/ 
A. halter, soldiers J hang him on this tree, 



Scene i.] 



TITUS ANDBONICUS. 



2S 



And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 
Aar. Touch not the boy ; he is of royal 
blood. 49 

Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. 
First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
Get me a ladder. 

[ A ladder brought, which Aaron is 
made to ascend. 
Aar. Lucius, save the child, 

And bear it from me to the empress. 
If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things, 
That highly may advantage thee to hear : 
If thou wilt not," befall what may befall, 
I '11 speak no more but ' Vengeance rot you all !' 
Luc. Say on : an if it please me which thou 
speak'st, 
Thy child shall live, and I will see it nour- 
ished. 60 
Aar. An if it please thee ! why, assure thee, 
Lucius, 
Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
For I must talk of murders, rapes and mas- 
sacres, 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treason, villanies 
Jfcuthful to hear, yet piteously perform' d : 
And this shall all be buried by my death, 
Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. 
Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say thy child 

shall live. 
Aar. Swear that he shall, and then I will 
begin. 70 

Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou be- 
lievest no god : 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
Aar. What if I do not ? as, indeed, I do 
not ; 
Yet, for I know thou art religious 
And hast a thing within thee called conscience, 
With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, 
Which I have seen thee careful to observe, 
Therefore I urge thy oath ; for that I know 
An idiot holds his bauble for a god 
And keeps the oath which by that god he 
swears, 80 

To that I'll urge him : therefore thou shalt vow 
By that same god, what god soe'er it be, 
That thou adorest and hast in reverence, 
To save my boy, to nourish rind bring him up , 
Or else I will discover nougnt to thee. 
Luc. Even by my god I swear to thee I 

will. 
Aar. First know thou, I begot him on the 

empress. 
Luc. O most insatiate and luxurious wo- 
man ! 
Aar. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of 
charity 
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. 90 
'Twas her two sons that murder' d Bassianus; 
They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish' d her 
And cut her hands and trimm'd her as thou 
saw' st. 
Luc. O detestable villain ! call'st thou that 
trimming ? 



Aar. Why, she was wash'd and cut and 

trimm'd, and 'twas 
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
Luc. O barbarous, beastly villains, like 

thyself ! 
Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct 

them : 
That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
As sure a card as ever won the set ; 100 

That bloody mind, I think, they learn' d of me. 
As true a clog as ever fought at head. 
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
I train' d thy brethren to that guileful hole 
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : 
I wrote the letter that thy father found 
And hid the gold within the letter mentioned, 
Confederate with the queen and her two sons ' 
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
Whereiu I had no stroke of mischief in it? 110 
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, 
And, when I had it, drew myself apart 
And almost broke my heart with extrenwi 

laughter : 
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall 
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' 

heads ; 
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
That both mine eves were rainy like to his : 
And when I told the empress of this sport, 
She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, 
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 
First Goth. What, canst thou say all this. 

and never blush ? 121 

Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is 
Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous 

deeds ? 
Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand 

more. 
Even now I curse the day — and yet, I think, 
Few come within the compass of my curse- 
Wherein I did not some notorious ill, 
As kill a man, or else devise Ms death, 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, 
Accuse some innocent and forswear myself, 
Set deadly enmity between two friends, 13J 
fMake poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in thenig^t, 
And bid the owners quench them with their 

tears. 
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from theu 

graves, 
And set them upright at their dear friends" 

doors, 
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; 
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees. 
Have with my knife carved in Roman ietteis, 
' Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' 
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things 
As willingly as one would kill a fly, 
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed 
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 
Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he m:i"* 

not die 
So sweet a death as hanging presently. 

Aar. If there be devils, would I were adevil^ 
To live and burn in everlasting fire, 



24 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act 



t. 



ijo I might have your company in hell, 
But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 150 
Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak 
no more. 

Enter a Goth. 

Third Goth. My lord, there is a messenger 
from Rome 
Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
Luc. Let him come near. 

Enter JEmilius. 

Welcome, iEinilius : what's the news from 
Rome ? 
sEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the 
Goths, 
The Roman emperor greets you all by me ; 
And, for he understands you are in arms, 
He craves a parley at your lather's house, 
Willing you to demand your hostages, 1G0 
And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
First Goth. What says our general ? 
Luc. iEmilius, let the emperor give his 
pledges 
Unto ray father and my uncle Marcus, 
And we will come. March away. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Romt. Before Titus's house. 
Enter Tamora, Demetrius, and Chiron, 

disguised. 

Tarn. Thus, iu this strange and sad nabili- 
ment, 
I will encounter with Andronicus,' 
And say I am Revenge, sent from below 
To join with him and right his heinous wrongs. 
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ; 
Tell him Revenge is come to join with him, 
And work confusion on his enemies. 

[They knock. 
Enter Titus, above. 

Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation ? 
Is it your trick to make me"ope the door, 10 
That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
And all my study be to no effect ? 
You are deceived : for what 1 mean to do 
See here in bloody lines I have set down ; 
And what is written shall be executed. 
Ta m. Titus, 1 am come to talk with thee. 
Tit. No, not a word ; how can I grace my 
talk, 
Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more. 
Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldest 
talk with me. 20 

Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well 
enough : 
Witness this wretched stump, witness these 

crimson lines ; 
Witness these trenches made by grief and 

care ; 
Witness the tiring day and heavy night ; 
Witness all sorrow, that 1 know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora : 
Is not thy coming for my other hand ? 

Tarn. Know, thou sad man, { am not Ta- 
mora ; 



She is thy enemy, and I thy friend : 
I am Revenge : sent from the infernal king- 
dom, 30 
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, 
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
Come down, and welcome me to this world's 

light ; 
Confer with me of murder and of death : 
There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, 
No vast obscurity or misty vale, 
Where bloody murder or "detested rape 
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 
Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent 
to me, 41 

To be a torment to mine enemies ? 

Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and 

welcome me. 
Tit. Do me some service, ere 1 come to thee. 
Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder 

stands ; 
Now give me some surance that thou art Re- 
venge, 
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels • 
And then I'll come and be thy waggoner, 
And whirl along with thee about the globe. 
Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet, 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 51 
And find out murderers in their guilty caves : 
And when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel 
Trot, like a servile footman, all day I0112;, 
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east 
Until his very downfall in the sea : 
And day by day I'll do this heavy task, 
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
Tarn. These are my ministers, and come 
with me. 60 

Tit. Are these thy ministers ? what are 

they call'd ? 
Tarn. Rapine and Murder; therefore called 
so, 
Cause they take vengeance of such kind of 
men. 
Tit. Good Lord, how like the empress* 
sons they are ! 
And you, the empress ! but we worldly men 
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 

sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee ; 
And, if one arm's embracement will content 

thee, 

1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 

[Exit above. 
Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits, 71 
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, 
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ; 
And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
I'll make him send for Lucius his son ; 
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I'll find some cunning practice out of hand, 
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make them his enemies. 
See, here he comes, and 1 must ply my 
theme. 80 



Scene ii.] 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



25 



Enter Titus below. 

Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for 
thee : 
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woful house : 
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. 
How like the empress and her sous you are ! 
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor : 
Could not aZi hell afford you such a devil ? 
For weli I wot the empress never wags 
But in her company there is a Moor ; 
And Avould you represent our queen aright, 
It were convenient you had such a, devil : 90 
But welcome, as you are. What shall wc do? 
Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, 

Andronicus ? 
Dem. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with 

him. 
Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a 
rape, 
And I am sent to be revenged on him. 

Tarn. Show me a thousand that have done 
thee wrong, 
And I will be revenged on them all. 

Tit. Look round about the wicked streets 
of Rome ; 
And when thou find'st a man that's like thy- 
self, 
Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. 100 
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap 
To find another that is like to thee, 
Good Rapine, stab him ; he's a ravisher. 
Go thou with them : and in the emperor's 

court 
There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; 
Well mayst thou know her by thy own pro- 
portion, 
For up and down she doth resemble thee : 
I pray thee, do on them some violent death ; 
They have been violent to me and mine. 
Tarn. Well hast thou lesson' d us ; this 
shall we do. 11-0 

But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, 
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike 

Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house ; 
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons, 
The emperor himself and all thy foes ; 
And at thy mercy shalt they stoop and kneel, 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Andronicus to this device ? 120 

Tit. Marcus, my brother ! 'tis sad Titus 
calls. 

Enter Marcus. 

Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ; 
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths : 
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; 
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
Tell him the emperor and the empress too 
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with 

them. 
This do thou for my love ; and so let him, 
As he regards his aged father's life. 130 



Marc. This will 1 do, and soon return 
again. [Exit. 

Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stav 
with me ; 
Or else I'll call my brother back again, 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tarn. [Aside to her .sons] What say you, 
boys ? Avill you bide with him, 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor 
How I have govern' d our determined jest ? 
Yield to his humor, smooth and speak him 
fair, 140 

And tarry with him till I turn again. 

Tit. [ Aside] I know them all, though they 
suppose me mad, 
And will o'erreach them in their own devices : 
A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam ! 
Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure ; leave 

us here. 
Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now 
goes 
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. 

Tit. I know thou dost ; and, sweet Re- 
venge, farewell. [Exit Tamora. 
Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we btf 
employ' d ? 149 
Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentiue ! 

Enter Publius and others. 

Pub. What is your will ? 

Tit. Know you these two ? 

Pub. The empress' sons, I take them, 

Chiron and Demetrius. 
Tit. Fie, Publius, fie ! thou art too much 
deceived ; 
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name ; 
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius. 
Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an 
hour, 100 

And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure, 
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. 

[Exit. 
[Publius, &c. lay hold on Chiron and 

Demetrius. 
Chi. Villains, forbear ! we are the em-' 

press' sons. 
Pub. And therefore do we what we are 
commanded. 
Stop close their mouths, let them not speak 

a word. 
Is he sure bound ? look that you bind them 
fast. 

Re-enter Titus, with Lavinia ; he bearing a 
kni/e, and she a basin. 
Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes 

are bound. 
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak 

to me ; 
But let them hear "what fearful words I utter. 
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! 170 

Here stands the spring whom you have stain' d 

with mud, 



26 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act v. 



This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault 
Two of her brothers were condemn' d to death, 
My hand cut off and made a merry jest ; 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that 

more dear 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced. 
What would you say, if I should let you 

speak ? 179 

Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches ! how I mean to martyr you. 
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, 
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth 

hold 
The basin that receives your guilty blood. 
You know your mother means to feast with 

me, 
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me 

mad : 
Hark, villains ' T will grind your bones to dust 
And with your blood and it I'll make a paste, 
And of the paste a coffin I will rear 
And make two pasties of your shameful 

heads. 1<)G 

And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'ddam, 
lake to the earth swallow her own increase. 
This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
For worse than Philomel you used my 

daughter, 
And worse than Progne 1 will be revenged : 
And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, 

come, [He cuts their throats. 

Receive the blood : and when that they are 

dead, 
Let me go grind their bones to powder small 
And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 200 
And in that paste let their vile heads be 

baked. 
Come, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet ; which I wish may 

prove 
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' 

feast. 
So, now bring them in, for I'll play the cook, 
And see them ready 'gainst their mother 

comes. 

[Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies. 

Scene III. Court of Titus's house. A 

banquet set out. 

Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with 

Aaron ju-isoner. 

Luc. Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's 
mind 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
First Goth. And ours with thine, befall 

what fortune will. 
Luc. Good uncle, take you in this bar- 
barons Moor, 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
Til! he be brought unto the empress' face, 
For testimony of her foul proceedings : 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong ; 



I fear the emperor means no good to us. 10 

Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine 

ear, [fortn 

And prompt me, that my tongue ma \ utter 

The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 
Luc. Away, inhuman dog ! unhallow'd 
slave ! 

Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. 

[Exeunt Goths, with Aaron. Flourish within. 

The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 

Enter Satukntnus and Tamora, loith tEmil- 
ius, Tribunes, Senators, and others. 

Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns 

than one ? 
Luc. What boots it thee to call thyself a 

sun ? 
Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break 
the parley ; 
These quarrels must be quietly debated. 20 
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
Hath ordain' d to an honorable end, 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to 

Rome : 
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take 
your places. 
Sat. Marcus, we will. 
[Hautboys sound. The Company sit dozen 

at table. 

Enter Titus dressed like a Cook, Lavinia 
veiled, young Lucius, and others. Titus 
places the dishes on the table. 

Tit . Welcome, my gracious lord ; welcome, 
dread queen ; 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, 

Lucius ; 
And welcome, all : although the cheer be 

poor, 

'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. 

Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andron- 

icus ? , 30 

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all 

well, 

To entertain your highness and your empress. 

Tarn. We are beholding to you, good An- 

dronicus. 
Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, 
you were. 
My lord the emperor, resolve me this : 
Was it well done of rash Virginius 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
Because she was enforced, stain'd, and de- 
flower' d ? 
Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ? 40 

Sat. Because the girl should not survive 
her shame, 
And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 
Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effect- 
ual ; 
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, 
For me, most wretched, to perform the like. 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shamo with thee ; 

[Kills Lavinia. 
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die I 



Scene hi.] 



TITUS ANDRONTCUS. 



Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and 

unkind ? 
Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have 
made me blind. 
I am as wol'ul as Virginius was, 50 

And have a thousand times more cause than 

he 
To do this outrage : and it now is done. 
Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell who did 

the deed. 
Tit. Will't please you eat ? will't please 

your highness feed ? 
Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only 

daughter thus ? 
Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius : 
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue ; 
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this 
wrong. 
Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently. 
Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in 
that pie ; GO 

Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
'Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp 
point. [Kills Tamora. 

Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed 
deed ! [Kills Titus. 

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father 
bleed ? 
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly 
deed ! 

[Kills Saturninus. A great tumult. 
Lucius, Marcus, and others go 
up into the balcony. 
Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sons 
of Rome, 
By uproar sever'd,like a flight of fowl 
Scatter' d by winds and high tempestuous 

gusts, 
0, let me teach you how to knit again 70 

This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
These broken limbs again into one body ; 
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself, 
And she whom mighty kingdoms court' sy to, 
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway, 
Do shameful execution on herself. 
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
Grave witnesses of true experience, 
Cannot induce you to attend my words, 
[To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as 
erst our ancestor, 80 

When with his solemn tongue he did discourse 
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear 
The story of that baleful burning night 
When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's 

Troy, 
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch 'd our ears, 
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in 
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil 

wound. 
My heart is not compact of flint nor steel ; 
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
But floods of tears will drown ray oratory, 90 
And break my utterance, even in the time 
When it should move you to attend me most, 
Lending your kind commiseration. 



Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ; 
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him 
speak. 
Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to 
you, 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murdered our emperor's 

brother ; 
And they it were that ravished our sister : 
For their fell faults our brothers were be- 
headed ; 100 
Our father's tears despised, and basely cozenM 
Of that true hand that fougbt Rome's quarrel 

out, 
And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
The gates shut on me, andturird weeping oiu\ 
To beg relief among Rome's enemies : 
Who drown 'd their enmity in my true tears, 
And oped their arms to embrace me as a 

friend. 
I am the turned forth, be it known to you, 
That have preserved her welfare in my blood ; 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body. 
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I ; 
My scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
That my report is just and full of truth. 
But, soft ! methinks I do digress too much, 
Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
For when no friends are by, men praise them- 
selves. 
Marc. Now is my turn to speak. Behold 
this child : 

[Pointing to the Child in the arms of 
an Attendant. 
Of this was Tamora delivered ; 120 

The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes : 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
+ And as he is, to witness this is true. 
Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge 
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, 
Or more than any living man could bear. 
Now you have heard the truth, what say you, 

Romans ? 
Have we done aught amiss, — show us where- 
in, 
And, from the place where you behold us 
now, lo0 

The poor remainder of Andronici 
Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us 

down, 
And on the ragged stones beat forth our 

brains, 
And make a mutual closure of our house. 
Speak, Romans, speak ; and if you say we 

shall, 
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 
Mmil. Come, come, thou reverend man a?' 
Rome, 
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
Lucius our emperor ; for well I know 
The common voice do cry it shall be so. 140 
All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal empe- 
ror I 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act v. 



Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful 
house, [To Attendants. 

And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudged some direful slaughtering 

death, 
As punishment for his most wicked life. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 

Lucius, Marcus, and the others descend. 
All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious gover- 
nor ! 
Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans : may I 

govern so, 
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her 

woe I 
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile t 
For nature puts me to a heavy task : 150 

Stand all aloof : but, uncle, draw you near, 
To slied obsequious tears upon this trunk. 
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 

[Kissing Titus. 
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain' d 

face, 
The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for 

kiss, 
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
O, were the sum of these that I should pay 
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them ! 
Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and 

learn of us 160 

To melt in showers : thy grandsire loved thee 

well : 
Many a time he danced thee on his knee, 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow : 
Many a matter hath he told to thee, 
Meet and agreeing with thine infancy ; 
In that respect, then, like a loving child, 
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender 

spring, 
Because kind nature doth require it so . 
Friends should associate friends in grief and 

woe : 169 

Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 



Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
Young Luc. O grandsire, grandsire ! ever, 
with all my heart 
Would I were dead, so you did live again ! 

Lord, 1 cannot speak to him for weepip.g ; 
My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. 

Re-enter Attendants with Aaron. 

JEm. You sad Andronici, have done with 
woes : 
Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire events. 
Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and 
famish him ; 
There let him stand, and rave, and cry for 
food ; 180 

If any one relieves or pities him, 
For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
Some stay to see him fasten' d in the earth. 
Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and 
fury dumb ? 

1 am no baby, I, that with base prayers 
I should repenl the evils I have done : 
Ten thousand worse than ever yet 1 did 
Would I perform, if I might have my will ; 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 

I do repent it from my very soul. 190 

Luc. Some loving friends convey the em- 
peror hence, 
And give him burial in his father's grave : 
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith 
Be closed in our household's monument. 
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
No funeral rite, nor man in mourning' weeds, 
No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of 

prey : 
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ; 
And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Mooi. 
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning . 
Then, afterwards, to order well the state, 
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeum 



KING HENRY VI. PARTI. 



(written about 1590-91. 



INTRODUCTION. 

This is almost certainly an old play, by one or more authors, which, as we find it in the First 
Folio, had received touches from the hand of Shakespeare. In Henslowe's diary ix Henry VI. is said 
to have been acted March 3, 1591-92. It was extremely popular. Nash, in his Pierce. Pennilesse (1592), 
alludes to the triumph on the sta^e of "brave Talbot" over the French. But we have no reason 
for assuming that the play which we possess was that mentioned by Henslowe, or alluded to by 
Nash. Greene had. perhaps, a chief hand in the play, and he may have been assisted by Peele and 
Marlowe. There is a general agreement among critics in attributing to Shakespeare the scene 
(Act II. Sc. IV.) in which the white and red roses are plucked as emblems of the rival parties in 
the state ; perhaps the scene of the wooing of Margaret by Suffolk (Act V., sc. III., Tj. 45. and on- 
wards), if not written by Shakespeare was touched by him. The general spirit of the drama be- 
longs to an older school than the Shakespearean, " and it is a happiness," says Prof. Dowden, " not 
to have to ascribe to our greatest poet the crude ami hateful handling of the character of Joan of 
Arc, excused though to some extent it maybe by the concurrence of view in our old English 
chronicles." 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Duke of Gloucester, uncle to the King, and 
Protector. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to the King, and 
Regent of France. 

Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great- 
uncle to the King. 

Henry Beaufort, great-uncle to the King, 
Bishop of Winchester, and afterwards 
Cardinal. 

John Beaufort, Earl, afterwards Duke, of 
Somerset. 

Richard Plantagenet, son of Richard late 
Earl of Cambridge, afterwards Duke 
of York. 

Earl of Warwick. 

Earl of Salisbury. 

Earl of Suffolk. 

Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrews- 
bury. 

JohnTalp.ot, his son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Sir John Fastolfe. 

Sir William Lucy. 

Sir William Glansdale. 

Sir Thomas Gargrave. 

Mayor of London. 

Woodvile, Lieutenant of the Tower. 



Vernon, of the White-Rose or York faction. 
Basset, of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction. 
A Lawyer. Mortimer's Keepers. 
Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King, of 

France. 
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King 

of Naples. 
Duke of Burgundy. 
Duke of Alencon. 
Bastard of Orleans. 
Governor of Paris. 

Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 
General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. 
A French Serjeant. A Porter. 
An old Shepherd, father to .loan la Pucelle. 
Margaret, daughter to Reignier, afterwards 

married to King Henry. 
Countess of Auvergne. 
Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of 

Arc. 

Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds. Offi- 
cers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attend- 
ants. 
Fiends appearing to La Pucelle. 

Scene : Partly in England, and partly in 
France. 



80 



KING HENRY VI. PART 1. 



[Act t 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Westminster Abbey. 

Dead March. Enter the Funeral of King 
Henry the Fifth, attended on by the Duke 
of Bedford, Regent of France ; the Duke 
of Gloucester, Protector ; the Duke of 
Exeter, the Earl of Warwick, the Bish- 
op of Winchester, Heralds, &c. 

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, 

yield day to night ! 
Comets, importing change of times and states, 
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky, 
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars 
That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long ! 
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 
Glou. England ne'er had a king until his 

time. 
Virtue he had, deserving to command : 
His brand ish'd sword did blind men with his 

beams : 10 

His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ; 
His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
More dazzled and drove back his enemies 
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their 

faces. 
What should I say ? his deeds exceed all 

speech : 
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. 
Exe. We mourn in black : why mourn we 

not in blood ? 
Henry is dead and never shall revive : 
Upon a wooden coffin we attend, 
And death's dishonorable victory 20 

We with our stately presence glorify, 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
What ! shall w r e curse the planets of mishap 
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ? 
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French 
Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him 
By magic verses have contrived his end ? 
Win. He was a king bless' d of the King 

of kings. 
Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day 
So dreadful will not be as was his sight. 30 
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought : 
The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
Glou. The church ! where is it? Had not 

churchmen pray'd, 
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd : 
None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
Win. Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou 

art protector 
And lookest to command the prince and 

realm. 
Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe, 
More than God or religious churchmen may.40 
Glou. Name not religion, for thou lovest 

the flesh, 
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou 

go'st 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. 
Bed. Cease, cease these jars and rest your 

minds in peace : 



Let's to the altar : heralds, wait on us : 
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms : 
Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead. 
Posterity, await for wretched years, 
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shaft 

suck, 
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 50 
And none but women left to wail the dead. 
Henry the Fifth, thy ghost 1 invocate : 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils, 
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make 
Than Julius Caesar or bright 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My honorable lords, health to you 

all! 
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture : 
Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans, 60 
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 
Bed. What say' st thou, man, before dead 

Henry's corse ? 
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns 
Will make him burst his lead and rise from 

death. 
Glou. Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up ? 
If Henry were recall' d to life again, 
These news would cause him once more yield 

the ghost. 
Exe. How were they lost ? what treachery 

was used ? 
Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and 

money. 
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, 70 

That here you maintain several factions, 
And whilst a field should be dispatch' d and 

fought, 
You are disputing of your generals : 
One would have lingering wars with little cost ; 
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ; 
A third thinks, without expense at all, 
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain' d. 
Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
Let not sloth dim your honors new-begot : 
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 81 
Exe. W ere our tears wanting to this funeral, 
These tidings would call forth their flowing- 
tides. 
Bed. ' Me they concern ; Regent I am of 

France. 
Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France. 
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
Wounds will I lend the French instead of 

eyes, 
To weep their intermissive miseries. 

Enter to them another Messenger. 

Mess. Lords, view these letters full of bad 
mischance. 
France is revolted from the English quite, 90 
Except some petty towns of no import : 
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of 

Rheims ; 
The Bastard of Orleans with him is join/d \ 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



81 



Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part ; 
The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side. 
Exe. The Dauphin crowned king ! all fly- 
to him ! 
0, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? 
Glou. We will not fly, but to our enemies' 
throats. 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. 
Bed. Gloucester, why doubt' st thou of my 
forwardness ? 100 

An army have I muster' d in my thoughts, 
Wherewith already France is overrun. 

Enter another Messenger 
Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your 

laments, 
Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's 

hearse, 
I must inform you of a dismal fight 
Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French. 
Win. What ! wherein Talbot overcame ? 

is't so ? 
Mess. 0, no ; wherein Lord Talbot was 

o'erthrown : 
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. 
The tenth of August last this dreadful lord, 
Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 111 

Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, 
By three and twenty thousand of the French 
Was round encompassed and set upon. 
No leisure had he to enrank his men ; 
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ; 
Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck' d out of 

hedges 
They pitciied in the ground confusedly, 
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
More than three hours the fight continued ; 
Where valiant Talbot above human thought 
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance : 
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst 

stand him ; 
Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew : 
The French exclaim' d, the devil was in arms ; 
All the whole army stood agazed on him ; 
His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit 
A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain 
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, 
If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the cow- 
ard : 131 
He, being in the vaward, placed behind 
With purpose to relieve and follow them, 
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 
Enclosed were they with their enemies : 
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back, 
Whom all France with their chief assembled 

strength 
Durst not presume to look once in the face. 
Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay my- 
. self, 141 

For living idly here in pomp and ease, 
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foemen is betray' d. 
Mess. no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, 



And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hunger- 
ford : 
Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise. 
Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall 
pay : 
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his 
throne : 149 

His crown shall be the ransom of my friend ; 
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. 
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ; 
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, 
To keep our .great Saint George's feast withal: 
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, 
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe 
quake. 
Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is be- 
sieged ; 
The English army is grown weak and faint : 
The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 160 
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry 
sworn, 
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly, 
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 
Bed. I do remember it ; and here take my 
leave, 
To go about my preparation. [Exit. 

Glou. I'll to the Tower with all the haste I 
can, 
To view the artillery and munition ; 
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. 

[Exit. 
Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young 
king is, 170 

Being ordain' d his special governor, 
And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit. 
Win. Each hath his place and function to 
attend : 
I am left out ; for me nothing remains. 
But long I will not be Jack out of office : 
The king from Eltham I intend to steal 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. France. Before Orleans. 

Sound a flourish. Enter Charles, Alencon, 
and Reignier, marching with drum and 
Soldiers. 

Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
heavens 
So in the earth, to this day is not known : 
Late did he shine upon the English side ; 
Now we are victors ; upon us he smiles. 
What towns of any moment but we have ? 
At pleasure here we lie near Orleans ; 
Otherwhiles the famish'd English, like pale 

ghosts, 
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 

Alen. They want their porridge and their 
fat bull-beeves : 
Either they must be dieted like mules 10 

And have their provender tied to their mouths 
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 
Reig. Let's raise the siege : why live we idly 
' here ? 



32 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act i. 



Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
And lie may well in fretting spend his gall, 
Nor men aor money hath he to make war. 
Char. Sound, sound alarum! we will rush 
on them. 
Now for the honor of the forlorn French ! 
Him I forgive my death that killeth me 20 
When he sees me go back one foot or fly. 

[Exeunt . 

Here alarum; they are beaten back by the 
English with great loss. Re-enter Charles, 
Alencon, and Reignier. 

Char. Who ever saw the like ? what men 

have I ! 
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! I would ne'er 

have lied, 
But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 
Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours, re- 
cords, 
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, 30 
Daring the time Edward the Third did reign. 
More truly now may this be verified ; 
For none but Samsons and Goliases 
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
Lean, raw-boned »ascals ! who would e'er 

suppose 
They kid such courage and audacity ? 

Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are 

hare-brain' d slaves, 
And hunger will enforce them to be more 

eager : 
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth 
The walls they'll tear down than forsake the 

siege. ' 40 

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmors or 

device 
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on ; 
Flse ne'er could they hold out so as they do. 
By my consent, we'll even let them alone. 
Alen. Be it so. 

Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 

Bast, Where's the Prince Dauphin ? I 

have news for him. 
Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome 

to us. 
Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your 

cheer appall' d : 
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence? 
Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand : 50 
A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
Which by a vision sent to her from heaven 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege 
And drive the English forth the bounds of 

France. 
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, 
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome : 
What's past and what's to come she can 

descry. 
Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words, 



For they are certain and unfallible. 

Char. Go call her in. [Exit Bastard] But 

first to try her skill, 60 

Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place : 

Question her proudly ; let thy looks be stern : 

By this means shall we sound what skill she 

hath. 

Re-enter the Bastard of Orleans, with Joan 
La Pucelle. 
Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these 

wondrous feats ? 
Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to 
beguile me? 
Where is the Dauphin ? Come, come from 

behind ; 
I know thee well, though never seen before. 
Be not amazed, there's nothing hid from me ; 
In private will I talk with thee apart. 
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave 
awhile. 70 

Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first 

dash. 
Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's 
daughter, 
My wit un train' d in any kind of art. 
Heaven and our Lady gracious hath it pleased 
To shine on my contemptible estate : 
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, 
And to sun's parching heat display'd my 

cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to appear to me 
And in a vision full of majesty 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation 80 

And free my country from calamity : 
Her aid she promised and assured success : 
In complete glory she reveal'd herself ; 
And, whereas I was black and swart before, 
With those clear rays which she infused on me 
That beauty am I bless' d with which you see. 
Ask me what question thou canst possible, 
And I will answer unpremeditated : 
My courage try by combat, if thou darest, 
And thou 'shaft find that I exceed my sex. 90 
Resolve on this, thou shalt be fortunate, 
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 
Char. Thou hast astonish' d me with thy 
high terms : 
Only this proof I'll of thy valor make, 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me, 
And if thou vanquished, thy words are true ; 
Otherwise I renounce all confidence. 
Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edged 
sword, 
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ; 
The which at Touraine, in Saint Katharine's 
churchyard, 100 

Out of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 
Char. Then come, o' God's name ; I fear no 

woman. 
Puc. And while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a 
man. 

[Here theyjight, and Joan La PuceUe 

overcomes. 
Cliar. Stay, stay thy hands I thou art an 
Amazon 



Scene m.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



33 



And lightest with the sword of Deborah. 
Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were 

too weak. 
Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that 
must help me : 
Impatiently I burn with thy desire ; 
My heart and hands thou hast at once sub- 
dued. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 110 

Let me thy servant and not sovereign be : 
"lis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
For my profession's sacred from above : 
When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
Then will I think upon a recompense. 

Char. Meantime look gracious on thy pros- 
trate thrall. 
Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in 

talk. 
Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to 
her smock ; 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps 
no mean ? 121 

Alen. He may mean more than we poor 
men do know : 
These women are shrewd tempters with their 
tongues. [you on? 

Reig. My lord, where are you ? what devise 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no? 

Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 

Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 

Char. What she says I'll confirm: we'll 

fight it out. 
Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English 
scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: 130 
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days, 
Since I have entered into these wars. 
Glory is like a circle in the water, 
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself 
Till by broad spreading it disperse to nought. 
With Henry's death the English circle ends ; 
Dispersed are the glories' it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship, 
Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once. 

Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 141 
Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like 

thee. 
Bright star of Venus, f all'n down on the earth, 
How may I reverently worship thee enough ? 
Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the 

siege. 
Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save 
our honors ; 
Drive them from Orleans and be immortalized. 
Char. Presently we'll try ; come, let's away 

about it: 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. 150 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. London. Before the Tower. 

Enter the Duke of Gloucester, loith his 

Serving-men in blue coats. 



Glou. I am come to survey the Tower this 
day: 
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is convey- 
ance. 
Where be these warders, that they wait not 

here? 
Open the gates ; 'tis Gloucester that calls. 
First Warder. [Within] Who's there that 

knocks so imperiously ? 
First Serv. It is the noble Duke of Glou- 
cester. 
Second Warder. [Within] Whoe'er he be, 

you may not be let in. 
First Serv. Villains, answer you so the 

lord protector ? 
First Warder. [Within] The Lord protect 
him ! so we answer him : 
We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 10 
Glou. Who willed you? or whose will 
stands but mine ? 
There's none protector of the realm but I. 
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize : 
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? 
[Gloucester' s men rush at the Tower Gates, 
and Woodvile the Lieutenant speaks within. 
Woodv. What noise is this? what traitors 

have we here ? 
Glou. Lieutenant, is it you whose voice I 
hear ? 
Open the gates ; here's Gloucester that would 
enter. 
Woodv. Have patience, noble duke ; I may 
not open ; 
The Cardinal of Winchester forbids: 
From him I have express commandment 20 
That thou nor none of thine shall be let in. 
Glou. Faint-hearted Woodvile, prizest 
him 'fore me ? 
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate, 
Whom Henrv, our late sovereign, ne'er could 

brook ? 
Thou art no friend to God or to the king : 
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 
Serving-men . Open the gates unto the lord 
protector, 
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not 
quickly. 

Enter to the Protector at the Tower Gates 
Winchester and his men in tawny coats. 

Win. How now, ambitious Humphry! 

what means this ? 
Glou. Peel'd priest, dost thou command 
me to be shut out ? 30 

Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
And not protector, of the king or realm. 
Glou. Stand back, thou manifest conspir- 
ator, 
Thou that contrivedst to murder our dead 

lord ; 
Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin : 
I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 

Win. Nay, stand thou back; I will not 
budge a foot : 
This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 

3 



34 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act i 



To slav thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 40 

Glou. 1 will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee 

back : 
Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth 
111 use to carry thee oat of this place. 

Win. Do what thou darest ; 1 beard thee to 

thy face. 
Glou. What ! am I dared and bearded to my 

lace ? 
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
Blue coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your 

beard ; 
f mean to tug it and to cull you soundly : 
Under my feet 1 stamp thy cardinal's hat: 
In spile of pope or dignities of church, 50 

Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. 
Win. Gloucester, thou wilt answer this be- 
fore the pope. 
Glou. Winchester goose, I cry, a rope! a 

rope ! 
Now beat them hence ; why do you let them 

stay ? 
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's 

array. 
Out, tawny coats ! out, scarlet hypocrite ! 

Here Gloucester's men beat out the Cardinal's 
men, and enter in the hurty-burly the Mayor 
of London and Jus Officers. 

May. Fie, lords ! that you, being supreme 
magistrates, 
Thus contumeliously should break the peace ! 
Glou. Peace, mayor ! thou know'st little of 
my wrongs : 
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor 
king, 60 

Hath here distrairi'd the Tower to his use. 

Win. Here's Gloucester, a foe to citizens, 
One that still motions Avar and never peace, 
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines, 
That seeks to overthrow religion 
Because he is protector of the realm, 
And would have armor here out of the Tower, 
To crown himself king and suppress the prince. 
Glou. I will not answer thee with words, 
but blows. [Here they skirmish again. 
May. Naught rests for me in this tumult- 
ous strife 70 
But to make open proclamation : 
Come, officer ; as loud as e'er thou canst, 
Cry. 

Off. All manner of men assembled here 
in arms this day against God's peace and the 
king's, we charge and command you, in his 
highness' name, to repair to your several 
dwelling-places ; and not to wear, handle, or 
use any sword, weapon, or dagger, hence- 
forward, upon pain of death. 

Glou. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law : 
But we shall meet, and break our minds at 
large. 
Win. Gloucester, we will meet ; to thy cost, 
be sure : 
Thy heart-blood I will have for this day's 
work. 
May. I'll call for clubs, if you will not away 



This cardinal's more haughty than the devil. 
Glou. Mayor, farewell : thou dost but what 

thou may st. 
Win. Abominable Gloucester, guard thy 
head ; 
For 1 intend to have it ere long. 

[Exeunt, severally, Gloucester and Win- 
chester with their Serving-men. 
May. See the coast clear' d, and tlien we 
will depart. 
Good God, these nobles should such stomachs 
bear ! i,Q 

I myself fight not once in forty year. 

[Exeunt 
Scene IV. Orleans. 

Enter, on the walls, a Master Gunner and 
his Boy. 

M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans 
is besieged, 
And how the English have the suburbs won. 
Boy. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at 
them, 
Howe'er unfortunate I miss'd my aim. 
31. Gun. But now thou shaft not. Be thou 
ruled by me : 
Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
Something I must do to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed me 
How the English, in the suburbs close in- 
trench' d, 
Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 10 
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city 
And thence discover how with most advantage 
They may vex us with shot, or with assault. 
To intercept this ineonvenien; e. 
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it 1 have placed ; 
And even these three days have I watch'd, 
If I could see them. 

Now do thou watch, iprl can stay no longer. 
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
And thou shalt rind me at the governor's 

[Exit. 
Boy. Father, I warrant you ; take you no 
care ; 
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. 

[Exit. 

Enter, on the turrets, the Lords Salisbury 
and Talbot, Sir William Glansdale, 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and others. 

Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again re- 
turn' d ! 
How wert thou handled being prisoner ? 
Or by what means got'st thou to be released 1 
Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. 

Tal. The Duke of Bedford had a prisoner 
Call'd the brave Lord Ponton de Santrailles , 
For him was I exchanged and ransomed. 
But with a baser man of arms by far 30 

Once in contemptthey would have barter' d me: 
Which I, disdaining, scorn' d; and craved death, 
Rather than I would be so vile esteem'd. 
In tine, redeem'd I was as I desired. [heart, 
But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my 
Whom with my bare fists I would execute. 



SCENE V.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



85 



If I now had him brought into my power. 
Sal. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wert en- 
tertain' d. 
Tal. With scoffs and scorns and contume- 
lious taunts. 
In open market-place produced they me, 40 
To be a public spectacle to all : 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
The scarecrow that affrights our children so. 
Then broke I from the officers that led me, 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the 

ground, 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame : 
My grisly countenance made others fly ; 
None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
In iron Avails they deem'dme not secure ; 
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was 
spread, 50 

That they supposed I could rend bars of steel, 
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, 
That walked about me every minute- while ; 
And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 

Enter the Boy with a linstock. 

Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you 
endured, 
But we will be revenged sufficiently. 
Now it is supper-time in Orleans : 
Here, through this grate, I count each one 60 
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify : 
Let us look in ; the sight will much delight 

thee. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and Sir William Glans- 

dale, 
Let me have your express opinions 
Where is best place to make our battery next. 
Gar. I think, at the north gate : for there 

stand lords. - 
Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the 

bridge. 
Tal. For aught I see, this city must be fam- 
ish'd, 
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 

[Here they shoot. Salisbury and Gargrave 

1 fall. 

Sal. Lord, have mercy on us, wretched 

sinners ! 70 

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woful 

man ! 
Tal. What chance is this that suddenly 
hath cross' d us ? 
Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst 

speak : 
How farest thou,* mirror of all martial men ? 
One of thy eyes and thy cheek's side struck off ! 
Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand 
That hath contrived this wot'ul tragedy ! 
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
Henry the Fifth he first train' d to the wars ; 
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck 
up, 80 

His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. 
Yet livest thou, Salisbury ? though thy speech 
doth fail, 



One eye thou hast, to look to heaven few 

grace : 
The sun witli one eye vieweth all the world. 
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, 
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! 
Bear hence his body ; I will help to bury it. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ? 
Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; 
Thou shalt not die whiles — 91 

He beckons with his hand and smiles on me, 
As who should say ' When I am dead and 

gone, 
Remember to avenge me on the French/ 
I'lantagenet, I will ; and like thee, Nero, 
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
[Here an alarum, and it thunders and lightens* 
What stir is this ? what tumult's in the 

heavens ? 
Whence cometh this alamm and the noise ? 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have 
gathered head : 100 

The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, 
A holy prophetess new risen up, 
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
[Here Salisbm-y lifteth himself up and, groans. 
Tal. Hear, hear how dying Salisbury 
doth groan ! 
It irks his heart he cannot be revenged. 
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : 
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish, 
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's 

heels, 
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 110 

And then we'll try what these dastard French- 
men dare. [Alarum. Exeunt. 
Scene V. The s</me. 
Here an alamm again : and Talbot pursu- 
eth the Dauphin, and driveth him : then 
enter Joan La Pucelle, driving English- 
men before her, and exit after them : then re- 
enter Talbot. 

Tal. Where is my strength, my valor, and 
my force ? 
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ; 
A woman clad in armor chaseth them.' 

Re-enter La Pucelle. 

Here, here .she conies. I'll have a bout with 

thee ; 
Devil or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee : 
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch, 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou 
servest. 
Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must dis- 
grace thee. '[Here they fight 
Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to pre- 
vail ? 
My breast I'll burst with straining of my cour 
age 10 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asuD 
der. 



36 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act it 



But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 

[They fight again. 

Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet 
come : 
I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 

[J. short alarum; then enter the town with 

soldiers. 
O'ertake me, if thou canst ; I scorn thy 

strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hungry-starved men ; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
This day is ours, as many more shall be. 

[Exit. 

Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's 

wheel ; 

I know not where I am, nor what I do ; 20 

A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 

Drives hack our troops and conquers as she 

lists : 
So bees with smoke and doves with noisome 

stench 
Are from their hives and houses driven away. 
They call' d us for our fierceness English dogs ; 
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

[J. short alarum. 
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
Sheep run not half so treacherous from the 
wolf, o0 

Or horse or oxen from the leopard, 
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 

[Alarum. Here another skirmish. 
It will not be : retire into your trenches : 
You all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. 
Pucelle is enter' d into Orleans, 
In spite of us or aught that we could do. 
O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 
[Exit Talbot. Alarum ; retreat ; flourish. 

Scene VI. The same. 

Enter, on the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, 
Reignier, Alencon, and Soldiers. 

Puc. Advance our waving colors on the 
walls ; 

Rescued is Orleans from the English : 

Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 
Char. Divinest creature, Astrsea's daughter, 

How shall I honor thee for this success ? 

Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens 

That one day bloom' d and fruitful were the 
next. 

France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! 

Recover'd is the town of Orleans : 

More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.10 
Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud 
throughout the town ? 

Dauphin, command the citizens make bon- 
fires 

And feast and banquet in the open streets, 

To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
Alen All France will be replete with mirth 
aud joy 



When they shall hear how we have play'd 

the men. 
Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day 

is won ; 
For which 1 will divide my crown with her, 
And all the priests and friars in my realm 
Shall in procession sing her endless praise. 20 
A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear 
Than Rhodope's or Memphis' ever was: 
In memory of her when she is dead, 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the ricb-jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Denis will we cry, 
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in, and let us banquet royally, 30 

After this golden day of victory. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Scene I. Before Orleans. 

Enter a Sergeant of a band with two Sentinels. 

Serg. Sirs, take your places and be vigilant: 
If any noise or soldier you perceive 
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
First Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit 

Sergeant.] Thus are poor servitors, 
When others sleep upon their quiet beds, 
Constrain' d to watch in darkness, rain and 
cold. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and 
forces, with scaling-ladders, their drums beat- 
ing a dead march. 

Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Bur- 
gundy, 
By whose approach the regions of Artois, 
Wallon and Picardy are friends to us, 10 

This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, 
Having all day caroused and banqueted : 
Embrace we then this opportunity 
As fitting best to quittance their deceit 
Contrived by art and baleful sorcery. 

Bed. Coward of France ! how much he 
wrongs his fame, 
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, 
To join with witches and the help of hell ! 

Bur. Traitors have never other company. 
But what's that Pucelle whom they term so 
pure ? • 20 

Tal. A maid, they say. 
Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 

Bur. Pray God she prove not masculine 
ere long, 
If underneath the standard of the French 
She carry armor as she hath begun. 

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse 
with spirits : 
God is our fortress, in whose conquering 

name 
•L*et us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



37 



Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will fol- 
low thee. 
Tal. Not all together : better far ; I guess, 
That we do make our entrance several ways ; 30 
That, if ft chance the one of us do fail, 
The other yet may rise against their force. 
Bed. Agreed : I'll to yond corner. 
Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make 
his grave. 
Now, Salisbury, for thee, and for the right 
Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
How much i:i duty I am bound to both. 
Sent. Ann ! arm ! the enemy doth make 
assault ! 

[Cry: 'St. George,' 'A Talbot.' 

The French leap over the walls in their shirts. 
Enter, several ways, ^Bastard of Orleans, 
ALExcoN,amZREiGNiER, half ready, and half 
unready. 

Alen. How now, my lords ! what, all un- 
ready so ? 
Bast. Unready! ay, and glad we 'scaped 

so well. 40 

Iiei;/. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and 

leave our beds, 
Hearing alarums at our chamber-doors. 
Alen. Of all exploits since first I follow' d 

arms, 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise 
More venturous or desperate than this. 

Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 
Reiy. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, 

favor him. 
Alen. Here cometh Charles : I marvel how 

he sped. 
Bast. Tut, holy Joan was his defensive 

guard. 

Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful 
dame ? 50 

Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
Make us partakers of a little gain, 
That now our loss might be ten times so much ? 
Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with 
his friend ! 
At all times will you have my power alike ? 
Sleeping or waking must I still prevail, 
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? 
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been 

good, 
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 
Char. Duke of Alencon, this was your de- 
fault, (SO 
That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely 
kept 
As that whereof I had the government, 
We had not been thus shamefully surprised. 
Bast. Mine was secure. 
Rely. Aud so was mine, my lord. 
Char. And, for myself, most part of all this 
night. 
Within her quarter and mine own precinct 



I was employ' d in passing to and fro, 
About relieving of the sentinels : 70 

Then how or which way should they first 
break in ? [case, 

Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the 
How or which way : 'tis sure they found 
some place [made. 

But weakly guarded, where the breach was 
And now there rests no other shift but this ; 
To gather our soldiers, scatter' d and dis- 
persed, 
And lay new platforms to endamage them. 

Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying l A 
Talbot ! a Talbot ! ' They fly, leaving their 
clothes behind. 

Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they 
have left. 
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
For I have load en me with many spoils, 80 
Using no other weapon but his name. {Exit. 

Scene II. Orleans. Within the town. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a 
Captain, and others. 

Bed. The day begins to break, and night 
is tied, 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil' d the earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 

[J 'tircat sounded. 
Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury, 
And here advance it in the market-place, 
The middle centre of this cursed town. 
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
For every drop of blood was drawn from him, 
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to- 
night. 
And that hereafter ages may behold 10 

What ruin happen' d in revenge of him, 
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd : 
Upon the which, that every one may read, 
Shall be engraved the sack of Orleans, 
The treacherous manner of his mournful death 
And what a terror he had been to France. 
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace. 
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 
Nor any of his false confederates. 21 

Bed. 'Tis thought, Lord Talbot, when the 
fight began. 
Roused on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
They did amongst the troops of armed men 
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself, as far as I could well discern 
For smoke and dusky vapors of the night, 
Am sure I scared the Dauphin and his trull, 
When arm in arm they both came swiftly 

running, 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves 30 

That could not live asunder day or night. 
After that things are set in order here, 
We'll follow them with all the power we have 
Enter a Messenger, 

Mess. All hail, my k>rds ! Which of this 
princely train 



38 



KING HENRY VI. PART I 



[Act it. 



Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
So much applauded through the realm of 
France ? 
Tal. Here is the Talbot : who would speak 

with him ? 
Mess. The virtuous lady, Countess of 
Auvergne, 
With modesty admiring thy renown, 
By nic entreats, great lord, thou wouldst 
vouchsafe 40 

To visit her poor castle where she lies, 
That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 
Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see our 
wars 
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport, 
When ladies crave to be encounter' d with. 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for when a 
world of men 
Could not prevail with all their oratory, 
Vet hath a woman's kiuduess over-ruled : 50 
And therefore tell her I return great thanks, 
And in submission will attend on her. 
Will not your honors bear me company ? 
Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners 
will : 
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests 
Are often welcomest when they are gone. 
Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no 
remedy, 
1 mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.'] You per- 
ceive my mind ? 
Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accord- 
ingly. [Exeunt. 60 

Scene III. Auvergne. The Countess's 

castle. 

Enter the Countess and her Porter. 

Count. Porter, remember what I gave in 
charge ; 
And when you have done so, bring the keys 
to me. 
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall 
out right, 
f shall as famous be by this exploit 
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus'* death. 
Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, 
And liis achievements of no less account : 
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine 

ears, 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 10 

Enter Messenger and Talbot. 

Mess. Madam, 
According as your ladyship desired, 
By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come. 

int. And he is welcome. What! is this 
the man ? 
Mess. Madam, it is. 

< 'ount. Is this the scourge of France ? 

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad 
That with his name the mothers still their 
babe* ? 



I see report is fabulous and false ; 
I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 2C 

And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf ! • 
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble 
you; 
But since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
I'll sort some other time to visit you. 

Count. What means he now ? Go ask him 

whither he goes. 
Mess. Stay, my Lord Talbot ; for my lady 
craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong be- 
lief, 31 
I go to certify her Talbot's here. 

Re-enter Porter with keys. 

Count. If thou be he, then art thou pris- 
oner. 

Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ; 

And for that cause I trained thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs : 
But now the substance shall endure the like, 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
That hast by tyranny these many years 40 
Wasted our country, slain our citizens 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 

Tal. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Count. La ugliest thou, wretch ? thy mirth 
shall turn to moan. 

Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond 
To think that you have aught but Talbot's 

shadow 
Whereon to practise your severity. 

Count. Why, art not thou the man ? 

Tal. . I am indeed. 

Count. Then have I substance too. 

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself ; 50 
You are deceived, my substance is not here ; 
For what you see is but the smallest part 
And least proportion of humanitv : 
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
It is of such a spacious lofty pitcn, 
Your roof were not sufficient to contain' t. 

Count. This is a riddling merchant lor the 
nonce ; 
He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
How can these contrarieties agree ? 

Tal. That will I show you presently. 60 

{Winds his horn. Drums sti'ike up: a 

peal of ordnance. Enter soldiei 8. 

How sav you, madam ? are you now persuaded 

That Talbot is but shadow of himself ? 

These are his substance, sinews, arms and 

strength, 
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks. 
Razeth your cities and subverts your towns 
And in a moment makes them desolate. 

Count. Victorious Talbot I pardon my 
abuse * 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



39 



I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited 
And more than may be gather' d by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; 70 
For I am sorry that with reverence 
I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay' d, fair lady ; nor mis- 
construe 
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
The outward composition of his body. 
What you have done hath not offended me ; 
Nor other satisfaction do I crave, 
But only, with your patience, that we may 
Taste of your wine and see what cates you 

have ; 
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 
Count. With all my heart, and think me 
honored 81 

To feast so great a warrior in my house. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. London. The Temple-garden. 

Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and 
Warwick ; Richard Plantagenet, Ver- 
non, and another Lawyer. 

Plan. Great lords and gentlemen, what 
means this silence ? 
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? 
Suf. Within the Temple-hull we were too 
loud ; 
The garden here is more convenient. 
Plan. Then say at once if 1 maintain' d the 
truth ; 
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error ? 
Suf. Faith, I have been a truant in the law, 
And never yet could frame my will to it ; 
And therefore frame the law unto my will. 
Som. Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, 
then, between us. 10 

War. Between two hawks, which flies the 
higher pitch ; 
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper 

mouth ; 
Between two blades, which bears the better 

temper : 
Between two horses, which doth bear him 

best ; 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest 

eye ; 
I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judge- 
ment ; 
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 
Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbear- 
ance : 
The truth appears so naked on my side 20 

That any purblind eye may find it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well appar- 
ell'd, 
So clear, so shining and so evident 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
Plan. Since you are tongue-tied and so 
loath to speak, 
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : 
Let him that is a true-born gentleman 
And stands upon the honor of his birth, 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truths 



From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 
Som. Let him that is no coward nor no 
flatterer, 31 

But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
Pluck a, red rose from off this thorn with me. 
War. I love no colors, and without all 
color 
Of base insinuating flattery 
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 
Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Som- 
erset 
And say withal I think he held the right. 
Ver. " Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck 
no more, 
Till you conclude that he upon whose side 40 
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree 
Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 
Som. Good Master Vernon, it is well ob- 
jected : 
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
Plan. And I. 

V( r. Then for the truth and plainness of 
the case, . 
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it 
off, 
Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red 
And fall on my side so, against your will. 51 

Ver. If 1, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 
Som. Well, well, come on : who else ? 
Law. Unless my study and my books be 
false, 
The argument you held was wrong in you : 

[To Somerset. 
In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. 
Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your ar- 
gument ? 
S<>m. Here in my scabbard, meditating that 
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red. 61 
Plan. Meantime your cheeks do counter- 
feit our roses ; 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
The truth on our side. 

Som. No, Plantagenet, 

'Tis not for fear but anger that thy cheeks 
Blush for pure shame to counterfeit our roses, 
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Som- 
erset ? [genet .' 
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Planta- 
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain 
his truth ; 70 
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his false- 
hood. 
Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my 
bleeding roses, 
That shall ma intain what I have said is true, 
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my 
hand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 
Sttf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plan- 
tagenet. 



40 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



"[Act ii 



Plan. Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both 

him and thee. 
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy 
throat. 79 

Som. Away, away, good William de la Pole ! 
We grace the yeoman by conversing with him 
War. Now, by God v s will, thou wrong'st 
him, Somerset ; 
His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence, 
Third son to the third Edward King of Eng- 
land : 
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root ? 
Plan, He bears him on the place's privilege, 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 
Som. 13y him that made me, I'll maintain 
my words 
On any plot of ground in Christendom, 
Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cam- 
bridge, 90 
For treason executed in our late king's days ? 
And, by his treason, stand' st not thou attainted, 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry ? 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood.; 
And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman. 

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted, 
Condemn' d to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
And that I'll prove on better men than Som- 
erset, 
Were growing time once ripen' d to my will. 
For your partaker Pole and you yourself, 100 
I'll note you in my book of memory, 
To scourge you for this apprehension : 
Look to it well and say you are well warn'd. 
Som. Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee 
still ; 
And know us by these colors for thy foes, 
For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear. 
Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and an- 
gry rose, 
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
Will I for ever and my faction wear, 
Until it wither with me to my grave 110 

Or flourish to the height of my degree. 
Suf. Go forward and be choked with thy 
ambition ! 
And so farewell until I meet thee next. [Exit . 
Som. Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, 
ambitious Richard. [Exit. 

Plan. How I am braved and must per- 
force endure it ! 
War. This blot that they object against 
your house 
Shall be wiped out in the next parliament 
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Glou- 
cester ; 
And if thou be not then created York, 
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 120 
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee, 
Against proud Somerset and William Pole, 
Will I upon thy party wear this rose : 
And here I prophesy : this brawl to-day, 
Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden, 
Shall send between the red rose and the white 
A. thousand souls to deatli and deadly night. 
Plan. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to 
you, 



That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the 
same. 130 

Law. And so will I. 
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
Come, let us four to dinner • I dare say 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene V. The Tower of London. 

Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and 
Gaolers. 

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying 
age, 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. 
Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment ; 
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged in an age of care, 
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is 

spent, 
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent ; 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening 
grief, 10 

And pithless arms, like to a wither' d vine 
That droops his sapless branches to the ground; 
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is 

numb, 
Unable to support this lump of clay, 
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
As witting I no other comfort have. 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ? 
first Gaol. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, 
will come : 
We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber ; 
And answer was return' d that he will come 20 
Mor. Enough : mv soul shall then be satis- 
fied. 
Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
Before whose glory I was great in arms, 
This loathsome sequestration have I had : 
And even since then hath Richard been ob- 
scured, 
Deprived of honor and inheritance. 
But now the arbitrator of despairs, 
Just deatli, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me 
hence : u0 

I would his troubles likewise were expired, 
That so he might recover what was lost 

Enter Richard Plantagenet. 

First Gaol. My lord, your loving nephew 

now is come. 
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he 

come ? 
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, 
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes. 
Mor. Direct mine arms I may embrace his 
neck, 
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 
O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. 40 
And now r declare, sweet stem from York's great 
, stock, 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



41 



Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised? 
Plan. First, leau thine aged back against 
mine arm ; 
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 
This day, in argument upon a case, 
Some words there grew 'twist Somerset and 

me ; 
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue 
And did upbraid me with my father's death : 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, 
Else with the like I had requited him. 50 

Therefore, good uncle, for my father's sake, 
In honor of a true Plantagenet 
And for alliance sake, declare the cause 
My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head, 
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that im- 
prison' d me 
And hath detain' d me all my flowering youth 
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause 
that was, 
For I am ignorant and cannot guess. GO 

Mor. I will, if that my fading breath permit 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, 
Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward's son, 
The first-begotten and the lawful heir 
Of Edward king, the third of that descent 
During whose reign the Percies of the north, 
Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne : 
The reason moved these warlike lords to 
this 70 

Was, for that — young King Richard thus re- 
moved, 
Leaving no heir begotten of his body— 
I was the next by birth and parentage ; 
For by my mother I derived am 
From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son 
To King Edward the Third ; whereas he 
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
But mark : as in this haughty great attempt 
They labored to plant the rightful heir, 80 

I lost my liberty and they their lives. 
Long after this, when Henry the Filth, 
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, 
Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived 
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, 
Marrying my sister that thy mother was, 
Again in pity of my hard distress 
Levied an army, weening to redeem 
And have install' d me in the diadem : 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl 90 

And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In whom the title rested, were suppress' d. 
Plan. Oi which, my lord, your honor is 

the last. 
Mor. True ; and thou seest that I no issue 
have 
And that my fainting words do warrant death ; 
Thou art my heir ; the rest I wish thee gather : 
But yet be wary in thy studious care. 
Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail 
with me ; 



But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 100 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic : 
Strong -fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
And like a mountain, not to be removed. 
But now thy uncle is removing hence : 
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. O, uncle, would some part of my 
young years 
Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me, as that 
slaughterer doth 109 

Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ; 
Only give order for my funeral : 
And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes 
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war ! 

[Dies. 

Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy part- 
ing soul ! 
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage 
And like a hermit overpass' d thy days. 
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ; 
And what I do imagine let that rest. 
Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself 120 
Will see his burial better than his life. 

[Exeunt Gaolers, bearing out thebody 

o'f Mortimer. 
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer. 
Choked with ambition of the meaner sort : 
And f or triose wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
Which Somerset hath offer' d to my house, 
I doubt not but with honor to red ress ; 
And therefore haste I to the parliament, 
Either to be restored to my blood, 
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. London. The Parliament-house. 

Flourish. Enter King, Exeter, Gloucester, 
Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk ; the 
Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plan- 
tagenet, and others. Gloucester offers 
to put up a bill; Winchester snaiches % 
and (cars it. 

Win. Comest thou with deep premeditateu 
lines. 
With written pamphlets studiously devised, 
Humphrey of Gloucester ? If thou canst ac- 
cuse, 
Or aught intend' st to lay unto my charge, 
Do it without invention, suddenly ; 
As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
Glou. Presumptuous priest ! this place com- 
mands my patience, 
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonor'dmfc.. 
Think not, although in writing 1 preferr'd 10 

oanner of thy vile outrageous crimes, 
That therefore I have forged, or am not able 



42 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act hi. 



Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Thy lewd, pestiferous and dissenlious pranks, 
As very infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer, 
Forward by nature, enemy to peace ; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of thy profession and degree ; 20 

And for thy treachery, what's more manifest ? 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
As well at London bridge as at the Tower. 
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 

Win. Gloucester, I do defy thee. Lords, 
vouchsafe 
To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
If I were covetous, ambitious or perverse, 
As he will have me, how am I so poor ? 30 
Or how haps it I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling ? 
And for dissension, who prei'erreth peace 
More than I do ? — except I be provoked. 
No, my good lords, it is not that offends ; 
It is not that that hath incensed the duke : 
It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
No one but he should be about the king ; 
And that engenders thunder in his breast 
And makes him roar these accusations forth. 40 
But he shall know I am as good — 

Glou. As good ! 

Thou bastard of my grandfather ! 

Win. Ay, lordly sir ; for what are you, I 
pray, 
But one imperious in another's throne ? 

Glou. Am I not protector, saucy priest ? 

Win. And am not I a prelate of itl i e ch urch ? 

Glou. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gloster ! 

Glou. Thou art reverent 

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.oO 

Win. Rome shall remedy this. 

War. Roam thither, then. 

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 

Som,. Methinks my lord should be religious 
And know the office that belongs to such. 

War. Methinks his lordship should >^e 
humbler ; 
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch' d 
so near. 

War. State holy or unhallow'd, what of 
that ? 
Is not his grace protector to the king ? GO 

Plan. [Aside] Plantagenet, I see, must hold 
his tongue, 
Lest it be said ' Speak, sirrah, when you 

should ; 
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords? ' 
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. 

King. Uncles of Gloucester and of Winches- 
ter, 
The special watchmen of our English weai, 
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 



To join your hearts in love and amity. 
O, what a scandal is it to our crown, 
That two such noble peers as ye should jar !70 
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell 
Civil dissension is a viperous worm 
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth 
[A noise ivithin, ' Down with the tawny- 

What tumult's this ? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 
[J. noise again, ' Stones ! stones ! 

Enter Mayor. 

May. O, my good lords, and virtuous Henry 
Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
The bishop and the Duke of Gloucester's men, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones 80 
And banding themselves in contrary parts 
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate 
That many have their giddy brains knock' d 

out : 
Our windows are broke down in every street 
And we for fear compell'd to shut our shops. 

Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, loith bloody 
pates. 
King. We charge you, on allegiance to 
ourself, 
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the 

peace. 
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife. 

First Serv. Nav, if we be forbidden stones, 

We'll fall to it with our teeth. 90 

Sec. Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as 

resolute. [Skirmish again. 

Glou. You of my household, leave this 

peevish broil 

And set this unaccustom'd fight aside- 

Third Serv. My lord, we know your grace 
to be a man 
Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth, 
Inferior to none but to his majesty : 
And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
So kind a father of the commonweal, 
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, 99 

We and our wives and children all will fight 
And have our bodies slaughtered by thy foes. 
First Serv. Ay, and the very parings of 
our nails 
Shall pitch a field when we are dead. 

"\ {Begin again. 

Glou. ^ Stay, stay, I' say ! 

And if you love me, as you say you do, 
Let me persuade you to forbear awhile. 
King. O, how this discord doth afflict my 
soul ! 
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold 
My sighs and tears and will not once relent ? 
Who should be pitiful, if you be not ? 
Or who should study to prefer a peace, 110 
If noly churchmen take delight in broils ? 
War. Yield, my lord protector ; yield, Win- 
chester ; 
FiXcept you mean with obstinate repulse 
To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART l. 



43 



You see what mischief and what murder too 
Hath been enacted through your enmity ; 
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 
Glou. Compassion on the king commands 
me stoop ; 
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest 120 
Should ever get that privilege of me. 

War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the 
duke 
Hath banish' d moody discontented fury, 
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
Why look you still so stern and tragical ? 
Glou. Here, Winchester, 1 offer thee my 

hand. 
King. Fie, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard 
you preach 
That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 
And will not you maintain the thing you teach, 
Bat prove a chief offender in the same ? 130 
War. Sweet king ! the bishop hath a kindly 
gird. 
For shame, my lord of Winchester, relent ! 
What, shall a child instruct you what to do ? 
Win. Well, Duke of Gloucester, 1 will yield 
to thee ; 
Love for thy love and hand for hand I give. 
Glou. [Aside] Ay, but, I fear me, with a 
hollow heart. — 
See here, my friends and loving countrymen, 
Tli is token serveth for a Hag of truce 
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers : 
So help me God, as 1 dissemble not ! 140 

Win. [Aside] So help me God, as I intend it 

not ! 
King. loving uncle, kind Duke of Glou- 
cester, 
How joyful am I made by this contract ! 
Away, my masters ! troible us no more ; 
But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
First Serv. Content : I'll to the surgeon's. 
Sec. Serv. And so will I. 

Third Serv. And I will see what physic the 
tavern affords. 

[Exeunt Serving-men, Mayor, &c. 
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sov- 
ereign, 
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet 150 
We do exhibit to your majesty. 

Glou. Well urged, my Lord of Warwick: 
for, sweet prince, 
An if your grace mark every circumstance, 
You have great reason to do Richard right ; 
Especially for those occasions 
At Eltham Place 1 told your majesty. 
King. And those occasions, uncle, were of 
force : 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 159 

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood ; 
So shall his father's wrongs be recompensed. 
Win. As will the rest, so willcth Win Chester. 
King. If Richard will be true, not that alone 
But all the whole inheritance I give 
That doth belong unto the house of York, 
JTrora whence you spring by lineal descent 



Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience 
And humble service till the point of death. 
King. Stoop then and set your knee against 
my foot ; 
And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 170 

I gird thee with the valiant sword of York : 
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet, 
And rise created princely Duke of York. 
Plan. And so thrive Richard as thy foes 
may fall ! 
And as my duty springs, so perish they 
That grudge one thought against your ma- 
jesty ! 
All. Welcome, high prince,the mighty Duke 

of York ! 
Som. [Aside] Perish, base prince, ignoble 

Duke of York ! 
Glou. Now will it best avail your majesty 
To cross the seas and to be crown' d in France : 
The presence of a king engenders love 181 
Amongst his subjects and his loyal friends, 
As it disanimates his enemies. 
King. When Gloucester says the word, King 
Henry goes ; 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 
Glou. Your ships already are in readiness. 
[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Exeter. 
Exe. Ay, we may march in England or in 
France, 
Not seeing what is likely to ensue. 
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers 
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love 190 
And will at last break out into a flame : 
As fester' d members rot but by degree, 
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away, 
So will this base and envious discord breed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecy 
Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe ; 
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all 
And Henry born at Windsor lose all : 
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish 200 
His days may finish ere that hapless time. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. France. Before Rouen. 
Enter La Pltcelle disguised, with four Sol- 
diers iviili sacks upon their backs. 

Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of 
Rouen, 
Through which our policy must make a 

breach : 
Take heed, be wary how you place your words ; 
Talk like the vulgar sort of market men 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have c- :nce. as I hope we shall. 
And that we aid the slothful watch but weak, 
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, 
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 
First Sol. Our sacks shall be a mean to 
sack the city, 10 

And wc be lords and rulers over Rouen ; 
Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks, 

Watch. [ Within] Qui est la ? 
Pue. Paysans, pauvres gens de France ; 
Poor market folks that come to sell their corn. 



41 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act hi. 



Watch. Enter, go in ; the market bell is 

rung. 
Puc Now, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks 
to the ground. [Exeunt. 

Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, 
Alencon, Reignier, and forces. 

Char. Saint Denis bless this happy strat- 
agem ! 
And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. 
Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle and her prac- 
tisants; 20 

Now she is there, how will she specify 
Where is the best and safest passage in? 
Reign. By thrusting out a torch from 
yonder tower ; 
Which, once discern',], shows that her mean- 
ing is, 
No way to that, for weakness, which she 

enter'd. 
Enter La Pucelle on the top, thrusting out 
a torch burning. 
Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding 
torch 
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen, 
But burning fatal to the Talbotites ! [Exit. 
Bast. See, noble Charles, the beacon of our 
friend ; 
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 30 
Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 
Reign. Defer no time, delays have dan- 
gerous ends ; 
Enter, and cry ' The Dauphin ! ' presently, 
And then do execution on the watch. 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

An alarum. Enter Talbot in an excursion. 
Tat. France, thou shalt rue this treason 
with thy tears, 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. 
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, 
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
That hardly we escaped the pride of France. 

[Exit 
An alarum; excursions. Bedford, brought 
in sick in a chair. Enter Talbot and 
Burgundy without : within La Pucelle, 
Charles, Bastard, Alencon, and Reig- 
nier, on the icalls. 

Puc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn 
for bread ? 
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast 
Before he'll buy again at such a rate: 
'Twas full of darnel, do you like the taste? 
Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless 
courtezan ! 
I trust ere long to choke thee with thine own 
And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
Char. Your grace may starve perhaps be- 
fore that time. 
Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge 

this treason ! 
Puc. Wh.it will you do, good grey-beard? 
break a lance, 50 

And run a tilt at death within a chair ? 



Tal. Foul fiend of Franee, and hag of all 
despite, 
Encompass' d with thy lustful paramours I 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead ? 
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 
Puc. Are ye so hot, sir ? yet, Pucelle, hold 
thy peace ; 
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. 

[The English whisper together in council. 

God speed the parliament 1 who shall be the 

speaker ? 60 

Tal. Dare ve come forth and meet us in 

the held? 
Puc. Belike your lordship tak<js us then 
for tools, 
To try if that our own be ours or no. 

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
But unto thee, Alencon. and the rest ; 
Will ye, like soldiers, come and light it out ? 
Alen. Signior, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang ! base muleters ot 
France ! 
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 70 
Puc. Away, captains ! let's get us from 
the walls ; 
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. 
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came but to tell 

you 
That we are here. [Exeunt from the walls. 

Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be 
long, 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! 
Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house, 
Prick' d on by public wrongs sustain' d in 

France, 
Either to get the town again or die : 
And I, as sure as English Henry lives &) 

And as his father here was conqueror 
As sure as in this late-betrayed town 
Great Cceur-de-l ion's heart was buried, 
So sure I swear to get the town or die. 
Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy 

vows. 
Ted. But, ere we go, regard this dying 
prince, 
The valiant Duke of Bedford. Come, my lord, 
We will bestow you in some better place, 
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me : 
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen 91 
And will be partner of your weal or woe. 
Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now per- 
suade you. 
Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once 
I read 
That stout Pendragon in his litter sick 
Came to the field and vanquished his foes : 
Methinks I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
Because I ever found them as myself. 

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! 
Then be it so : heavens keep old Bedford safe ' 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, ICj 
But gather we our forces out of hand 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I 



45 



And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Exeunt all but Bedford and Attendants. 

An alarum : excursions. Enter Sir John 
Fastolfe and a Captain. 
Cap. Whither away, Sir John Fastolfe, in 

such haste ? 
East. Whither away ! to save myself by 
flight : 
We are like to have the overthrow again. 
Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave Lord 

Talbot ? 
Fast Ay, 

All the Talbots in the world, to save my life. 

[Exit. 

Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow 

thee ! [Exit 

Retreat : excursions. La Pucelle, Alen- 
con, and Charles fly. 

Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven 
please, 110 

For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
What is the trust or strength of foolish man ? 
They that of late were daring with their scoffs 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
[Bedford dies, and is carried in by two 

in his chair. 

An alarum. Re-enter Talbot, Burgundy, 
and the rest. 

Tal. Lost, and recover' d in a da}*- again ! 
This is a double honor, Burgundy : 
Yet heavens have glory for this victory ! 
Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Bar- 
gundy 
Enshrines thee in his heart and there erects 
Thy noble deeds as valor's monuments. 120 

Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is 
Pucelle now ? 
I think her old familiar is asleep : 
Now where's the Bastard's braves, and. 

Charles his gleeks ? 
What, all amort ? Rouen hangs her head for 

grief 
That such a valiant company are fled. 
Now will we take some order in the town, 
Placing therein some expert officers, 
And then depart. to Paris to the king, 
For there young Henry with his nobles lie. 
Bur. What wills Lord Talbot pleaseth Bur- 
gundy. 130 
Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
The noble Duke of Bed ford late deceased, 
But see his exequies fulfill' d in Rouen : 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court ; 
But Icings and mightiest potentates must die, 
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The plains near Rouen. 

Enter Charles, the Bastard of Orleans, 
Alencon, La Pucelle, and forces. 
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered : 
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
For things that are not to be remedied. 



Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
We'll pull his plumes and take away his train, 
If Dauphin and the rest will be but ruled. 

Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto, 
And of thy cunning had no diffidence : 10 

One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
Bast. Search out thy wit for secret poli- 
cies, 
And we will make thee famous through the 
world. 
Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy 
place, 
And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint . 
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth 
Joan devise : 
By fair persuasions mix'd with sugar' d words 
We will entice the Duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot and to follow us. 20 

Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do 
that, 
France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
But be extirped from our provinces. 

Alen. For ever should they be expulsed 
from France 
And not have title of an earldom here. 
Puc. Your honors shall perceive how I will 
work 
To bring this matter to the wished end. 

[Drum sounds afar off. 
Hark ! by the sound of drum you may per- 
ceive 
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 30 

Here sound an English march. Enter, and 
2xiss over at a distance, Talbot and his forces. 
There goes the Talbot, with his colors spread, 
And all the troops of English after him. 

French march. Enter the Duke of Bur- 
gundy and forces. 
Now in the rearward comes the duke and his : 
Fortune in favor makes him lag behind. 
Summon a parley ; we will talk with him. 

[Trumpets sound a parley, 
Char. A parley with the Duke of Bur- 
gundy ! 
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Bur- 
gundy ? 
Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy 

countryman. 
Bur. What say' st thou, Charles ? for I am 

marching hence. 
Char. Speak, Pucelle, and enchant him with 
thy words. 40 

Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of 
France ! 
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 
Puc. Look on thy count:;, look on fertile 
France, 
And see the cities and the towns defaced 
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe. 
As looks the mother on her lowly babe 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 



40 



KING HENRY VI. PART T. 



[Act in. 



See, see the pining malady of France ; 
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural 
wounds, 50 

Which thou thyself hast given her woful 

breast. 
0, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that 

help. 
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's 

bosom 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 

gore : 
Return thee therefore with a flood of tears, 
And wash away thy country's stained spots. 
Bur. Either she hath bewitch' d me with 
her words, 
Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 
Puc. Besides, all French and France ex- 
claims on thee, (iO 
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
Who joint' st thou with but with a lordly 

nation 
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake ? 
When Talbot hath set footing once in France 
And fashion' d thee that instrument of ill, 
Who then but English Henry will be lord 
And thou be thrust out like a fugitive ? 
Call we to mind, and mark but this for proof, 
Was not the Duke of Orleans thy foe ? 
And was he not in England prisoner ? 70 

But when they heard he was thine enemy, 
They set him free without his ransom paid, 
In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. 
See, then, thou fight' st against thy country- 
men 
And joint' st with them will be thy slaughter- 
men. 
Come, come, return ; return, thou wandering 

lord : 
Charles and the rest will take thee in their 
arms. 
Bur. I am vanquished ; these haughty 
words of hers 
Havebatter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
And made me almost yield upon my knees. 80 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen, 
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace : 
My forces and my power of men are yours : 
So farewell, Talbot ; I'll no longer trust thee. 
Puc. [Aside] Done like a Frenchman : turn, 

and turn again ! 
Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship 

makes us fresh. 
Bast. And doth beget new courage in our 

breasts. " . 

Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part 
in this, 
And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
Char. Now let us on, my iords, and join 
our powers, 90 

And seek how we may prejudice the foe. 

[Exeunt- 

Scene IV. Paris. The palace. 

Enter the Kino, Gloucester, Bishop of 
Winchester, York, Suffolk, Somerset, 



Warwick, Exeter : Vernon, Basset, 

and others. To them icith his Soldiers, 
Talbot. 

Tal. My gracious prince, and honorable 
peers, 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have awhile given truce unto my wars, 
To do my duty to my sovereign : 
In sign whereof, this arm, that hath reclaim'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
Twelve cities and seven walled towns ol 

strength, 
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet, 
And with submissive loyalty of heart 10 

Ascribes the glory of his conquest got 
First to my God and next unto your grace. 

[Kneels. 
King. Is this the Lord Talbot, uncle Glou- 
cester, 
That hath so long been resident in France ? 
Glou. Yes, if it please your majesty, my 

liege. 
King. Welcome, brave captain and victo- 
rious lord ! 
When I was young, as yet I am not old, 
I do remember how my father said 
A stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of your truth, 20 
Your faithful service and your toil in war ; 
Yet never have you tasted our reward, 
Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, 
Because till now we never saw your face : 
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good 

deserts, 
We here create you Earl of Shrewsbury ; 
And in our coronation take your place. 

[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Vernon 

and Basset. 
Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at 
sea, 
Disgracing of these colors that I wear 
In honor of my noble Lord of York : "0 

Darest thou maintain the former words thou 
spakest ? 
Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patron- 
age 
The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord the Duke of Somerset. 
Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honor as he is. 
Bas. Why, what is he ? as good a man as 

York. 
Ver. Hark ye ; not so : in witness, take ye 
that. [Strikes him. 

Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arm? 
is such 
That whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death, 
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest 
blood. 40 

But I'll unto his majesty, and crave 
I may have liberty to venge this wrong ; 
When thou shalt see I'll meet thee to thy cost, 
Ver, Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon 
as you ; 
And, after- meet you sooner than you would- 

[Exeunt 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VT PART I. 



47 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Paris. A hall of state. 

Enter the King, Gloucester, Bishop of 
Winchester, York, Suffolk, Somer- 
set, Warwick. Talbot, Exeter, the 
Governor of Paris, and others. 

Glou. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his 

head. 
Win. God save King Henry, of that name 

the sixth ! 
Glou. Now, governor of Paris, take your 
oath, 
That yon elect no other king hut him ; 
Esteem none friends but such as are bis 

friends, 
And none your foes but such as shall pretend 
Malicious practices against his "state : 
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 

Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from 
Calais, 
To haste unto your coronation, 10 

A letter was deliver' d to my hands, 
Writ to your grace from the Duke of Bur- 
gundy. 
Tal. Shame to the Duke of Burgundy and 
thee ! 
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee 

next, 
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, 

[Plucking it off. 
Which I have done, because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in that high degree. 
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest : 
This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
When but in all I was six thousand strong 20 
And that the French were almost ten to one, 
Before we met or that a stroke was given, 
Like to a trusty squire did run away : 
In which assault we lost twelve hundred men ; 
Myself and divers gentlemen beside 
Were there surprised and taken prisoners. 
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ; 
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no. 
Glou. To say the truth, this fact was in- 
famous 30 
And ill beseeming any common man, 
Much more a knight, a captain and a leader. 
Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, 
my lords, 
Knights of the garter were of noble birth, 
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty cour- 
age, 
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
But always resolute in most extremes. 
He then that is not furnish d in this sort 
Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 40 
Profaning this most honorable order, 
And should, if I were worthy to be judge, 
Be quite degraded, like a hed<;e-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 



King. Stain to thy countrymen, thou hear' st 

thy doom ! 
Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a 

knight : 
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. 

[Exit Fastolfe. 
And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle Duke of Burgundy. 
Glou. What means his grace, that he hath 

changed his style ? 50 

No more but, plain and bluntly, ' To the king ! ' 
Hath he forgot he is his sovereign ? 
Or doth this churlish superscription 
Pretend some alteration in good will ? 
What's here ? [Reads] 'I have, upon especial 

cause, 
Moved with compassion of my country's wreckj 
Together with the pitiful complaints 
Of such as your oppression feeds upon, 
Forsaken your pernicious faction 
And join'd with Charles, the rightful King of 

France.' 60 

monstrous treachery ! can this be so, 
That in alliance, amity tnd oaths, 

There should be found such false dissembling 
guile ? 

King. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy re- 
volt ? 

Glou. He doth, my lord, and is become 
your foe. 

King. Is that the worst this letter doth con- 
tain ? 

Glou. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he 
writes. 

King. Why, then, Lord Talbot there shall 
talk with him 
And give him chastisement for this abuse. 
How say you, my lord ? are you not content ? 

Tal. Content, my liege ! yes, but that I am 
prevented, 71 

1 should have begg'd I might have been em- 

ploy' d. 
King. Then gather strength and march 
unto him straight : 
Let him perceive how ill we brook his trea- 
son 
And what offence it is to flout his friends, 

Tal. I go, my lord, in heart desiring still 
You may behold confusion of your foes. 

[Exit. 

Enter Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sov- 
ereign. 

Ras. And me, my lord, grant me the com- 
bat too. 

York. This is my servant : hear him, noble 
prince. 80 

So?n. And this is mine : sweet Henry, favor 
him. 

K Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them 
leave to speak. 
Say, gentlemen, what makes you thus ex- 
claim ? 
And wherefore crave you combat ? or wit'a 
whom ? 



48 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act iv. 



Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done 

me wrong. 
Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done 

me wrong. 
K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you 
both complain ? 
First let me know, and then I'll answer you. 
Bas. Crossing the sea from England mco 
France, 
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 91 

Saving, the sanguine color of the leaves 
Did represent" my master's blushing cheeks, 
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth 
About a certain question in the law 
Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him ; 
With other vile and ignominious terms : 
In confutation of which rude reproach 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
1 crave the benefit of law of arms. 100 

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord : 
Foi though he seem with forged quaint con- 
ceit 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him, 
And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower 
Bewray'd the iaintness of my master's heart. 
York. Will not tills malice, Somerset, be 

left? 
Som. Your private grudge, my Lord of 
York, will out, 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 110 
K. Hen. Good Lord, what madness rules 
in brainsick men, 
When for so slight and frivolous a cause 
Such factious emulations shall arise ! 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 
York. Let this dissension first be tried by 
fight, 
And then your highness shall command a 
peace. 
Som. The quarrel touch eth none but us 
alone ; 
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 

York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Som- 
erset. 120 
Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 
Bas. Confirm it so, mine honorable lord. 
(Hon. Confirm it so ! Confounded be vour 
strife ! 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
Presumptuous vassals, are you not ashamed 
With this immodest clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us ? 
And you, my lords, methinks you do not well 
To bear with their perverse objections ; 
Much less to take occasion from their mouths 
To raiye a mutiny betwixt yourselves : 131, 
Let me persuade you take a better course. 
Exe. It grieves his highness : good my 

lords, be friends. 
K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be 
combatants : 
Henceforth I charge you, as you love our favor, 



Quite to forget this quarrel and the cause. 
And you, my lords, remember where we are ; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
If they perceive dissension in our looks 
And that within ourselves we disagree, 140 
How will their grudging stomachs be pro- 
voked 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel ! 
Beside, what infamy will there arise, 
When foreign princes shall be certified ' 
That for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
King Henry's peers and chief nobility 
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of 

France ! 
O, think upon the conquest of my father, 
My tender years, and let us not forego 
That for a trifle that was bought with blood ' 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 151 
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putting on a red rose. 
That any one should therefore be suspicious 
I more incline to Somerset than York : 
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both : 
As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown' d. 
But your discretions better can persuade 
Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
So let us still continue peace and love. 1G1 

Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
To be our regent in these parts of France : 
And, good my Lord of Somerset, unite 
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of 

foot ; 
And, like true subjects, sons of your progen- 
itors, 
Go cheerfully together and digest 
Your angry choler on your enemies. 
Ourself, my lord protector and the rest 
After some respite will return to Calais ; 170 
From thence to England ; where I hope ere long 
To be presented, by your victories, 
With Charles, Aiencon and that traitorous 

rout. 
[Flourish. Exeunt all but York, Warwick, 

Exeter and Vernon. 
War. My Lord of York, I promise you, 
the king 
Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 

York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not, 
In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 

War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame 
him not ; 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no 
harm. 
York. An if I wist he did, — but let it rest; 
Other affairs must now be managed. 181 

[Exeu-:i ail but Exeter. 
Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress 
thy voice ; 
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging 

broils, 
Than yet can be imagined or supposed. 
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VI. TART 7. 



49 



This jarring discord of nobility, 
This shouldering of each other in the court, 
This factious bandying of their favorites. 190 
But that it doth presage some ill event. 
Tis much when sceptres are in children's 

hands ; 
But more when envy breeds unkind division ; 
There comes the ruin, there begins confu- 
sion. [Exit. 

Scene II. Before Bourdeaux. 

Enter Talbot, ivith tramp and drum. 

led. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux trum- 
peter : 
Summon their general unto the wall. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter General and others, 
aloft. 

English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
Servant in arms to Harry King of England ; 
And thus he would : Open your city gates ; 
Be humble to us , call my sovereign yours> 
And do him homage as obedient subjects t 
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power : 
But, if you frown upon this proffer' d peace, 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants, 10 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing 

fire ; 
Who in a moment even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers, 
If yon forsake the offer of their love. 

Gen, Thou ominous and fearful owl of 
death. 
Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge ! 
The period of thy tyranny approach eth. 
On us thou canst not enter but by death ; 
For, I protest, we are well fortified 
And strong enough to issue out and fight : 20 
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed, 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
On either hand thee there are squadrons 

pitch'd, 
To waL. thee from the liberty of flight ; 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, 
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil 
And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacra- 
ment 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 30 
Lo, there thou stand' st, a bieathing valiant 

man, 
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit ! 
This is the latest glory of thy praise 
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
These eyes, that see thee now well colored, 
Shall see thee wither' d, bloody, pale and dead. 

[Drum afar off. 
Hark ! hark ! the Dauphin's drum, a warn- 
ing bell, 
Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 40 
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
[Exeunt General, (fee. 
Tal. He fables not ; I hear the enemy ; 



Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their 

wings. 
O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
How are we park'd and bounded in a pale, 
A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
Mazed with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
If we be English deer, be then in blood ; 
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch, 
But rather, moody-mad and desperate stags, 50 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of 

steel 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
Sell every man his life as dear as mine, 
And they shall find dear deer of us, my 

friends. 
God and Saint George, Talbot and England's 

right, 
Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Plains in Gascony. 

Enter a Messenger that meets York. Enter 
York ivith trumpet and many Soldiers. 

York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd 

again, 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dauphin? 
Mess. They are return'd, my lord, and give 

it out 
That he is march' d to Bourdeaux with his 

power, 
To fight with Talbot : as he march 'd along, 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin 

led, 
Which join'd with him and made their march 

for Bourdeaux. 
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
That thus delays my promised supply 10 

Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ! 
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid, 
And I am lowted by a traitor villain 
And cannot help the noble chevalier : 
God comfort him in this necessity ! 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 

Enter Sir Walter Lucy. 

Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 

strength, 
Never so needful on the earth of France, 
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, 
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron 20 
And hemm'd about with grim destruction : 
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, 

York ! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's 

honor. [heart 

York. O God, that Somerset, who in proud 
Doth stop my cornets, were in Talbot's place I 
So should wc save a valiant gentleman 
By forfeiting a traitor and a. coward. 
Mad ire and wrathful fury makes me weep, 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
Lucy. O, send some succor to the distress'*! 

'lord ! 30 

York. He dies, we lose ; I break my ww- 

like word ; 



60 



KING HENRY VI. PART 1. 



[Act iv. 



We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily 

get ; 
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 
Lucy. Then God take mercy on brave Tal- 
bot's soul ; 
And on his son young John, who two hours 

since 
I met in travel toward his warlike father ! 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son ; 
And now they meet where both their lives are 

done. 
York. Alas, what joy shall noble Talbot 

have 
To bid his young son welcome to his grave ? 
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 41 
That" sunder'd friends greet in the hour of 

death 
Lucy, farewell ; no more my fortune can, 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. 
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won 

away, 
Long all of Somerset and his delay. 

[Exit, with his soldiers. 
Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, 50 
That ever living man of memory. 
Henry the Fifth ; whiles they each other cross, 
Lives, honors, lands and all hurry to loss. 

Exit. 

Scene IV. Other plains in Gascony. 

Enter Somerset, with his army ; a Captain of 

Talbot's zoith him. 

Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them 

now : 
This expedition was by York and Talbot 
Too rashly plotted : all our general force 
Might with a sally of the very town 
Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
Hatli sullied all his gloss of former honor 
By this unheedi'ul, desperate, wild adventure: 
York set him on to right and die in shame, 
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the 

name. 
Cap. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with 

me 10 

Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid. 

Enter Sir William Lucy, 

Som. How now, Sir William ! whither were 

you sent ? 
Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought 

and sold Lord Talbot ; 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, 
Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from his weak legions: 
And whiles the honorable captain there 
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied 

limbs, 
And, in advantage lingering, looks for rescue, 
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's 

honor, 20 

Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
Let not your private discord keep away 



The levied sueoors that should lend him aid, 
While lie, renowned noble gentleman, 
Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, 
Aleneon, Reignier, compass him about, 
And Talbot perisheth by your default. 
Mom. York set him on ; York should have 

sent him aid. 
Lucy. And York as fast upon your grace 
exclaims ; 30 

Swearing that you withhold his levied host, 
Collected for this expedition. 
Som. York lies ; he might have sent and 
had the horse ; 
I owe him little duty, and less love ; 
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by send- 
ing. 
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force 
of France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: 
Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
Som. Come, go ; I will dispatch the horse- 
men straight : 40 
Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en 
or slain ; 
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ; 
And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot, then 

adieu ! 
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his 
shame in you. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. The English camp near Bourdecmx. 
Enter Talbot and John his son. 

Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for 

thee 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war, 
That Talbot's name might be in thee revived 
When sapless age and weak unable limbs 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
But, malignant and ill-boding stars ! 
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrible and unavoided danger i 
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest 

horse ; 
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 10 
By sudden flight : come, dally not, be gone. 
John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your 

son ? 
And shall I fly ? O, if you love my mother, 
Dishonor not her honorable name, 
To make a bastard and a slave of me f 
The world will say, he is not Talbot's blood, 
That basely fled when noble Talbot stood. 
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be 

slain. 
John. He that flies so will ne'er return 

again. 
Tal. It we both stay, we both are sure to 

die. 20 

John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do 

you fly : 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 



Scene vii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



51 



Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honor you have won ; 
But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 
You fled for vantage, every one will swear ; 
But, if I bow, they'll say it was for fear. 
There is no hope that ever I will stay, 30 

[f the first hour I shrink and run away. 
Here on my knee I beg mortality, 
Rather than life preserved with infamy. 
Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one 

tomb ? 
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my 

mother's womb. 
Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. 
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in 

thee. 
John. No part of him but will be shame in 

me. 
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst 
not lose it. 40 

John. Yes, your renowned name : shall 

flight abuse it ? 
Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee 

from that stain. 
John. You cannot witness for me, being 
slain. 
If death be so apparent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers here to fight 
and die ? 
My age was never tainted with sucli shame. 
John. And shall my youth be guilty of such 
blame ? 
No more can I be sever' d from your side, 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 50 
For live I will not, if my father die. 
Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair 
son, 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die ; 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. A field of battle. 

Alarum : excursions, ivherein Talbot's Son is 
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 

Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, sol- 
diers, fight : 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word 
And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
Where is John Talbot ? Pause, and take thy 

breath ; 
I gave thee life and rescued thee from death. 
John. O, twice my father, twice am I thy 
son ! 
The life thou gavest me first was lost and done, 
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, 
To my determined time thou gavest new date. 
Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest thy 
sword struck fire, 10 

It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, 
Quicken' d with, youthful spleen and warlike 



Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. 
The ireful bastard Orleans, that drew blood 
From thee, my boy, and had the maidenhood 
Of thy first fight, I soon encountered, 
And interchanging blows I quickly shed 
Some of his bastard blood ; and in disgrace 20 
Bespoke him thus ; ' Contaminated, base 
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
Mean and right poor, for that pure blood of 

mine 
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave 

boy :' 
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's 

care, 
Art thou not weary, John ? how dost thou fare? 
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry ? 
Fly, to revenge my death when I am dead : 30 
The help of one stands me in little stead. 
O, too much folly is it, well I wot, 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat ! 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age : 
By me they nothing gain an if I stay ; 
'Tis but the shortening of my life one day : 
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name, 
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's 

fame : 
All these and more we hazard by thy stay ; 40 
All these are saved if thou wilt fly away. 
John. The sword of Orleans hath not made 

me smart ; 
These words of yours draw life-blood from my 

heart : 
On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
To save a paltry life and slay bright fame, 
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
The coward horse that bears me fall and die ! 
And like me to the peasant boys of France, 
To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance ! 
Surely, by all the glory you have won, 50 

An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ; 
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of 

Crete, 
Thou Icarus ; thy life to me is sweet : 
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
And, commendable proved, let's die in pride. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene VII. Another part of the Jul d. 

Alarum : excursions. Enter old Talbot 
led by a Servant. 

Tal. Where is my other life ? mine own is 

gone ; 
O, where's voung Talbot ? where is valiant 

John ? 
Triumphant death, smear' d with captivity, 
Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee: 
When he perceived me shrink and on my knee. 
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, 
And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
Kough deeds of rage and stern impatience ; 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act v. 



But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
Tendering my rain and assail' d of none, 10 
Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage of heart 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
into the 'clustering battle of the French ; 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His over-mounting spirit, and there died, 
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 
Serv. O my dear lord, lo, where your son 
is borne ! 

Enter Soldiers, with the body of young Talbot. 
Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh' st us 

here to scorn, 
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny, 
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 20 

Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky, 
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality. 
O thou, whose wounds become hard-favor' d 

death, 
Speak to thy father ere thou yield thy breath ! 
Brave death by speaking, whether lie will or 

no ; 
Imagine him a Frenchman and thy foe. 
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks, as who should 

say, 
Had death been French, then death had died 

to-day. 
Come, come and lay him in his father's arms : 
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 30 
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's 

grave. [Dies . 

Enter Charles, Alencon, Burgundy, Bas- 
tard, La Pucelle, and forces. 

Char. Had York and Somerset brought res- 
cue in, 
We should have found a bloody day of this. 
Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, 
raging-wood, [blood ! 

Did flesh his puuy sword in Frenchmen's 
Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I 
said : 
'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish' d by a 

maid :' 
But, with a proud majestical high scorn, 
He answer' d thus: 'Young Talbot was not 
born 40 

To be the pillage of a giglot wench : ' 
So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight. 
Bur. Doubtless he would have made a no- 
ble knight ; 
See, where he lies inhearsed in the arms 
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms ! 
Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones 
asunder [der. 

Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's won- 
Char. 0, no, forbear ! for that which we 
have fled 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 50 
Enter Sir William Lucy, attended ; Herald 
of the French preceding. 

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's 

tent. 



To know who hath obtained the glory of the 
day. [sent ? 

Char. On what submissive message art thou 
Lucy. Submission, Dauphin ! 'tis a mere 
. French word ; 
We English warriors wot not what it means. 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. 

Char. For prisoners ask'st thou ? hell our 
prison is. 
But tell me whom thou seek'st. 
Lucy. But where's the great Alcides of the 
field, 60 

Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, 
Created, for his rare success in arms, 
Great Earl of Wash ford, Waterford and Val- 
ence ; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of 

Alton, 
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of 

Sheffield, 
The thrice- victorious Lord of Falconbridge ; 
Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
Worthy Saint Michael and the Golden Fleece ; 
Great marshal to Henry the Sixth 70 

Of all his wars within the realm of France ? 
Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, 
Writes not so tedious a style as this. 
Him that thou magnifiest with all these titles 
Stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet. 
Lucy. Is Talbot slain, the Frenchmen's only 
scourge, 
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis ? 
O, were mine eyeballs into bullets turn'd, 
That I in rage might shoot them at your faces ! 
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 81 
It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
Were but his picture left amongst you here ; 
It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
Give me their bodies, that I may bear them 

hence 

And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's 

ghost, [spirit. 

He speaks with such a proud commanding 

For God's sake let him have 'em ; to keep 

them here, 
They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 90 
Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 
Lucy. I'll bear them hence ; but from their 
ashes shall be rear'd 
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 
Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em 
what thou wilt. 
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein : 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Sennet. Enter King, Gloucester, and 
Exeter. 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART L 



53 



King. Have you perused the letters from 
the pope, 
The emperor aud the Earl of Armagnac ? 

Glou. I have, my lord : aud their iutent is 
this: 
They humbly sue uuto your excellence 
To have a godly peace concluded of 
Between the realms of England and of France. 

King. How doth your grace affect their 
motion ? [means 

Glou. Well, my good lord ; and as the only 
To stop effusion of our Christian blood 
And 'stablish quietness on every side. 10 

King. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always 
thought 
It was both impious and unnatural 
That such humanity and bloody strife 
Should reign among professors of one faith. 

Glou. Beside, my lord, the sooner to effect 
And surer bind this knot of amity, 
The Earl of Armagnac, near knit to Charles, 
A man of great authority in France, 
Proffers his only daughter to your grace 
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous 
dowry. 20 

King. Marriage, uncle! alas, my years 
are young ! 
And fitter is my study and my books 
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet call the ambassador : and as you please, 
So let them have their answers every one : 
I shall be well content with any choice 
Tends to God's glory and my country's weal 

Enter "Winchester in Cardinal's habit, a 
Legate and tioo Ambassadors. 

Exe. What! is my Lord of Winchester in- 
stalls, 
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? 
Then I perceive that will be verified 30 

Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy, 
* if once he come to be a cardinal, 
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.' 
King. My lords ambassadors, your several 
suits, 
Have been consider'd and debated on. 
Your purpose is both good and reasonable ; 
And therefore are we certainly resolved 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
Which by my Lord of Winchester we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 40 
Glou. And for the proffer of my lord your 
master, 
I have inform'd your highness so at large 
As liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
Her beauty and the value of her dower, 
He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 
King. In argument and proof of which 
contract, 
Bear her this jewel, pledge of my affection. 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded 
And safely brought to Dover ; where inshipp'd 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 50 
[Exeunt all bat Winchester and Legate. 
Win. Stay, my lord legate : you shall first 
receive 



The sum of money which I promised 
Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 
Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's 

leisure. 
Win. [Aside] Now Winchester will not 
submit, I trow, 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
Humphrey of Gloucester, thca shalt well per- 
ceive 
That, neither in birth or for authority, 
The bishop will be overborne by thee : 60 
I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee, 
Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. France. Plains in Anjou. 
Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, Bas- 
tard, Reignier, La Pucelle, and forces. 
Char. These news, my lord, may cheer 
our drooping spirits: 
'Tis said the stout Parisians do revolt 
And turn again unto the warlike French. 
Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles 
of France, 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn 
to us; 
Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 

Enter Scout. 

Scout. Success unto our valiant general, 
And happiness to his accomplices ! 

Char. What tidings send our scouts? I 
prithee, speak. 10 

Scout. The English army, that divided was 
Into two parties, is now conjoined in one, 
And means to give you battie presently. 
Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the 
warning is; 
But we will presently provide for them. 
Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not 
there ; 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 
Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most ac- 
cursed. 
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be 

thine, 
Let Henry fret and all the world repine. 20 
Char. Then on, my lords ; and France be 
fortunate! [Extant. 

Scene III. Before AngierSi 
Alarum. Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 

Puc. The regent conquers, and the French- 
men fly. 
Now help, ye charming spells and periapts; 
And ye choice spirits that admonish me 
And give me signs of future accidents. 

[Thunder. 
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north, 
Appear and aid me in this enterprise. 

Enter Fiends. 

This speedy and quick appearance argues proof 

Of your accustom'd diligence 1<> me. 

Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd 10 



54 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act v. 



Out of the powerful regions under earth, 
Help me this once, that France may get the 
field. [They ivalk, and speak not. 

0, hold me not with silence over-long ! 
Where; 1 was wont to feed you with my hlood, 
I'll lop a member off and give it you 
In earnest of a further benefit, 
So you do condescend to help me now. 

[They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress ? My body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[They shake their heads. 
Cannot my body nor blood -sacrifice 20 

Entreat you to your wonted furtherance ? 
Then take my soul, my body, soul and all, 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

[They depart. 
See, they forsake me ! Now the time is come 
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
My ancient incantations are too weak, 
And hell too strong for me to buckle with : 
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. 

[Exit. 

Excursions. Re-enter La Pucelle fighting 
hand to hand with York : La Pucellb is 

taken. The French fly. 

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you 
fast : 30 

Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms 
And try if they can gain your liberty. 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
See, how the ugly wench doth bend her brows, 
As if with Circe she would change my shape ! 
Puc. Changed to a worser shape thou canst 

not be. 
York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper 
man ; 
No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles 
and thee ! 
And may ye both be suddenly surprised 40 
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
York. Fell banning hag, enchantress, hold 

thy tongue ! 
Puc. I prithee, give me leave to curse 

awhile. 
York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest 
to the stake. [Exeunt. 

Alarum. Enter Suffolk, with Margaret 
in his hand. 
Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my pris- 
oner, [(razes on her. 

fairest beauty, do not fear nor fiy ! • 
For I will touch thee but with reverent hands ; 

1 kiss these fingers for eternal peace, 
And lay them gently on thy tender side. 
Who art thou? say, that I may honor thee. 

Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to 
a king, 51 

The King of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
Thou art allotted to he ta'en by me: 
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, 



Keeping them prisoner underneath her wings. 
Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend. 

[She is going. 
O, stay ! I have no power to let her pass ; 6Q 
My hand would free her, but my heart says no. 
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, 
Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine ey 
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak 
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my min 
Fie, de la Pole ! disable not thyself ; 
Hast not a tongue ? is she not here ? 
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight ? 
Ay, beauty's princely majesty is such, 70 

Confounds the tongue and makes the senses 
rough. 
Mar. Say, Earl of Suffolk— if thy name be 
so — 
What ransom must I pay before I pass ? 
For Iperceive I am thy prisoner. 
Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy 
suit, 
Before thou make a trial of her love ? 
Mar. Why speak'st thou not ? what ransom 

must I pay ? 
Suf. She's beautiful, and therefore to be 
woo'd ; 
She is a woman, therefore to be won. 
Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom ? yea, 

or no. 
Suf. Fond man, remember that thou hast 
a wife ; 80 

Then how can Margaret be thy paramour ? ' 
Mar. I were best to leave him, for he wil] 

not hear. 
Suf. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cool- 
ing card. 
Mar. He talks at random ; sure, the man 

is mad. 
Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 
Mar. And yet I would that you would an- 
swer me. 
Suf. I'll win this Lady Margaret. For 
whom ? 
Why, for my king : tush, that's a wooden 
thing ! 
Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpen- 
ter. 90 
Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied, 
And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple in that too ; 
For though her father be the King of Naples, 
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
And our nobility will scorn the match. 
Mar. Hear ye, captain, are you not at lei- 
sure ? [much : 
Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so 
Henry is youthful and will quickly yield. 
Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 100 
Mar. What though I be enthrall' d ? he 
seems a knight, 
And will not any way dishonor me. 
Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say, 
Mar. Perhaps. I shall be rescued by the 
French j 



Scene rv.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



55 



And then I need not crave his courtesy. 

Suf Sweet madam, give me a hearing in 
a cause — 

Mar. Tush, women have been captivate ere 
now. 

Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so ? 

Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but Quid for 
. Quo. 

Suf- Say, gentle princess, would you not 
suppose 110 

Your bondage happy, to be made a queen ? 

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
Than is a slave in base servility ; 
For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you, 

If happy England's royal king be free. 

Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto 
me ? 

Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's 
queen, 
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand 
And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
If thou wilt condescend to be my — 

Mar. What ? 120 

Suf. His love. 

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam, are ye so content ? 

Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 

Suf. Then call our captains and our col- 
ors forth. 
And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. 130 

A parley sounded. Enter Reignier on the 

walls. 
See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner ! 

Reig. To whom ? 

Suf. To me. 

Reig. Suffolk, what remedy ? 

I am a soldier, and unapt to weep, 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough-, my lord : 
Consent, and for thy honor give consent, 
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king ; 
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won 

thereto ; 
And this her easy-held imprisonment 
Hath gained thy daughter princely liberty. 140 

Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks ? 

Suf. Fair Margaret knows 

That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 

Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend 
To give thee answer of thy just demand. 

[Exit from the walls. 

Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 

Trumpets sound. Enter Reignier, below. 

Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our terri- 
tories : 
Command in Anjou what your honor pleases. 
Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet 
a child, 
Fit to be made companion with a king : 
What answer makes your grace unto my suit ? 



Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little 
worth 151 

To be the princely bride of such a lord ; 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy mine own, the country Maine and An- 

" jou, 
Free from oppression or the stroke of war, 
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 
Suf. That is her ransom ; I deliver her ; 
And those two counties I will undertake 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 

Reig. And I again, in Henry's royal name, 
As. deputy unto that gracious king, 161 

Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 
Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly 
thanks, 
Because this is in traffic of a king. 
[Aside] And yet, methinks, I could be well 

content 
To be mine own attorney in this case. 
I'll over then to England with this news, 
And make this marriage to be solemnized. 
So farewell, Reignier : set this diamond safe 
In golden palaces, as it becomes. 170 

Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would em- 
brace [here. 
The Christian prince, King Henry, were he 
Mar. Farewell, my lord: good wishes, 
praise and prayers 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 
Suf Farewell, sweet madam : but hark 
you, Margaret ; 
No princely commendations, to my king ? 
mar. Such commendations as becomes a 
maid, 
A virgin and his servant, say to him. 
Suf. Words sweetly placed and modestly 
directed. 
But, madam, I must trouble you again ; 180 
No loving token to his majesty ? 
Mar. Yes, my good lord, a pure unspotted 
heart, 
, Never yet taint with 1 ove, I send the king. 
Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her- 
Mar. That for thyself: I will not so pre- 
sume 
To send such peevish tokens to a king. 

[Exeunt Reignier and Margaret 
Suf. O, wert thou for myself ! But, Suf- 
folk, stay ; 
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; 
There Minotaurs and ugly treasons lurk. 
Solicit Henry with her wondrous praise: 190 
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount, 
And natural graces that extinguish art ; 
Repeat their semblance often on the seas, 
That, when thou comest to kneel at Henry's 

feet; 
Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with won- 
der. [Exit. 

Scene IV. Camp of the Duke of York 
in Anjou. 

Enter York, Warwick, and others. 

York. Bring forth that sorceress condemn'^ 
to burn. 



5(3 



KING HENRY VI. PART I. 



[Act 



Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
Shep. Ah, Joan, this kills thy father's heart 
outright ! 
Have 1 sought every country far and near, 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ? 
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with 
thee ! 
Puc. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch ! 
1 am descended of a gentler blood : 
Thou art no father nor no friend of mine. 
Shep. Out, out ! My lords, an please you, 
'tis not so ; 10 

1 did beget her, all the parish knows : 
Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy par- 
entage ? 
York. This argues what her kind of life 
hath been, 
Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 
Shep. Fie, Joan, that thou wilt be so ob- 
stacle ! 
God knows thou art a collop of my flesh ; 
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
Deny me not, I prithee, gentle Joan. 20 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! You have suborn' d 
this man, 
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 

/Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest 
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my 

girl. 
VVilt thou not stoop ? Now cursed be the 

time 
Of thy nativity ! I would the milk 
Thy mother gave thee when thou suck'dsther 

breast, 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a- 
field, 30 

I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? 
0, burn her, burn her ! hanging is too good. 

[Exit. 
York. Take her away ; for she hath lived 
too long, 
To fill the world with vicious qualities. 

Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have 
condemn' d : 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But issued from the progeny of kings ; 
Virtuous and holy ; chosen from above, 
By inspiration of celestial grace, 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
But you, that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain' d with the uuiltless blood of innocents, 
Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
You judge it straight a" thing impossible 
To compass wonders but by help of devils. 
No, misconceived ! Joan (if Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy, 50 

Chaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effused, 



Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
York. Ay, ay : away with her to execution ! 
War. And hark ye, sirs ; because she is a 
maid, 
Spare for no faggots, let there be enow : 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting 
hearts ? 
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity, 60 

That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
Murder not then the fruit within my womb, 
Although ye hale me to a violent death. 

York. Now heaven forfend ! the holy maid 

with child ! 
War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye 
wrought : 
Is all your strict preciseness come to this ? 
~fyrk. She and the Dauphin have been jug- 
gling : 
I did imagine what would be her refuge. 
War. Well, go to ; we'll have no bastards 
live ; 70 

Especially since Charles must father it. 
Puc. You are deceived ; my child is none 
of his : 
It was Alencon that enjoy' d my love. 

York. Alencon ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Puc O, give me leave, I have deluded you: 
'Twas neither Charles nor yet the duke I 

named, 
But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail' d. 
War. A married man ! that's most intoler- 
able. 
York. Why, here's a girl ! I think she 
knows not well, 80 

There were so many, whom she may accuse. 
War. It's sign she hath been liberal and 

free. 
York. And yet, forsooth, she is a virgin 
pure. 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat and 

thee : 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
Puc. Then lead me hence ; with whom I 
leave my curse : 
May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
Upon the country where you make abode ; 
But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you, till mischief and despair 90 

Drive you to break your necks or hang your- 
selves ! [Exit, guarded. 
York. Break thou in pieces and consume to 
ashes, 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of 
Winch ester, attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
With letters of commission from the king. 
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
Moved with remorse of these outrageous 

broils, 
Have earnestly implored a general peace 



Scene v.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART 1. 



57 



Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
And here at hand the Dauphin and his train 
Approacheth, to confer about some matter. 101 
York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? 
After the slaughter of so many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen and soldiers, 
That in this quarrel have been overthrown 
And sold their bodies for their country's bene- 
fit, 
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace ? 
Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
By treason, falsehood and by treachery, 
Our great progenitors had conquered ? 110 
O, Warwick, Warwick ! I foresee with grief 
The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a 
peace, 
It shall be with such strict and severe cove- 
nants 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

Enter Charles, Alencon, Bastard, Reig- 
jstier, and others. 

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus 
agreed 
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim' d in 

France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 
York. Speak, Winchester ; for boiling choler 
chokes 120 

The hollow passage of my poison' d vqice, 
By sight of these our baleful enemies. 

Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted 
thus : 
That, in regard King Henry gives consent, 
Of mere compassion and of lenity, 
To ease your country of distressful war, 
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, 
You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
T'o pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 130 
Thou shaft be placed as viceroy under him, 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 
Alen. Must he be then as shadow of him- 
self ? 
Adorn his temples with a coronet, 
And yet, in substance and authority, 
Retain but privilege of a private man ? 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Char. 'Tis known already that I am pos- 
sess'd 
With more than half the Gallian territories, 
And therein reverenced for their lawful king : 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 141 
Detract so much from that prerogative, 
As to be call'd but viceroy of the Avhole ? 
No, lord ambassador, I'll rather keep 
That which I have than, coveting for more, 
Be cast from possibility of all. 

York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by 
secret means 
Used intercession to obtain a league, 
And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stand' st thou aloof upon comparison ? 150 
Either accept the title thou usurp' st 



Of benefit proceeding from our king 

And not of any challenge of desert, 

Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Reiy. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract : 
If once it be neglected, ten to one 
We shall not find like opportunity. 

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy 
To save your subjects from such massacre 1(J0 
And ruthless slaughters as are daily seen 
By our proceeding in hostility ; 
And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
Although you break it when your pleasure 
serves. 

War. How say'st thou, Charles ? shall our 
condition stand ? 

Char. It shall ; 
Only reserved, you claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty, 
As thou art knight, never to disobey 170 

Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. 
So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; 
Hang up your ensign, let your drums be still, 
For here we entertain a solemn peace. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. London. The palace. 

Enter Suffolk in conference with the King, 

Gloucester and Exeter. 

King. Your wondrous rare description, 
noble earl, 
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
Her virtues graced Avith external gifts 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
And like as rigor of tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, 
So am I driven by breath of her renown 
Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Suf. Tush, my good lord, this superficial 
tale 10 

Is but a preface of her worthy praise ; 
The chief perfections of that lovely dame 
Had I sufficient skill to utter them, 
Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
Able to ravish any dull conceit : 
And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
So full-replete with choice of all delights, 
But with as humble lowliness of mind 
She is content to be at your command ; 
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
To love and honor Henry as her lord. 21 

King. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- 
sume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent 
That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 

Glou. So should I give consent to flatter 
sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
Unto another lady of esteem : 
How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
And not deface your honor witli reproach ? 

Suf As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
Or one that, at a triumph having vow'd 31 



58 



KING HENRY VI. PART L 



[Act v. 



To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
By reason of his adversary's odds : 
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 
And therefore may be broke without offence. 

Glou. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more 
than that ? 
Her father is no better than an earl, 
Although in glorious titles he excel. 

Suf. Yes,"my lord, her father is a king, 
The King of Naples and Jerusalem ; 40 

And of such great authority in France 
As his alliance will confirm our peace 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 

Glou. And so the Earl of Armagnac may 
do. 
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 

Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a 
liberal dower, 
Where Reignier sooner will receive than give. 

Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so 
your king, 
That he should be so abject, base and poor, 
To choose for wealth and not for perfect love. 
Henry is able to enrich his queen 
And not to seek a queen to make him rich : 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives. 
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
Mast be companion of his nuptial bed : 
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
it most of all these reasons bindeth us, 60 

In our opinions she should be preferred. 
For what is wedlock forced but a hell, 
An age of discord and continual strife ? 
Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, 
And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
Whom should we match with Henry, being a 

king. 
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? 
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth, 
Approves her fit for none but for a king : 
Her valiant courage and undaunted spirit, 70 
More than in women commonly is seen, 



Will answer our hope in issue of a king : 

For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 

Is likely to beget more conquerors, 

If with a lady of so high resolve 

As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. 

Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with 

me 
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but 

she. 
King. Whether it be through force of jour 

report, 
My noble Lord of Suffolk, or for that <S0 

My tender youth was never yet attaint 
With any passion of inflaming love, 
I cannot tell ; but this I am assured, 
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, 
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 
As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
Take, therefore, shipping ; post, my lord, to 

France ; 
Agree to any covenants, and procure 
That Lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
To cross the seas to England and be crown'd 90 
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen : 
For your expenses and sufficient charge, 
Among the people gather up a tenth. 
Be gone, 1 say ; for, till you do return, 
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. 
And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 
If you do censure me by what you were, 
Not what you are, 1 know it will excuse 
This sudden exe cution of my will. 
And so, conduct me where, from company, 100 
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. 
Glou. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and 

last. [Exeunt Gloucester and Exeter. 
Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail' d ; and thus 

he goes, 
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece, 
With hope to find the like event in love, 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the 

king ; 
But I will rule both her. the king and realm. 

lExit. 



LOVE'S LABOUB'S LOST. 



(WRITTEK ABOUT 1590.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

This play is supposed to be wholly of Shakespeare's own invention, no source of the plot hav- 
iag been discovered. It is precisely such a one as a clever young man might imagine, who had coma 
lately from the country— with its ''daisies pied and violets blue," its " merry larks," its maidens who 
•• bleach their summer smocks," its pompous parish schoolmaster, and its dull constable (a great 
public official in his own eyes)— to the town, where he was surrounded by more brilliant unrealities, 
and affectation of dress, of manner, of language, and of ideas. Love's Labour's Lost is a dramatic 
plea on behalf of nature and common sense against all that is unreal and affected. It maintains, 
in a gay and witty fashion, the superiority of life, as a means of education, over books ; the superi- 
ority of the large world into which we are born over any little world we can construct for ourselves, 
and into which we may hedge ourselves by rule ; and, while maintaining this, it also asserts that we 
must not educate ourselves only by what is mirthful and pleasant in the world, but must recognise 
its sorrow, and that we cannot be rightly glad without being grave and earnest. Thus, with its ap- 
parent lightness, there is a serious spirit underlying the play ; but the surface is all jest, and stir, 
and sparkle. It is a comedy of dialogue rather than of incident, and in the persons of Don Adriano 
de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard, of Sir Nathaniel the curate, and of Holofernes the schoolmaster, 
are caricatured various Elizabethan absurdities of speech, pseudo-refinement, and pseudo-learning. 
The braggart soldier and the pedant are characters well known in Italian comedy, and perhaps it 
was from that quarter that the hint came to Shakespeare, which stirred his imagination to create 
these ridiculous figures. Holofernes, some persons have supposed to be a satirical sketch of John 
Florio, author of an Italian dictionary ; but Shakespeare did not in any ascertained instances satirize 
individual persons, and there is little evidence in this case to warrant the supposition. The play con- 
tains nothing which serves to indicate its precise date, but it certainly belongs to Shakespeare's 
earliest dramatic period. The first quarto edition was published in 1508, "as it was presented be- 
fore her Highness [Queen Elizabeth] this last Christmas [probably the Christmas of 1508], Newly cor- 
rected and augmented." Two traces of the alterations from the original play may still be observed. 
In Act V. sc. II., the lines 827—832 ought not to appear, being almost certainly the fragment of the 
play in its first form which was afterwards marked out in the lines 833—879. Similarly, in Biron's 
great speech, Act IV. sc. III., the lines 296— 317 contain passages which are repeated or altered in 
the line3 which follow (318—354), and obviously some of the lines in the original version have here 
been retained through a mistake. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Ferdinand, king of Navarre. 

Biron, \ 

Longaville, \ lords attending on the King. 

DUMAIN, ) 

Boyet, J lords attending on the Princess 
Mercade, J of France. [Spaniard. 

Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical 
Sir Nathaniel, a curate. 
Holofernes, a schoolmaster. 
Dull, a constable. 



Costard, a clown. 

Moth, page to Armado. 

A Forester. 

The Princess of France. 

Rosaline, j 

Maria, > ladies attending on the Prin- 

Katharine, ) cess. 

Jaquenetta, a country wench. 

Lords, Attendants, &c. 
Scene : Navarre. 



ACT L 

Scene I. TJie king of Navarre* s park. 

Entei' Ferdinand, king of Navarre, Biron, 
Longaville and Dumaln. 



King. Let fame, that all hunt after in 
their lives, 
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs 
And then grace us in the disgrace of death; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time, 

(59) 



60 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act 



The endeavor of this present breath may buy 
That honor which shall bate his scythe's keen 

edge 
And make ns heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerors, — for so you are, 
That war against your own affections 
And the huge army of the world's desires, — 10 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
Navarre shall he the wonder of the world ; 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with 

me 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes 
That are recorded in this schedule here : 
Your oaths are pass'd ; and now subscribe 

your names, 
That his own hand may strike his honor down 
That violates the smallest branch herein : 21 
If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do, 
Suhscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too. 
Long. I am resolved ; 'tis but a three 

years' fast : 
The mind shall banquet, though the body 

pine : 
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits 
Make rich the rihs, but bankrupt quite the Avits. 
Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified : 
The grosser manner of these world's delights 
He throws upon the gross world's baser 

slaves : 30 

To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 
With all these living in philosophy. 
Biron. I can but say their protestation 

over ; 
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
That is, to live and study here three years. 
But there are other strict observances ; 
As, not to see a woman in that term, 
Which I hope well is not enrolled there ; 
And one day in a week to touch no food 
And but one meal on every day beside, 40 
The which I hope is not enrolled there ; 
And then, to sleep but three hours in the 

night, 
And not be seen to wink of all the day— 
When I was wont to think no harm all night 
And make a dark night too of half the day— 
Which I hope well is not enrolled there : 
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep, 
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep ! 
King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away 

from these. 
Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you 

please : 50 

I only swore to study with your grace 
And stay here in your court for three years' 

space. 
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to 

the rest. 
Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore 

in jest. 
What is the end of study ? let me know. 
King. Why, that to' know, which else we 

should not know 



Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, 

from common sense ? 
King. Ay, that is study's god-like recom- 
pense. 
Biron. Come on, then ; I will swear to 
study so, 
To know the thing I am forbid to know : 60 
As thus, — to study where I well may dine, 

When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
Or study where to meet some mistress fine, 
When mistresses from common sense are 
hid ; 
Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath, 
Study to break it and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus and this be so, 
Study knows that which yet it doth not know: 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no. 
King. These be the stops that hinder study 
quite 70 

And train our intellects to vain delight. 
Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but 
that most vain, 
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain; 
As, painfully to pore upon a book 
To seek the light of truth ; while truth the 
while 
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 
Light seeking light doth light of light be- 
guile : 
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Study me how to please the eye indeed 80 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye, 
Who dazzling S07 that eye shall be his heed 
And give him light that it was blinded by. 
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun 
That will not be deep-search' d with saucy 
looks : 
Small have continual plodders ever won 

Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights 

That give a name to every fixed star 

Have no more profit of their shining nights 90 

Than those that walk and wot not what 

they are. [fame ; 

Too much to know is to know nought but 

And every godfather can give a name. 

King. How well he's read, to reason 

against reading ! 
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good pro- 
ceeding ! 
Long. He weeds the corn and still lets 

grow the weeding. 
Biron. The spring is near when green 

geese are a-breeding. 
Dam. How follows that ? 
Biron. Fit in his place and time. 

Dum. In reason nothing. 
Biron. Something then in rhyme. 

King Biron is like an envious sneaping frost 
That bites the first-born infants of 
the spring. 101 

Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud 
summer boast 
Before the birds have any cause 
to sing ? 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



01 



Why should I joy in any abortive birth ? 

At Christmas 1 no more desire a rose 

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled 

mirth ; 
But like of each thing that in season grows. 
So you, to study now it is too late, 
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 

King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron : 
adieu. 110 

Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to 
stay with you : 
And though I have for barbarism spoke more 

Than for that angel knowledge you can say, 
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore 

And bide the penance of each three years' 
day. 
Give me the paper ; let me read the same ; 
And to the strict' st decrees I'll write my name. 

King. How well this yielding rescues thee 
from shame ! 

Biron [reads], ' Item, That no woman shall 
come within a mile of my court : ' Hath this 
been proclaimed ? 121 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let's see the penalty. [Reads] 'On 
pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this 
penalty ? 

Long. Marry, that did I. 

Biron. Sweet lord, and why ? 

Long. To fright them hence with that 
dread penalty. 

Biron. A dangerous law against gentility ! 

[Reads] ' Item, If any man be seen to talk 
with a woman within the term of three years, 
he shall endure such public shame as the rest 
of the court can possibly devise.' 
This article, my liege, yourself must break ; 

For well you know here comes in embassy 
The French king's daughter with yourself to 
speak — 

A maid of grace and complete majesty — 
About surrender up of Aquitaine 

To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father : 
Therefore this article is made in vain, 140 

Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. 

King. What say you, lords ? why, this was 
quite forgot . 

Biron. So study evermore is overshot : 
While it doth study to have what it would 
It doth forget to do the thing it should, 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost. 

King. We must of force dispense with this 
decree ; 
She must lie here on mere necessity. 

Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 

Three thousand times within this three 
years' space ; 151 

For every man with his affects is born, 

Not by might master' d but by special grace: 
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me ; 
I am forsworn on ' mere necessity.' 
So to the laws at large I write my name : 

[SubsaHbes. 

And he that breaks them in the least degree 
Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 



Suggestions are to other as to me ; 
But I believe, although L seem so loath, 1G0 
I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
But is there no quick recreation granted ? 

King. Ay, that there is. Our court, you 
know, is haunted 

With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain ; 
One whom the music of his own vain tongue 

Doth ravish like enchanting harmony ; 
A man of complements, whom right and wrong 

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 170 
Tii is child of fancy, that Armado hight, 

For interim to our studies shall relate 
In high-born words the worth of many a 
knight 

From tawny Spain lost in the world's de- 
bate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own 
knight. 

Long. Costard the swain and he shall be 
our sport ; 180 

And so to study, three years is but short. 

Enter Dull with a letter, and Costard. 

Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 

Biron. This, fellow : what wouldst ? 

Dull. I myself reprehend his own persoiL 
for I am his grace's tharborough : but I would 
see his own person in flesh and blood. 

Biron. This is he. 

Dull. Signior Arme — Arme — commends 
you. There's villany abroad : this letter will 
tell you more. 190 

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as 
touching me. 

King. A letter from the magnificent Ar- 
mado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope 
in God for high words. 

Long. A high hope for a low heaven : God 
grant us patience ! 

Biron. To hear ? or forbear laughing ? 

Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh 
moderately; or to forbear both. 200 

Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall 
give us cause to climb in the merriness. 

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concern- 
ing Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was 
taken with the manner. 

Biron. In what manner ? 

Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; 
all those three : I was seen with her in the 
manor-house, sitting with her upon the form, 
and taken following her into the park ; which, 
put together, is in manner and form following. 
Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the manner of 
a man to speak to a woman : for the form, — 
in some form. 

Biron. For the following, sir ? 



62 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST 



[Act i t 



Cost. As it shall follow in my correction : 
and God defend the right ! 

King. Will you hear this letter with atten- 
tion ?* 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to 
hearken after the flesh. 220 

King [reads]. ' Great deputy, the welkin's 
vicegerent and sole dominator of Navarre, my 
soul's earth's god, and body's fostering patron.' 

Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 

King [reads]. ' So it is,' — 

Cost. It may be so : but if he say it is so, 
he is, in telling true, but so. 

King. Peace ! 

Cost. Be to me and every man that dares 
not fight ! 230 

King. No words ! 

Cost. Of other men's secrets, I beseech 
you. 

King [reads], ' So it is, besieged with sable- 
colored melancholy, I did commend the black- 
oppressing humor to the most wholesome 
physic of thy health-giving air ; and, as I am 
a gentleman, betook myself to walk. The 
time when. About the sixth hour ; when 
beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit 
down to that nourishment which is called 
supper : so much foi the time when. Now for 
the ground which ; which, I mean, I walked 
upon : it is ycleped thy park. Then for the 
place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter 
that obscene and preposterous event, that 
draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon- 
colored ink, which here thou viewest, behold- 
est, surveyest, or seest ; but to the place 
where ; it standeth north-north-east and by 
east from the west corner of thy curious- 
knotted garden : there did I see that low-spir- 
ited swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,' — 

Cost. Me ? 

King [reads]. ' that unlettered small-know- 
ing soul,' — 

Cost. Me ? 

King [reads], ' that shallow vassal,' — 

Cost. Still me ? 

King [reads]. ' which, as I remember, 
bight Costard, — 

Cost. O, me ! 2G0 

King [reads], ' sorted and consorted, con- 
trary to thy established proclaimed edict and 
continent canon, which with, — O, with — but 
With this I passion to say wherewith, — 

Cost. With a wench. 

King [reads]. ' with a child of our grand- 
mother Eve, a female ; or, for thy more sweet 
understanding, a woman. Him I, as my ever- 
esteemed duty pricks me on, have sent to thee, 
to receive the meed of punishment, by thy 
sweet grace's officer, Anthony Dull ; a man of 
good repute, carriage, bearing, and estima- 
tion.' 

Dull. Me, an't shall please you ; I am An- 
thony Dull. 

King [reads], ' For Jaquenetta, — so is the 
■weaker vessel called which I apprehended 



with the aforesaid swain, — I keep her as a 
vessel of the law's fury ; and shall, at the 
least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. 
Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart- 
burning heat of duty. 

Don Adriano de Arm ado.' 

Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, 
but the best that ever I heard. 

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, 
sirrah, what say you to this ? 

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 

King. Did you hear the proclamation ? 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, 
but little of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprison- 
ment, to be taken with a wench. 290 

Cost. I was taken with none, sir : I was 
taken with a damsel. 

King. Well, it was proclaimed ' damsel.' 

Cost. This was no damsel, neither, sir ; she 
was a virgin. 

King. It is so varied, too ; for it was pro- 
claimed ' virgin.' 

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity : I was 
taken with a maid. [sir. 

King. This maid will not serve your turn. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence : 
you shall fast a week with bran and water. 

Cost. I had rather pray a month with 
mutton and porridge. 

King. And Don Armado shall be your 

kPPV)61* 

My Lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er: 
And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. 
[Exeunt King, Long aville, and Dumain. 
Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's 

hat, 
These oaths and laws will prove an idle 
scorn. 
Sirrah, come on. 

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir ; for true it 
is, I was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaque- 
netta is a true girl : and therefore welcome the 
sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one 
day smile again; and till then, sit thee down, 
sorrow ! \_iij%eunz. 

Scene II. The same. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm.. Boy, what sign is it when a man of 
great spirit grows melancholy? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look 
sad. 

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self- 
same thing, dear imp. 

Moth. No, no ; O Lord, sir, no. 

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and 
melancholy, my tender juvenal ? 

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the 
working, my tough senior. 10 

Arm. Why tough senior ? why tough sen- 
ior? 

Moth. Why tender juvenal? why tender 
juvenal? 



Scene ii.J 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



& 



Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a con- 
gruent epitheton appertaining to thy young 
days, which we may nominate tender. 

Moth. And I, tough senior, as an apperti- 
nent title to your old time, which we may 
name tough 

Arm. Pretty and apt. 

Moth. How mean you, sir ? I pretty, and 
my saying apt ? or I apt, and my saying 
pretty ? 

Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 

Moth. Little pretty, because little. "Where- 
fore apt ? 

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, mas- 
ter ? 

Arm. In thy condign praise. 

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same 
praise. 

Arm. What, that an eel is ingenious ? 

Moth. That an eel is quick. 30 

Arm. I do say thou art quick in answers : 
thou heatest my blood. 

Moth. I am answered, sir. 

Arm. I love not to be crossed. 

Moth. [Aside] He speaks the mere con- 
trary ; crosses love not him. 

Arm. I have promised to study three years 
with the duke 

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 

Arm. Impossible. 40 

Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 

Arm. I am ill at reckoning ; it fitteth the 
spirit of a tapster. 

Moth. You are a gentleman and a gamester, 
sir. 

Arm, I confess both : they are both the 
varnish of a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how 
much the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 

Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 

Arm. True. 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of 
study ? Now here is three studied, ere ye'll 
thrice wink : and how easy it is to put ' years ' 
to the word 'three,' and study three years in 
two words, the dancing horse will tell you. 

Arm. A most fine figure ! 

Moth. To prove you a cipher. 59 

Arm. I will hereupon confess I am in love : 
and as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I 
in love with a base wench. If drawing my 
sword against the humor of affection would 
deliver me from the reprobate thought of it, I 
would take Desire prisoner, and ransom him to 
any French courtier for a new-devised courtesy. 
I think scorn to sigh : methinks I should out- 
swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : what great 
men have been in love ? 

Moth. Hercules, master. 

Aim. Most sweet Hercules ! More author- 
ity, dear boy, name more ; and, sweet my 
child, let them be men of good repute and car- 
riage. 

Moth. Samson, master : he was a man of 



good carriage, great carriage, for he carried 
the town-gates on his back like a porter : and 
he was in love. 

Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed 
Samson ! I do excel thee in my rapier as much 
as thou didst me in carrying gates. I am in 
love too Who was Samson's love, my dear 
Moth ? 80 

Moth. A woman, master. 

Arm. Of what complexion ? 

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the 
two, or one of the four. 

Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. 

Moth. Of the sea- water green, sir. 

Arm. Is that one of the four complexions ? 

Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of 
them too. 

Arm. Green indeed is the color of lovers ; . 
but to have a love of that color, methinks 
Samson had small reason for it. He surely 
affected her for her wit. 

Moth . It was so, sir ; for she had a green 
wit. 

Arm. My love is most immaculate white 
and red. 

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are 
masked under such colors. 

Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 

Moth. My father's wit and my mother's 
tongue, assist me ! 101 

Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most 
pretty and pathetical ! 
Moth. If she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known, 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred 

And fears by pale white shown : 
Then if she fear, or be to blame, 

By this you shall not know, 
For still her cheeks possess the same 110 
Which native she doth owe. 
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the rea- 
son of white and red. 

Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the 
King and the Beggar ? 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a 
ballad some three ages since : but I think now 
'tis not to be found ; or, if it were, it would 
neither serve for the writing nor the tune. 

Arm. I will have that subject newly writ 
o'er, that I may example my digression by 
some mighty precedent. Boy, I do love that 
country girl that I took in the park with the ra- 
tional liind Costard : she deserves well. 

Moth. [Aside] To be whipped ; and yet a 
better love than my master. 

Arm* Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in 
love. 

Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a 
light wench. 

Arm. I say, sing. 130 

Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 

Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you 
keep Costard sate : and you must suffer him 
to take no delight nor no penance ; but a' must 



64 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act ii. 



fast three days a week. For this damsel, I 
must keep her at the park : she is allowed for 
the day-woman. Fare you well. 

Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. 
Maid ! 

Jaq. Man ? 

Arm I will visit thee at the lodge. 140 

Jaq. That's hereby. 

Ann. I know where it is situate. 

Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face ? 

Arm. I love thee. 

Jaq. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so. farewell. 

Jaq. Fair weather alter you ! 

Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away ! 150 

[ Exeunt Dull and Jaquenetta. 

Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy 
offences ere thou be pardoned. 

Cost*. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall 
do it on a full stomach. 

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 

Cost. I am more bound to you than your 
fellows, for they are but lightly rewarded. 

Arm. Take away this villain ; shut him up. 

Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; 
away ! 160 

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir : I will fast, 
being loose. 

Moth. No, sir ; that were fast and loose : 
thou shalt to prison. 

Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days 
©f desolation that I have seen, some shall see. 

Moth. What shall some see ? 

. Cost. Nay, nothing, Master Moth, but what 
they look upon. It is not for prisoners to be 
too silent in their words ;.and therefore 1 will 
say nothing : I thank God I have as little 
patience as another man ; and therefore I can 
be quiet. 171 

[Exeunt Moth and Costard. 

Arm. I do affect tne very ground, winch is 
base, where her shoe, which is baser, guided by 
her foot, which is basest, doth tread. I shall 
be forsworn, which is a great argument of 
falsehood, if I love. And how can that be true 
love which is falsely attempted ? Love is a 
familiar ; Love is a devil : there is no evil 
angel but Love. Yet was Samson so tempted, 
and he had an excellent strength ; yet was 
Solomon so seduced, and he had a very .■rood 
wit. Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Ileicules' 
club ; and therefore too much odds lor a 
Spaniard's rapier. The first and second 
cause will not serve my turn ; the passado he re- 
spects not, the duello he regards not : hi> dis- 
grace is to be called boy ; but his glory is to 
subdue men. Adieu, valor! rust, rapier! be 
still, drum ! for your manager is in love ; yea, 
he loveth. Assist me, some extemporal god 
of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet. 
Devise, wit ; write, pen ; for I am for whole 
volumes in folio. [Exit. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Ma- 
ria, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other 

Attendants. 

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your 
dearest spirits : 
Consider who the king your father sends, 
To whom he sends, and what's his embassy : 
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, 
To parley with the sole inheritor 
Of all perfections that a man may owe, 
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
Than Aquit^ine, a dowry for a queen. 
Be now as prodigal of all clear grace 
As Nature was in making graces dear 10 

When she did starve the general world beside 
And prodigally gave them all to you. 

Prin. Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though 
but mean, 
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise : 
Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye, 
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: 
I am less proud to hear you tell my w r orth 
Than you much willing to be counted wise 
In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
But now to task the tasker : good Boyet, 20 
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 
Till painful study shall outwear three years, 
No woman may approach his silent court : 
Therefore to's seemeth it a needful course, 
Before we enter his forbidden gates, 
To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, 
Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
As our best-moving fair solicitor. 29 

Tell him, the daughter of the King of France, 
On serious business, craving quick dispatch, 
Importunes personal conference with his 

grace : 
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend, 
Like humble-visaged suitors, his high will. 

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. 

Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours 
is so. [Exit Boyet 

Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke ? 

First Lord. Lord Longaville is one. 

Prin. Know you the man? 

Mar. I know him, madam : at a marriage- 
feast, 40 
Between Lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 
Of Jaques Falconbridge, solemnized 
In Normandy, saw I this Longaville : 
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
Well fitted in arts, glorious in arms : 
Nothing becomes him ill that he would well. 
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil, 
Is a sharp wit match 'd with too blunt a will ; 
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still 
wills 50 
It should none spare that come within his 
power. [is t so ? 

Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike , 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



G5 



Mar. They say so most that most his hu- 
mors know. 
Prin. Such short-lived wits do wither as 
they grow. 
Who are the rest ? 
Katli. The young Dumain, a well-accom- 
plished youth. 
Of all that virtue love for virtue loved : 
Most power to do most harm, least knowing 

ill; 
For he hath, wit to make an ill shape good, 
And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
I saw him at the Duke Alencon's once ; 61 
And much too little of that good I saw 
Is my report to his great worthiness. 

Ros. Another of these students at that time 
Was there with him, if I have heard a truth. 
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
' I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
For every object that the one doth catch 70 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, 
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words 
That aged ears play truant at his tales 
And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in 
love, 
That every one her own hath garnished 
With such bedecking ornaments of praise ? 
First Lord. Here comes Boyet. 
Re-enter Boyet. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 80 
Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair ap- 
proach ; 
And he and his competitors in oath 
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady, 
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have 

learnt : 
He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
Like one that comes here to besiege his court, 
Than seek a dispensation for his oath, 
To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
Here comes Navarre. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, 

and Attendants. 

King. Fair princess, welcome to the court 

of Navarre. 90 

Prin. ' Fair ' I give you back again ; and 

* welcome ' I have not yet : the roof of this 

court is too high to be yours ; and welcome to 

the wide fielas too base to be mine. 

King. You shall be welcome, madam, to 
my court. 
Prin. I will be welcome, then : conduct me 

thither. 

King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn 

an oath. [sworn. 

Prin. Our Lady help my lord ! he'll be fov- 

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by 

my will. 
Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will and 
nothing else. 100 



King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were 
wise, 
Where now his knowledge must prove igno- 
rance. 
I hear your grace hath sworn out house-keep- 
ing : 
'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, 
And sin to break it. 
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold : 
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. 110 

King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 

Prin. You will the sooner, that I were 
away ; 
For you'll prove perjured if you make me stay. 

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant 
once ? . [once ? 

Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant 

Biron. I know you did. 

Ros. How needless was it then to ask the 
question ! 

Biron. You must not be so quick. 

Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with 
such questions. 

Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too 
fast, 'twill tire. 120 

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 

Biron. What time o' day ? 

Ros. The hour that fools should ask. 

Biron. Now fair befall your mask! 

Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 

Biron. And send you many lovers ! 

Ros. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 

King. Madam, your father here doth inti- 
mate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
Being but the one half of an entire sum 131 
Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
But say that he or we, as neither have, 
Received that sum, yet there remains unpaid 
A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the 

which, 
One part of Aquitaine is bound to us, 
Although not valued to the money's worth. 
If then the king your father will restore 
But that one half which is unsatisfied, 
We will give up our right in Aquitaine, 140 
And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 
For here he doth demand to have repaid 
A hundied thousand crowns; and not demands, 
On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 
To have his title live in Aquitaine : 
Which we much rather had depart withal 
And have the money by our father lent 
Than Aquitaine so gelded as it is. 
Dear princess, were not his requests so far 150 
From reason's yielding, your fair self should 

make 
A yielding 'gainst some reason in my breast 
And go well satisfied to France again. 

Prin. You do the king my father too muci 
wrong 



6* 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



[Act. 



II. 



And wrong the reputation of your name, 

In so unseeuiing to confess receipt 

Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 

King. I do protest I never heard of it ; 
And if you prove it, I'll repay it back 
Or yield up Aquitaine. 

Prin. We arrest your word. 160 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances 
For such a sum from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 
King. Satisfy me so. 

Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is 
not come 
Where that and other specialties are bound : 
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 
King. It shall suffice me : at which inter- 
view 
All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
Meantime receive such welcome at my hand 
As honor without breach of honor may 170 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; 
But here without you shall be so received 
As you shall deem yourself lodged in my heart, 
Though so denied fair harbor in my house. 
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and fare- 
well : 
To-morrow shall we visit you again. 
Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort 

your grace 1 

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every 

place ! • [Exit, 

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to mine 

own heart. 180 

Ros. Pray you, do my commendations ; I 

would be glad to see it. 
Biron. I would you heard it groan 
Ros. Is the fool sick ? 
Biron. Sick at the heart. 
Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
Biron. Would that do it good ? 
Ros. My physic says * ay.' 
Biron. Will you prick't with your eye ? 
Ros. No point, with my knife. 190 

Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
Ros. And yours from long living ! 
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving, 

[Retiring. 
Bum. Sir, I pray you, a word : what lady 

is that same ? 
Boyet. The heir of Alencon, Katharine her 

name. 
Dam. A gallant lady. Monsieur, fare yon 
well. [Exit. 

Long. I beseech you a word : what is she 

in the white ? 
Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw 

her in the light. 
Long. Perchance light in the light I de- 
sire her name. 
Boyet. She hath but one for herself ; to 
desire that were a shame. 200 

Long. Pray yon. sir, whose daughter ? 
Bojfet. Her mother's, I have heard. 
lnYng. God's blessing on your heard ! 
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended. 



She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
She is a most sweet lady. 
Boyet. Not unlike, sir, that may be. 

[Exit Long. 
Biron. What's her name in the cap ? 
Boyet. Rosaline, by good hap. 210 

Biron. Is she wedded or no ? 
Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
Biron. You are welcome, sir : adieu. 
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome 
to you. [Exit Biron. 

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad- 
cap lord : 
Not a word with him but a jest 

Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him 

at his word. 
Boyet. I was as willing to grapple as he 

was to board. 

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry. 

Boyet. And wherefore not ships ? 

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your 

lips. 220 

Mar. You sheep, and I pasture : shall that 

finish the jest ? 
Boyet. So you grant pasture for me 

[Offering to kiss her. 
Mar. Not so, gentle beast . 

My lips are no common, though several they 
be. 
Boyet. Belonging to whom ? 
Mar. To my fortunes and me. 

Prin. Good wits will be jangling ; but, 
gentles, agree : 
This civil war of wits were much better used 
On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis 
abused, 
Boyet. If my observation, which very sel- 
dom lies, 
By the heart's still rhetoric disclosed with 

eyes, 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 230 
Prin. With what ? 
Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle 

affected. 
Prin. Your reason ? 

Boyet. Why, all his behaviors did make 
their retire 
To the court of his ej T e, peeping thorough de- 
sire : 
His heart, like an agate, with your print im- 

press'd, 
Proud with his form, in his eye pride ex- 

press'd : 
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, 
Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be ; 
All senses to that sense did make their repair. 
To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 241 
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his 

e y e 5 
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; 
Who, tendering their own worth from where 

they were glass'd, 
Did point you to buy them, along as yoa 

pass'd : 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



67 



His face's own raargent did quote such amazes 
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with 

gazes. 
I'll give you Aquitaine and all that is his, 
An you give him for my sake but one loving 
kiss. 
Prin. Come to our pavilion : Boyet is dis- 
posed. 
Boyet. But to speak that in words which 
his eye hath disclosed. 250 

I only have made a mouth of his eye, 
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger and 

speakest skilfully. 
Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather and learns 

news of him. 
Ros. Then was Venus like her mother, for 

her father is but grim. 
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenches ? 
Mar. No. 

Boyet. What then, do you see ? 

Bos. Ay, our way to be gone. 
Boyet. You are too hard for me. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my 
sense of hearing. 

Moth. Concolinel. [Singing. 

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years ; 
take this key, give enlargement to the swain, 
bring him festinately hither : I must employ 
him in a letter to my "love. 

Moth. Master, will you win your love with 
a French brawl ? 

Arm. How meanest thou ? brawling in 
French ? 

Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig 
off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it 
with your feet, humor it with turning up your 
evelids, sigh a note and sing a note, sometime 
through the throat, as if you swallowed love 
with singing love, sometime through the nose, 
as if you snuffed up love by smelling love ; 
with your hat penthouse-like o'er the shop of 
your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your 
thin-belly doublet like a rabbit on a spit ; or 
your hands in your pocket like a man after 
Vae old painting ; and keep not too long in one 
tune, but a snip and away. These are com- 
plements, these are humors ; these betray 
nice wenches, that would be betrayed without 
these ; and make them men of note — do you 
note me ? — that most are affected to these. 

Arm. How hast thou purchased this ex- 
perience ? 

Moth. By my pennv of observation. 

Arm. But O,— butG — 

Moth. ' The hobby-horse is forgot.' 30 

Arm. Callest thou my love ' hobby-horse' ? 

Moth. No, master j the hobby-horse is but 



a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney. But 
have you forgot your love ? 

Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by 
heart. 

Arm. By heart and in heart, boy. 

Moth . And out of heart, master : all those 
three I will prove. 

Arm. What wilt thou prove ? 40 

Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, 
and without, upon the instant : by heart you 
love her, because your heart cannot come by 
her ; in heart you love her, because your 
heart is in love with her ; and out of heart 
you love her, being out of heart that you can- 
not enjoy her. 

Arm. I am all these three. 

Moth. And three times as much more, and 
yet nothing at all. 50 

Arm. Fetch hither the swain : he must 
carry me a letter. 

Moth. A message well sympathized ; a 
horse to be ambassador for an ass. 

Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ? 

Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass 
upon the horse, for he is very slow-gaited. 
But I go. 

Arm. The way is but short : away ! 

Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 

Arm. The meaning, pretty ingenious ? 
Ts not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? GO 

Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, 
master, no. 

Arm. I say lead is slow. 

Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so : 

fs that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, 

that's he : 
I shoot thee at the swain. 

Moth. Thump then and I flee. [Exit 

Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and 

free of grace ! [face : 

By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy 

Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee place. 

My herald is return'd. 70 

Re-enter Moth ivith Costard. 

Moth. A wonder, master ! here's a costard 

broken in a shin. 
Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, 

thy l'envoy ; begin. 
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy ; no 
salve fin the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a 
plain plantain ! no l'envoy, no l'envoy ; no 
salve, sir, but a plantain ! 

Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter ; 
thy silly thought my spleen ; the heaving of 
my lungs provokes me to ridiculous smil- 
ing. 0, pardon me, my stars ! Doth the in- 
considerate take salve for l'envoy, and the 
word l'envoy for a salve ? 80 

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is 

not l'envoy a salve ? 
Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or dis- 
course, to "make plaiu 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act in 



Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been 

sain. 
I will example it : 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
There's the moral. Now the l'envoy. 

Moth. I will add the l'envoy. Say the 
moral again. 
Arm. The fox, the ape, the humble-bee, 90 

Were still at odds, being but three. 
Moth. Until the goose came out of door, 

And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
Now will I begin your moral, and do you fol- 
low with my l'envoy. 

The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
Were still at odds, being but three. 
Ann. Until the goose came out of door, 

Staying the odds by adding four. 100 
Molh. A good l'envoy, ending in the goose : 
would you desire more ? 

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a 
goose, that's flat. 
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose 

be fat. 
To sell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and 

loose : 
Let me see ; a fat l'envoy ; ay, that's a fat 
goose. 
Arm. Come hither, come hither. How did 

this argument begin ? 
Moth. By saying that a costard was broken 
in a shin. 
Then call'd you for the l'envoy. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain : thus 
came your argument in ; 
Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goose that you 
bought ; 110 

And he ended the market. 

Arm. But tell me ; how was there a cos- 
tard broken in a shin ? 
Moth- 1 will tell you sensibly. 
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth : I 
will speak that l'envoy : 
I Costard, running out, that was safely 

within, 
Fell over the threshold and broke my shin. 
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
Arm. Sirrah Costard, 1 will enfranchise 
thee. 

Cost. 0, marry me to one Frances : I smell 
some l'envoy, some goose, in this. 

Arm. By my sweet soul, 1 mean setting 

thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou 

wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound. 

Cost. True, true ; and now you will be ray 

purgation and let me loose 

Arm. 1 give thee thy liberty, set thee from 
durance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee 
nothing but this : bear this significant [giving 
a letter} to the country maid Jaquenetta : there 
is remuneration ; for the best ward of mine 
honor is rewarding my dependents. Moth, 
follow. [Exit 

■ f, ' h . Like the sequel, I, Signior Costard, 
adieu 



Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh ! my 
incony Jew ! [Exit Moth. 

Now will 1 look to his remxneration. Remu- 
neration ! O, that's the Latin word for three 
farthings : three farthings — remuneration. — 
1 What's the price of this inkle ? ' — ' One pen- 
ny. ' — 'No, I'll give you a remuneration:' 
why, it carries it. Remuneration ! why, it is a 
fairer name than French crown. I will never 
buy and sell out of this word. 

Enter Biron. 

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceed- 
ingly well met. 

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation 
ribbon may a man buy for a remuneration ? 
Biron. What is a remuneration ? 
Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. 
Biron. Whv, then, three-farthing worth of 
silk. 150 

Cost. I thank your worship : God be wi' 

you ! 
Biron. Stay, slave ; I must employ thee : 
As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave, 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
Cost. .When would you have it done, sir ? 
Biron. This afternoon. 
Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : fare you well. 
Biron. Thou knowest not what it is. 
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
Cost. I will come to your worship to-mor- 
row morning. 161 
Biron. It must be done this afternoon. 
Hark, slave, it is but this : 
The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
And in her train there is a gentle lady ; 
When tongues speak sweetly, then they name 

her name, 
And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
And to her white hand see thou do commend 
This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; 
go. 170 [Giving him a shilling. 

Cost. Gardon. O sweet gardon ! better than 
remuneration, a'leven-pence farthing better: 
most sweet gardon ! I will do it, sir, in print. 
Gardon ! Remuneration ! [Exit. 

Biron. And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that 
have been love's whip ; 
A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable ; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy ; 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 180 
This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward 

boy ; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ; 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans 
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, 
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 
Sole imperator and great general 
Of trotting 'paritors : — O my little heart ! — 
And I to be a corporal of his field, 
And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop ! *<Y\ 
What, 1 ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wile ! 
A woman, that is like a German clock, 



Scene i.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST, 



(','.> 



Still a-repairing, ever out of frame, 
And never going aright, being a watch, 
But being watch' d that it may still go right ! 
Nay, to be perjured, which is worst of all ; 
And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
A nightly wanton with a velvet brow, 
\Y ith two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed 
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard: 
Aud 1 to sigh for her ! to watch for her 1 
To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue and 

groan : 
Some men must love my lady and some Joan. 

[Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene L The same. 

Enter the Princess, and her train, a Forester, 
Boyet, Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine. 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his 
horse so hard 
Against the steep uprising of the hill ? 

Boyet. I know not. but I think it was not he. 
Prin. Whoe'er a' was, a' show'd a mount- 
ing mind. 
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our dispatch : 
On Saturday we will return to France. 
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush 
That we must stand and play the murderer in? 
For. Hereby, upon the edge of yonder cop- 
pice ; 
A stand where you may make the fairest shoot. 
Prin. 1 thank my beauty, I am fair that 
shoot, 11 

And thereupon thou speak' st the fairest shoot. 
For, Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
Prin. What, what ? first praise me and 
again say no ? 
O short-lived pride ! Not fair ? alack for woe! 
For. Yes, madam, fair. 
Prin. Nay, never paint me now : 

Where fair is not,praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true: 
Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
For. Nothing but fair is that which you in- 
herit. '20 
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be saved by 
merit ! 
O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair 

praise. 
But come, the bow : now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the snoot : 
Not wounding, phVy would not let me do't ; 
If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
That more for praise than purpose meant to 

kill. 
And out of question so it is sometimes, o0 

Glory grows guilty oJf detested crimes, 



When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward 
part, 

We bend to that the working of the heart ; 

As I for praise alone now seek to spill 

The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no 
ill. 
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self- 
sovereignty 

Only for praise sake, when they strive to be 

Lords o'er their lords ? 
Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may 
•afford 

To any lady that subdues a lord. 40 

Boyet. Here comes a member of the com- 
monwealth. 

Entei Costard. 

Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray you. which 
is the head lady ? 

Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the 
rest that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the high- 
est ? 
Priii. The thickest and the tallest. 
Cost. The thickest and the tallest ! it is so ; 
truth is truth. 
An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my 

wit, 

One o' these maids' girdles for your waist 

should be fit. 50 

Are not you the chief woman ? you are the 

thickest here. 

Prin. What's your will, sir ? what's vour 

will ? 
Cost. 1 have a letter from Monsieur Biron 

to one Lady Rosaline. 
Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ! he's a good 
friend of mine : 
Stand aside, good bearer. Boyet, you can 

carve ; 
Break up this capon. 

Boyet. I am bound to serve. 

This letter is mistook, it iinporteth none here ; 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear. 

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give 
ear. 59 

Boyet [reads']. ' By heaven, that thou art 
fair, is most infallible ; true, that thou art 
beauteous ; truth itself, that thou art lovely. 
More fairer than fair, beautiful than beauteous, 
truer than truth itself, have commiseration on 
thy heroical vassal ! The magnanimous and 
most illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon the 
pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon ; 
and he it was that might rightly say, Veni, 
vidi, vici ; which toannothanize in the vulgar, 
— O base and obscure vulgar ! — videlicet, lie 
came, saw, and overcame : he came, one ; saw 
two: overcame, three. Who came ? the king: 
why did he come ? to see : why did he see ? 
to overcome : to whom came he ? to the beg- 
gar : what saw he ? the beggar : who over- 
came he ? the beggar. The conclusion is vic- 
tory : on whose side ? the king's. The cap- 
tive is enriched : on whose side ? the beggar's. 



70 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act iv. 



The catastrophe is a nuptial : on whose side ? 
the king's : no, on both in one, or one in both. 
I am the king ; for so stands the comparison : 
thou the beggar ; for so vvituesseth thy lowli- 
ness. Shall 1 command thy love ? I may: shall 
I enforce thy love ? 1 could : shall I entreat 
thy love ? I will. What shalt thou exchange 
for rags ? robes ; for tittles ? titles ; for thy- 
self ? me. Thus, expecting thy reply, I pro- 
fane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy pic- 
ture, and my heart on thy every part. Thine, 
in the dearest design of industry, 

Don Adriano db Arm ado.' 
Urns dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 90 
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his 
prey. 
Submissive fall his princely feet before, 

And he from forage will incline to play : 
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou 

then ? 
Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
Prin. What plume of feathers is he that 
indited this letter ? 
What vane ? what weathercock ? did you 
ever hear better ? 
Boyet. I am much deceived but I remember 

the style. 
Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er 

it erewhile. 
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that 
keeps here in court ; 100 

A. phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that 

makes sport 
To the prince and his bookmates. 

Prin. Thou fellow, a word : 

Who gave thee this letter ? 
Cost. I told you ; my lord. 

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it ? 
Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Prin. From which lord to which lady ? 
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master 
of mine, 
To a lady of France that he call'd Rosaline. 
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, 
lords, away. 
[To Bos.] Here, sweet, put up this : 'twill be 
thine another day. 

[Exeunt Princess and train. 
Boyet. Who is the suitor ? who is the 

suitor ? 
Bos. Shall I teach you to know ? 110 

Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
Bos. Why, she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off ! 
Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if 
thou marry, 
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year mis- 
carry. 
Finely put on ! 
Bos. Well, then, I am the shooter. 
Boyet. And who is your deer ? 

Bos. If we choose by the horns, yourself 
come not near. 
Finely put on, indeed ! 
Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, 
and she strikes at the brow. 



Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : have 

I hit her now ? 120 

Bos. Shall I come upon thee with an old 

saying, that was a man when King Pepin of 

France was a little boy, as touching the hit it? 

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as 

old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover 

of Britain was a little wench, as touching the 

hit it. 

Bos. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it, 

Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 

An I cannot, another can. 130 

[Exeunt Bos. and Kath. 

Cost. By my troth, most pleasant : how 

both did fit it ! 
Mar. A mark marvellous well shot, for they 

both did hit it. 
Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ! 
A mark, says my lady ! 
Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if 
it may be 
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! i' faith, your 

hand is out. 
Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll 

ne'er hit the clout. 
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then belike 

your hand is in. 
Cost. Then will she get the upshoot by 

cleaving the pin. 
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily ; your 

lips grow foul. 
Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir : 
challenge her to bowl. 140 

Boyet. I fear too much rubbing. Good 
night, my good owl. 

LExeunt Boyet and Maria. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple 

clown ! [down I 

Lord, Lord, how the ladies and I have put him 

O' my troth, most sweet jests I most incony 

vulgar wit ! 
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, 

as it were, so fit. 
Armado o' th' one side, — O, a most dainty man! 
To see him walk before a lady and to bear her 

fan! 
To see him kiss his hand ! and how most 

sweetly a' will swear ! 
And his page o' t' other side, that handful of 

wit ! 
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 150 
Sola, sola 1 [Shout within. 

[Exit Costard, running. 

Scene II. The same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and 
Dull. 

Nath. Very reverend sport, truly ; and done 
in the testimony of a good conscience. 

Hoi. The deer was, as you know, sanguis, 
in blood ; ripe as the pomewater, who now 
hangeth like a jewel in the ear of caelo, the 
sky, the welkin, the heaven ; and anon falleth 
like a crab on the face of terra, the soil, the 
land, the earth, 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



Tl 



Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epi- 
thets are sweetly varied, like a scholar at the 
least : but, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of 
the first head. 10 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo ; 'twas a 
pricket. 

Hcl. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind 
of insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of 
explication ; facere, as it were, replication, or 
rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his in- 
clination, after his undressed, unpolished, un- 
educated, unpruned, untrained, or rather, 
unlettered, or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, 
to insert again my haud credo for a deer. 20 
Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo; 
'twas a pricket. 

Hoi. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus ! 
O thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost 
thou look ! 
Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties 
that are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, 
as it were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intel- 
lect is not replenished ; he is only an animal, 
only sensible in the duller parts : 
Anil such barren plants are set before us, that 

we thankful should be, 
Which we of taste and feeling are, for those 
parts that do fructify in us more than 
he. 30 

For as it would ill become me to be vain, in- 
discreet, or a fool, 
So were there a patch set on learning, to see 

him in a school : 
But omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's 

mind, 
Many can brook the weather that love not the 
wind. 
Dull. You two are book-men : can you tell 
me by your wit 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's 
not five weeks old as yet ? 
Hoi. Dictynna, goodman Dull ; Dictynna, 

goodman Dull. 
Dull. What is Dictynna ? 
Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the 

moon. 
Hoi. The moon was a month old when 
Adam was no more, 40 

And raught not to five weeks when he came to 

five-score. 
The allusion holds in the exchange. 
Dull. Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds 

in the exchange. 
Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the 
allusion holds in the exchange. 

Dull. And I say, the pollusion holds in the 
exchange ; for the moon is never but a month 
old : and I say beside that, 'twas a pricket 
that the princess killed. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an cxtem- 
poral epitaph on the death of the deer ? And, 
to humor the ignorant, call I the deer the prin- 
cess killed a pricket. 

Nath. Perge, good Master Holofernes, perge ; 
bo it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 



Hoi. I will something affect the letter, for 
it argues facility. 

The prey ful princess pierced and prick'd a 
pretty pleasing pricket ; 

Some sav a sore ; but not a sore, till now 
made sore with shooting. 
The dogs did yell : put l to sore, then sorel 
jumps from thicket ; 60 

Or pricket sore, or else sorel ; the people 
fall a-hooting. 
If sore be sore, then l to sore makes fifty sores 

one sorel. 
Of one sore I an hundred make by adding but 
one more l. 

Nath. A rare talent ! 

Dull. [Aside] if a talent be a claw, look 
how he claws him with a talent. 

llol. This is a gilt that 1 have, simple, 
simple ; a foolish extravagant spirit, full of 
forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, appre- 
hensions, motions, revolutions : these are begot 
in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the 
womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the 
mellowing of occasion. But thegift is good in 
those in whom it is acute, and I am thankful 
for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and 
so may my parishioners ; for their sons are 
well tutored by you, and their daughters profit 
very greatly under you : you are a good mem- 
ber of the commonwealth. 

Hoi. Meherele, if their sons be ingenuous, 
they shall want no instruction ; if their daugh- 
ters be capable, I will put it to them : but vir 
sapit qui pauca loquitur ; a soul feminine sa« 
luteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

Juq. God give you good morrow, master 
Parson. 

Hoi. Master Parson, quasi pers-on. An if 
one should be pierced, which is the one ? 

Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that 
is likest to a hogshead. 

Hoi. Piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of 
conceit in a tuft of earth ; fire enough for a 
flint, pearl enough for a swine : 'tis pretty ; it 
is well. 

Jaq. Good master Parson, be so good as 
read me this letter : it was given me by Cos- 
tard, and sent me from Don Armado: I beseech 
you, read it. 

Hoi. Fanste, precor gelida quando pecus 
omne sub umbra Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, 
good old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as the 
traveller doth of Venice ; 
Venetia, Venetia, 

Chi non ti vede non ti pretia. 100 

Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who understand- 
eth thee not, loves thee not. Ut, re, sol, la, mi, 
fa. Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? 
or rather, as Horace says in his — What, my 
soul, verses ? 

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanze, a versQ ; 
lege, domiue. 



72 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act iv. 



Nath. [reads] 
If iove make me forsworn, how shall I swear 
to love ? 
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty 
vow'd ! 110 

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faith- 
ful prove : 
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like 
osiers bow'd. 
Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine 
eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live that art would 
comprehend : 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 
suffice ; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
commend, 
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
wonder ; 
Which is to me some praise that I thy parts 
admire : 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his 
dreadful thunder, 
Which, not to anger bent, is music and 
sweet lire. 120 

Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this 

wrong, 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 
Hoi. You find not the apostraphas, and so 
miss the accent : let me supervise the canzo- 
net. Here are only numbers ratified ; but, for 
the eleganGy, facility, and golden cadence of 
poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man : 
and why, indeed, Naso, but for smelling out 
the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of 
invention ? Imitari is nothing : so doth the 
hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired 
horse his rider. But, damosella virgin, was 
this directed to you ? 

Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one 
of the strange queen's lords. 

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript : ' To 
the snow-white hand of the most beauteous 
Lady Rosaline.' I will look again on the intel- 
lect of the letter, for the nomination of the 
'party writing to the person written unto : 
'Your ladyship's in all desired employment, 
Biron.' Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of 
the votaries with the king ; and here he hath 
framed a letter to a sequent of the stranger 
queen's, which accidentally, or by the way of 
progression, hath miscarried. Trip and go, 
my sweet ; deliver this paper into the royal 
hand of the king : it may concern much. Stay 
not thy compliment; I forgive thy duty: adieu. 
Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. Sir, God 
save your life ! 150 

Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 

[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq; 
Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear 
of God, very religiously ; and, as a certain 
father saith, — 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father ; I do 
fear colorable colors. But to return to the 
verses ; did they please you, Sir Nathaniel ? 



Nath. Marvellous well for tht, pen. 

Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a 
certain pupil of mine ; where, if, before repast, 
it shall please you to gratify the table with a 
grace, I will, on my privilege I have with the 
parents of the foresaid child or pupil, under- 
take your ben venuto ; where I will prove 
those verses to be very unlearned, neither 
savoring of i>oetry, wit, nor invention : I be- 
seech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too ; for society, saith 
the text, is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly 
concludes it. [To Dull] Sir, I do invite yoo. 
too ; you shall not say me nay : pauca verba. 
Away ! the gentles are at thei}.' game, and we 
will to our recreation. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 

Enter Biron, loithapaper. 

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I 
am coursing myself : they have pitched a toil; 
I am toiling in a pitch, — pitch that defiles : 
defile ! a foul word. Well, set thee down, 
sorrow ! for so they say the fool said, and so 
say I, and I the fool : well proved, wit ! By 
the Lord, this love is as mad as Ajax : it kills 
sheep ; it kills me, I a sheep : well proved 
again o' my side ! I will not love : if I do, hang 
me ; i' faith, I will not. 0, but her eye, — by 
this light, but for her eye, I would not love 
her ; yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing 
in the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By 
heaven, I do love : and it hath taught me to 
rhyme and to be melancholy ; and here is part 
of my rhyme, and here my melancholy. Well, 
she hath one o' my sonnets already : the clown 
bore it, the fool sent it, and the lady hath it : 
sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady ! By 
the world, I would not care a pin, if the other 
three were in. Here comes one with a paper : 
God give him grace to groan! [Stands aside. 20 

Enter the King, with a paper. 

King. Ay me ! 

Biron. [Aside] Shot, by heaven ! Proceed, 
sweet Cupid : thou hast thumped him with thy 
bird-bolt under the left pap. In faith, secrets I 

King [reads] . 
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have 
smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down 
flows : 29 

Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give 
light ; 

Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep : 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 

And they thy glory through my grief will 
show : 
But do not love thyself ; then thou wilt keep 



Scene hi.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



73 



My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
queen of queens! how far dost thou excel, 
No thought can thiuk nor tongue of mortal, 

tell. 
How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the 

paper : 
Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes 

here? [Steps aside. 

What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear. 

Biro)). Now, in thy likeness, one mure 

fool appear. x 

Enter Longaville, with a paper. 

Long. Ay me, I am forsworn ! 

Biro n. Why, he comes in like a perjure, 

wearing papers. 
King. In love, I hope : sweet fellowship in 

shame ! 
Biron. One drunkard loves another of the 
name. 50 

Long. Am I the first that have heen per- 
jured so? 
Biron. I could put thee in comfort. Not 
hy two that I know : 
Thou makest the triumviry, the corner-rap of 
society, [simplicity. 

The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up 
Long. I fear these stubborn lines lack 
power to move : 
sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. 
Biron. O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
Cupid's hose: 
Disfigure not his slop. 

Bon;/. This same shall go. [Reads. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, (>() 
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argu- 
ment, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
Vows for thee broke deserve not punish- 
ment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in 
me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is : 
Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth 
dost shine, 
Exhalest this vapor-vow; in thee it is: 70 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine : 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 
Biron. This is the liver-vein, which makes 
flesh a deity, 
A green goose a goddess : pure, pure idolatry. 
God amend us, God amend ! we are much out 
o' the way. 
Long. By whom shall I send this? — Com- 
pany! stay. [Steps aside. 
Hi ron . All hid, all hid ; an old infant play. 
Like a demigod here sit I in the sky. 
And wretched fools' secrets heed fully o'er 
eye. SO 
More sacks to the mill ! O heaveus, I have 
my wish ! 



Enter Dumain, with a paper. 

Dumain transform'd! four woodcocks in a 

dish! 
J) inn. most divine Kate ! 
Bi ron. most profane coxcomb! 
Dum. By heaven, the wonder in a mortal 

eye ! 
Biron. By earl h, she is not, corporal, there 

you lie. 
Dum. Her amber hair for foul hath amber 

quoted. [noted. 

Biron. An amber-color'd raven was well 
J) a in. As upright as the cellar. 
Biron. Stoop, I say; 

Her shoulder is with child. 

Dum. As fair as day. 90 

Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun 

must shine. 
Dum. O that 1 had my wish! 
Long. And I had mine! 

King. And I mine too, good Lord! 
Biron. Amen, so L had mine: is not that a 

good word? 
Dum. I would forget her; but a fever she 
Reigns in my blood and will remember'd be. 
Biron. A fever in your blood ; why, then 

incision 
Would let her out in saucers: sweet mis- 



prision 



Bum. Once more I'll read the ode that I 

have writ. 
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can 
vary wit. 100 

Bum. [reads] 

On a day — alack the day ! — 
Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air: 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, can passage rind ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wish himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 110 

But, alack, my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn; 
Vow alack', for youth unmeet, 
Youth so ;-,pi to pluck' a sweet ! 
Do not call it sin in me, 
That I am forsworn for thee; 
Thou for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 120 

This will I send, and something else more plain, 
That shall express my true love's fasting pain, 
O, would the king, Biron, and Longaville, 
Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill. 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjured 

note ; 
For none offend where all alike do dote. 
Long, [advancing.'] Dumain, thy love is 
far from charity, 
That in love's grief desiresl society: 
You may look pale, but I should blush, I 
know. 



74 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act it. 



To be o'erheard and taken napping so. 130 
King [advancing]. Come, sir, you blush ; 

as his your case is such; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much ; 
You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile, 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom to keep down his heart. 
I have been closely shrouded in this bush 
And mark'd you both and for you both did 

blush : 
I heard your guilty rhymes, observed your 

fashion, 
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your 

passion : 140 

Ay me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's 

eyes : 
[To Long.] You would for paradise break 

faith and troth ; 
[To Dum.] And Jove, for your love, would 

infringe an oath. 
What will Biron say when that he shall hear 
Faith so infringed, which such zeal did swear ? 
How will he scorn I how will he spend his 

wit ! 
How will he triumph, leap and laugh at it ! 
For all the wealth that ever I did see, 149 

I would not have him know so much by me. 
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. 

[Advancing. 
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me i 
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to re- 
prove 
These worms for loving, that art most in love ? 
Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears 
There is no certain princess that appears ; 
You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing ; 
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting ! 
But are you not ashamed ? nay, are you not, 
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ? 
You found his mote ; the king your mote did 

see ; 161 

But I a beam do find in each of three. 

0, what a scene of foolery have I seen, 

Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow and of teen ! 
O me, with what strict patience have I sat, 
To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
To see great Hercules whipping a gig, 
And profound Solomon to tune a jig, 
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 
And critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 170 

Where lies thy grief, O, tell me, aoodDumain? 
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ? 
And where my liege's ? all about the breast : 
A caudle, ho ! 

King. Too bitter is thy jest. 

Are we betray 'd thus to thy over-view ? 

Biron. Not you to me, but I betray'd by 
you : 

1, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in ; 
T am betray'd, by keeping company 

fWith men like men of inconstancy. 180 

When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? 
Or groan for love ? or spend a minute's time 



In pruning me ? When shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
A leg, a limb ? 

King. Soft ! whither away so fast ? 

A true man or a thief that gallops so ? 

Biron. I post from love : good lover, let me 
go. 

Enter Jaqtjenetta and Costard. 

Jaq. God bless the king ! 
King. What present hast thou there ? 

Cost. Some certain treason. 
King. What makes treason here ? 190 

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
King. If it mar nothing neither, 

The treason and you go in peace away to- 
gether. 
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter 
be read : 
Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he 
said. 
King. Biron, read it over. 

[Giving him the paper. 
Where hadst thou it ? 
Jaq. Of Costard. 
King. Where hadst thou it ? 
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio 
[Biron tears the letter. 
King. How now ! what is in you ? why 
dost thou tear it ? 200 

Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy : your grace 

needs noc fear it. 
Long. It did move him to passion, and 

therefore let's hear it. 
Dum. It is Biron' s writing, and here is his 
name. [Gathering up the pieces. 

Biron. [To Costard] Ah, you whoreson 
loggerhead ! you were born to do me 
shame. 
Guilty, m"v lord, guiltv ! I confess, I confess. 
King. What ? 

Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool 
to make up the mess : 
He, he, and you, and you, my liege, and I, 
Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to 

die. 
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you 
more. 
Dum. Now the number is even. 
Biron. True, true ; we are four. 

Will these turtles be gone ? 
King. Hence, sirs ; away ! 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let 
the traitors stay. 

[Exeunt Costard and Jvqvenetta. 
Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O, let us 

embrace ! 
As true we are as flesh and blood can be : 
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his 
face ; 
Young blood doth not obey an old decree : 
We cannot cross the cause why we were born: 
Therefore of all hands must we be forsworn. 
King. What, did these rent lines show some 
love of thine ? 220 



Scene hi.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



75 



Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the 
heavenly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
Bows not his vassal head and strucken blind 
Kisses the base ground with obedient 
breast ? 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
That is not blinded by her majesty ? 
King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired 
thee now ? 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 230 
She an attending star, scarce seen a light. 
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I 

Biron : 
0, but for my love, day would turn to night! 
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty 
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, 
Where several worthies make one dignity, 
Where nothing wants that want itself doth 
seek. 
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — 

Fie, painted rhetoric ! 0, she needs it not : 
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs, 240 
She passes praise ; then praise too short 
doth blot. 
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, 
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, 

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy : 
0, 'tis the sun that maketh all things shine, 
King. By heaven, thy love is black as 

ebony. 
Biron. Is ebony like her ? O wood divine ! 
A wife of such wood were felicity. 24! > 

O, who can give an oath ? where is a book ? 
That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack, 
If that she learn not of her eye to look : 
No face is fair that is not full so black. 
King. O paradox ! Black is the badge of 

hell, 
The hue of dungeons and the suit of night ; 
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling 
spirits of light. 
0, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, 

It mourns that painting and usurping hair 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 2(50 
Aud therefore is she born to make black fair. 
Her favor turns the fashion of the days, 

For native blood is counted painting now ; 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
Bum. To look like her are chimney-sweep- 
ers black. 
Long. And since her time are colliers 

counted bright. 
King. And Ethiopes of their sweet com- 
plexion crack. 
Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark 
is light. [rain, 

Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in 
For fear their colors should be wash'daway. 
King. 'Twere good, yours did , for, sir, to 
tell you plain, 



m find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms- 
day here. 
King. No devil will fright thee then so 

much as she. 
Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so 

dear. 
Long. Look, here's thy love : my foot and 

her face see. 
Biron. O, if the streets were paved with 

thine eyes, 
Her feet were much too dainty for such 

tread ! 
Dum. O vile ! then, as she goes, what up- 
ward lies 280 
The street should see as she walk'd over- 
head. 
King. But what of this ? are we not all in 

'love ? 
Biron. Nothing so sure ; and thereby all 

forsworn. 
King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Bi- 
ron, now prove 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 
Dum. Ay, marry, there ; some flattery for 

this evil. 
Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the 
devil. 
Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
Biron. 'Tis more than need. 

Have at you, then, affection's men at arms. L'!>0 
Consider what you first did swear unto, 
To fast, to study, and to see no woman ; 
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too 

young ; 
And abstinence eugenders maladies. 
And where that you have vow'd to study, 

lords, 
In that each of you have forsworn his book, 
(Jan you still dream and pore and thereon look ? 
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 
Have found the ground of study's excellence 
Without the beauty of a woman's face ? 
[From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ; 
They are the ground, the books, the academes 
From whence doth spring the true Promethean 

fire.] 
Why, universal plodding poisons up 
The nimble spirits in the arteries, 
As motion and long-during action tires 
The sinewy vigor of the traveller. 
Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
You have in that forsworn the use of eyes 310 
And study too, the causer of your vow ; 
For where is any author in the world 
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ? 
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself 
And where we are our learning likewise is : 
Then when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, 
Do we not likewise see our learning there ? 
O, we have made a vow to study, lords, 
And in that vow we have forsworn our books. 
For when would you, my liege, or yon, or yon. 
In leaden contemplation have found out 321 



76 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Act v. 



Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes 
Of beauty's tutors have enrich' d you v\ith ? 
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
And therefore, rinding barren practisers, 
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil : 
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
But, with the motion of all elements, 
Courses as swift as thought in every power, 
And gives to every power a double power, 331 
Above their functions and their offices. 
It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd : 
Love's feeling is more soft and sensible 
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in 

taste : 
For valor, is not Love a Hercules, 340 

Still climbing trees in the liesperides ? 
Subtle as Sphinx ; as sweet and musical 
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair : 
And when Love speaks, the voice of all the 

gods 
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
Never durst poet touch a pen to write 
Until his ink were temper' d with Love's sighs ; 
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears 
And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
From women's eyes this doctrine 1 derive : 350 
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
They are the books, the arts, the academes. 
That show, contain and nourish all the world : 
Else none at all in ought proves excellent. 
Then fools you were these women to forswear, 
Or keeping what is sworn, you will prove 

fools. 
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love, 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men, 
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women, 
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men, 
Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths. 
It is religion to be thus forsworn, 
For charity itself fulfils the law, 
And who can sever love from charity ? 
King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to 

the field ! 
Biron. Advance your standards, and upon 

them, lords ; 
Pell-mell, down with them ! but be first ad- 
vised, 
In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
Long. Now to plain-dealing ; lay these 

glozes by : 
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
King. And win them too : therefore let us 

devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 
Biron. First, from the park let us conduct 

them thither ; 
Then homeward every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace 

them, 



Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
For revels, dances, masks and merry hours 
Forerun fair Love, strewing her way with 
flowers. 
King. Away, away ! no time shall be 
omitted 
That will betime, and may by us be fitted. 
Biron. Allous ! allons ! Sow'd cockle reap'd 

no corn ; 
And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
Light wenches may prove plagues to men for- 
sworn ; 
If so, our copper buys no better treasure. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, arid 
Dull. 

]/<>!. Satis quod suflicit. 

Nath. 1 praise God for you, sir : your rea- 
sons at dinner have been sharp and senten- 
tious ; pleasant without scurrility, witty with- 
out affection, audacious without impudency, 
learned without opinion, and strange without 
heresy. 1 did converse this quondam day w ith 
a companion of the king's, who is intituled, 
nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armada 

Hoi. Novi hominem tanquani te : his hu- 
mor is lofty, his discourse peremptory, his 
tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait majes- 
tical, and his general behavior vain, ridicu- 
lous, and thrasonical. lie is too picked, too 
spruce, too affected, too odd, as it were, too 
peregrinate, as I may call it. 

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 
[Draws out his table-book. 

Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his ver- 
bosity finer than the staple of his argument. I 
abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such unsocia- 
ble and point-devise companions ; such rack- 
ers of orthography, as to speak dout, fine, 
when he should say doubt ; det, when he 
should pronounce debt, — d, e, b, t, not d, e, t : 
he clepeth a calf, cauf ; half, hauf : neighbor 
vocatur nebor ; neigh abbreviated ne. This 
is abhominable, — which he would call abbouu- 
inable : it insinuateth f me of insanie : anne 
intelligis, domine ? to make frantic, lunatic. 

Nath. Laus Deo, bene intelligo. 30 

Hoi. Bon, bon, fort bonj Priscian ! a little 
scratch'd, 'twill serve. 

Nath. Videsne quis venit ? 

Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 

Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 

Arm. Chirrah ! [To Moth. 

Hoi. Qua re chirrah, not sirrah ? 

Arm. Men of peace, well encountered, 

Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 

Moth. [Aside to Costard] They have been 
at a great feast of languages, and stolen the 
scraps. 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



Cost. O, they have lived long on the alms- 
basket of words. I marvel thy master hath 
not eaten thee for a word ; for thou art not so 
long by the head as honorificabilitudinitati- 
bus : thou art easier swallowed than a flap- 
dragon. 

Moth. Peace ! the peal begins. 

Arm. [To Hoi.] Monsieur, are you not 
lettered ? 

Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn- 
book. What is a, b, spelt backward, with the 
horn on his head ? 51 

Hoi. Ba, pucritia, with a horn added. 

Moth. Ba, most silly sheep with a horn. 
You hear his learning. 

Hoi. Quis, quia, thou consonant ? 

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you 
repeat them ; or the fifth, if I. 

JIol. I will repeat them, — a, e, i, — 

Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes 
it, — o, u. GO 

Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Medi- 
terranean!, a sweet touch, a quick venue of 
wit ! snip, snap, quick and home ! it rejoiceth 
my intellect : true wit ! 

Moth. Offered by a child to an old man ; 
which is wit-old. [ure ? 

Hoi. What is the figure ? what is the fig- 

Moth. Horns. 

Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant : go, 
whip thy gig. 70 

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, 
and 1 will whip about your infamy circum 
circa, — a gig of a cuckold's horn. 

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, 
thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : 
hold, there is the very remuneration 1 had of 
thy master, thou halfpenny purse* of wit, thou 
pigeon-egg of discretion. O, an the heavens 
were so pleased that thou wert but my bastard, 
what a joyful father wouldst thou make me ! 
Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the fingers' 
ends, as they say. 

Hoi. O, I smell false Latin ; dunghill for 
unguem. 

Arm. Arts-man, preambulate, we will be 
singuled from the barbarous. Do you not 
educate youth at the charge-house on the top 
of the mountain? 

Hoi. Or mons, the hill. 

Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the 
mountain. 

Hoi. I do, sans question. 91 

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleas- 
ure and affection to congratulate the princess 
at her pavilion in the posteriors of this day, 
which the rude multitude call the afternoon. 

Hoi. The posterior of the day, most generous 
sir, is liable, congruent and measurable for 
the afternoon : the word is well culled, chose, 
sweet and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman, 
and my familiar, I do assure ye, very good 
friend: for what is inward between us, let it 
pass. 1 do beseech thee, remember thj cour- 
tesy ; I beseech thee, apparel thy head : and 



among other important and most serious de- 
signs, and of great import indeed, too, but let 
that pass : fori must tell thee, it will please 
his grace, by the world, sometime to lean upon 
my poor shoulder, and with his royal finger, 
thus, dally with my excrement, with my inus- 
tachio ; but, sweet heart, let that pass. By 
the world, I recount no fable : some certain 
special honors it pleaseth his greatness to im- 
part to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, 
that hath seen the world ; but let that pass. 
The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, 1 do 
implore secrecy, — that the king would have mf 
present the princess, sweet chuck, with some 
delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or 
antique, or firework. Noav, understanding that 
the curate and your sweet self are good at such 
eruptions and sudden breaking out of mirth, 
as it were, 1 have acquainted you withal, to the 
end to crave your assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the 
Nine Worthies. Sir, as concerning some enter- 
tainment of time, some show in the posterior 
of this day, to be rendered by our assistants, 
at the king's command, and this most gallant, 
illustrate, and learned gentleman, before the 
princess ; I say none so fit as to present the 
Nine Worthies. 130 

Nath. Where will you find men worthy 
enough to present them ? 

Hoi. f Joshua, yourself ; myself and this 
gallant gentleman, Judas Maccabseus ; this 
swain, because of his great limb or joint, shall 
pass Pompey the Great; the page, Hercules, — 

Arm- Pardon, sir ; error : he is not quantity 
enough for that Worthy's thumb : he is not so 
big as the end of his club. 

Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall pre- 
sent Hercules in minority : his enter and exit 
shall be strangling a snake ; and I will have 
an apology for that purpose. 

Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of 
the audience hiss, you may cry ' Well done, 
Hercules ! now thou crushest the snake ! ' that 
is the way to make an offence gracious, though 
few have the grace to do it. 

Arm. For the rest of the Worthies ? — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 150 

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! 

Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ? 

Hoi. We attend. 

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an 
antique. I beseech you, follow. 

JIol. Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken 
no word all this while. 

Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 

Hbl. Allons ! we will employ thee. 

Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I 
will play 1(50 

On the tabor to the Worthies, and let them 
dance the hay. 

Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull ! To our sport, 
away ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The some. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, ROSALINE 
and Maria. 



73 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we 
depart, 
If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
A lady wall' d about with diamonds ! 
Look you what I have from the loving king. 
Uos. Madame, came nothing else along with 

that ? 
Prin. Nothing but this ! yes, as much love 
in rhyme 
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
Writ o' both sides the leaf, margent and all, 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 
Eos. That was the way to make his god- 
head wax, 10 
For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
Kaih. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows 

too. 
Eos. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; a' 

kill'd your sister. 
Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and 
heavy ; 
And so she died : had she been light, like you, 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
She might ha' been a grandam ere she died : 
And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 
Eos. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of 

this light word ? 
Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 20 
Bos. We need more light to find your mean- 
ing out. [snuff ; 
Kath. You'll mar the light by taking it in 
Therefore I'll darkly end the argument. 
Uos. Look, what you do, you do it still i' 

the dark. 
Kath. So do not you, for you are a light 

wench. 
Uos. Indeed I weigh not you, and therefore 

light. 
Kath. You weigh mc not ? 0, that's you 

care not for me. 
Uos. Great reason ; for * past cure is still 

past care.' 
Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well 
play'd. 
But, Rosaline, you have a favor too : 30 

"Who sent it ? and what is it ? 

Bos. I would you knew : 

An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
My favor were as great ; be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, 1 thank Biron : 
The numbers true ; and, were the numbering 

too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
1 am compared to twenty thousand fairs. 
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 
Prin. Any thins like ? 
Eos. Much in the letters ; nothing in the 
praise. 40 

Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 
Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
Ros. 'Ware pencils, ho ! let me not die your 
debtor, 
My red dominical, my golden letter : 
O that your face were not so full of O's ! 
K><th. A pox of that j est I and I beshre w all 
shrows. 



Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you 

from fair Dumain ? 
Kath. Madam, this glove. 
Prin. Did he not send you twain ? 

Kath. Yes, madam, and moreover 
Some thousand verses of a faithf ul lover, 50 
A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
Vilely compiled, profound simplicity. 
Mar. This and these pearls to me sentLon- 
gaville : 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 
Prin. I think no less. Dost thou not wish 
in heart 
The chain were longer and the letter short ? 
Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might 

never part. 
Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers 

so. 
Eos. They are worse fools to purchase 
mocking so. 
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go : CO 

that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
How I would make him fawn aud beg and seek 
And wait the season and observe the times 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymej 
And shape his service wholly to my bests 
And make him proud to make me proud that 

jests ! 
f So perttaunt-like would I o'ersway his state 
That he should be my fool and I his fate. 
Prin. None are so surely caught, when they 
are catch' d, 69 

As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 
Hath wisdom's warrant and the help of school 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
Eos. The blood of youth burns not with 
such excess 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 
Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a 
note 
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply 
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
Prin. Here comes Boyet, aud mirth is in 
his face. 

Enter Boyet. 

Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! 
Where's her grace ? 80 

Prin. Thy news, Boyet? 
Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! 

Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
Against your peace : Love doth approach dis- 
guised, 
Armed in arguments ; you'll be surprised . 
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence; 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly 
hence. 
Prin. Saint Denis to Saint Cupid ! What 
are they 
That charge their breath against us ? say, 
scout, say 
Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore 

1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; 
When, lo ! to interrupt my purposed rest, 01 
Toward that shade I might behold add rest 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



79 



The king and his companions : warily 

I stole into a neighbor thicket by, 

And overheard what yon shall overhear ; 

That, by and by, disguised they will be here. 

Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 

That well by heart hath comi'd his embassage: 

Action and accent did they teach him there ; 

' Thus must thou speak,' and ' thus thy body 

bear : ' 100 

And ever and anon they made a doubt 
Presence majestical would put him out ; 
1 For,' quoth the king, ' an angel shalt thou see; 
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously.' 
The boy replied, 'An angel is not evil ; 
I should have fear'd her had she been a devil.' 
With that, all laugh'd and clapp'd him on the 

shoulder, 
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder : 
One rubb'd his elbow thus, and fleer'd and 

swore 
A better speech was never spoke before ; 110 
Another, with his finger and his thumb, 
Cried, ' Via ! we will do't, come what will 

come ;' 
The third he caper'd, and cried, 'All goes well ; ' 
The fourth turn'd on the toe, and clown he fell. 
With that, they all did tumble on the ground, 
With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 
That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 
Prin. But what, but what, come they to 

visit us ? 
Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparell'd 

thus, 120 

Like Muscovites or Russians, as I guess. 
Their purpose is to parle, to court and dance ; 
And every one his love-feat will advance 
Unto his several mistress, which they'll know 
By favors several which they did bestow. 
Prin. And will they so ? the gallants shall 

be task'd ; 
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ; 
And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. 
Hold, Rosaline, this favor thou shalt wear, 130 
And then the king will court thee for his dear ; 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me 

thine, 
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. 
And change your favors too ; so shall your 

loves 
Woo contrary, deceived by these removes. 
Ros. Come on, then ; wear the favors most 

in sight. 
Kath. But in this changing what is your 

intent ? 
Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross 

theirs : 
They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
And mock for mock is only my intent. 140 

Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook, and so be mock'd withal 
Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
With visages display'd, to talk and greet. 
Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us 

to't? 



Prin. No. to the death, we will not move a 
foot ; 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace, 
But while 'tis spoke each turn away her face. 
Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the 
speaker's heart, 
And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
Prin. Therefore 1 do it ; and I make no 
doubt 151 

The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
There's no such sport as sport by sport o'er- 

thrown, 
To make theirs ours and ours none but our 

own : 

So shall we stay, mocking intended game, 

And they, well mock'd, depart away with 

shame. [Trumpets sound within. 

Boyet. The trumpet sounds : be mask'd ; 

the maskers come. [The Ladies mask. 

Enter Blaekamoors with music; Moth; the 
King, Biron, L< >n<; a ville, and Domain, in 
Russian habits, and masked. 

Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the 

earth ! — 
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames. 
[The Ladies turn their backs to him. 
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal 
views ! 
Biron. [Aside to Moth] Their eyes, villain, 

their eyes. 
Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal 
views !— 
Out— 
Boyet. True ; out indeed. 
Moth. Out of your favors, heavenly spirits, 
vouchsafe 
Not to behold — 
Biron. [Aside to Moth] Once to behold, 

rogue. 
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beam- 
ed eyes, 

with your sun-beamed eyes — 

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ; 

You were best call it ' daughter-beamed eyes. ' 

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings 

me out. 
Biron. Is this your perfectness ? be gone, 
you rogue ! [Exit Moth. 

Ros. What would these strangers ? know 
their minds, Boyet : 
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
That some plain man recount their purposes : 
Know what they would. 
Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visi- 
tation. 
Ros. What would they, say they ? ISO 

Boyet. Nothing but peace and gentle visi- 
tation. 
Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so 

be gone. 
Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may 
be gone. [miles 

King, Say to her, we have measured many 



PA 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act 



To tread a measure with her on this grass. 
Boyet. They say, that they have measured 
many a mile 
To tread a measure with you on this grass. 
Ros. It is not so. Ask them how many 
inches 
Is in one mile : if they have measured many, 
The measure then of one is easily told. 190 
Boyd. If to come hither you have measured 
miles, 
And many miles, the princess bids you tell 
How many inches doth fill up one mile. 
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary 

steps. 
Boyet. She hears herself. 
Bos. How many weary steps, 

Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
Are number' d in the travel of one mile ? 
Biron. We number nothing that we spend 
for you : 
Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
That we may do it still without accompt. 200 
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
That we, like savages, may worship it. 
Ros. My face is but a" moon, and clouded 

too. 
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such 
clouds do ! 
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, 

to shine, 
Those clouds removed, upon our watery eyhe. 
Bos. vain petitioner ! beg a greater mat- 
ter ; 
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the 
water. 
King. Then, in our measure do but vouch- 
safe one change. 
Thou bid'st me beg : this begging is not strange. 
Ros. Play, music, then ! Nay, you must do 
it soon. • [Music plays. 211 

Not yet ! no dance ! Thus change I like the 
moon. 
King. Will you not dance ? How come you 

thus estranged ? 
Ros. You took the moon at full, but now 
she's changed. [man. 

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the 
The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
King. ^ But your legs should do it. 

Ros. Since yon are strangers and come here 
by chance, 
We'll not be nice : take hands. We will not 
dance. 
King. Why take we hands, then ? 
Ros. Only to part friends : 220 

Curtsy, sweethearts : and so the measure ends. 
King. More measure of this measure ; be 

not nice. 
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
King. Prize you yourselves : what buys 

your company ? 
Ros. Your absence only. 
King. " That can never be. 

Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so, 
adieu j 



Twice to your visor, and half once to you. 
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more 

chat. 
Ros. In private, then. 
King. I am best pleased with that. 

[They converse apart. 
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet 
word with thee. 2^0 

Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there 

is three. 
Biron. Nay then, two treys, and if you 
grow so nice, 
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey : well run, dice! 
There's half-a-dozen sweets. 

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu : 

Since you can cog, I'll play no more with you. 
Biron. One word in secret. 
Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou grievest my gall. 
Prin. Gall ! bitter. 

Biron. Therefore meet. 

[They converse apart. 
Bum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change 

a word ? 
Mar. Name it. 
Bum. Fair lady, — 

Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, — 

Take that for your fair lady. 

Bum. Please it you, 210 

As much in private, and I'll bid adieu, 

[They converse apart. 
Kath. What, was your vizard made with- 
out a tongue ? 
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you. 
ask. [long. 

Kath. O for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I 
Long. You have a double tongue within 
your mask, 
And would afford my speechless vizard half. 
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman. Is not 

' veal ' a calf ? 
Long. A calf, fair lady ! 
Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let's part the word. 
Kath. No, I'll not be your half : 

Take all, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. 250 
Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these 
sharp mocks ! 
Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. 
Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do 

grow. 
Long. One word in private with you, ere I 

die. 
Kath. Bleat softly then ; the butcher hears 
you cry. [They converse <ij>:trt. 

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches 

arc as keen 
As is the razor's edge invisible. 
Cutting a smaller hair than may lie seen, 
Above the sense of sense ; so sensible 
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have 
wings 2(30 

Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, 
swifter things. 
Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break 
off, break off. 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



81 



Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure 

scoff ! 
King. Farewell, mad wenches ; you have 

simple wits. 
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovite. 
[Exeunt King, Lords, and Blackamoors. 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? 
Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet 

breaths puff'd out. 
Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, 

gross ; fat, fat. 
Prin. poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout ! 
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to- 
night ? 270 
Or ever, but in vizards, show their faces ? 
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
Eos. O, they were all in lamentable cases ! 
The king was w r eeping-ripe for a good word. 
Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all 

suit. 
Mar. D amain was at my service, and his 

sword : 
No point, quoth I ; my servant straight was 

mate. 
Kath. Lord Longaville said. I came o'er his 

heart ; 
And trow you what he called me ? 
Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kath. Yes, in good faith. 
Prin. Go, sickness as thou art ! 280 

Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain stat- 
ute-caps. 
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith 

to me. 
Kath. And Longaville was for my service 

born. 
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on 

tree. 
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give 
ear : 
Immediately they will again be here 
In their own shapes ; for it can never be 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 
Prin. Will they return ? 
Boyet. They will, they will, God knows, 
And leap for jov, though they are lame with 
bh.ws : 2:il 

Therefore change favors ; and, when they re- 
pair, 
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 
Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be 

understood. 
Boyet. Fair ladies mask'd are roses in their 
bud ; 
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture 

shown, 
f Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we 
do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 
Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be ad- 
vised, 
Let's mock them still, as well known as dis- 
guised : 
Let us complain to them what fools were here 



Disguised like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ; 
And wonder what they were and to what end 
Their shallow shows and prologue vilely 

penn'd 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are 

at hand. 
Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run o'er 

land. 
[Exeunt Princess, Rosaline, Katharine, and 

Maria. 

Re-enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 
Dumain, in their proper habits. 
King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where's 

the princess ? 310 

Boyet. Gone to her tent. Please it your 

majesty 
Command me any service to her thither ? 
King. That she vouchsafe me audience for 

one word. 
Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my 

lord. [Exit. 

Biron. This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons 

pease, 
And utters it again when God doth please : 
He is wit's pedler, and retails his wares 
At wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, 

fairs : 
And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, 
Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; 
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve ; 
A' can carve too, and lisp : why, this is ho 
That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy ; 
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honorable terms : nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly ; and in ushering 
Mend him who can : the ladies call him sweet; 
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: 
This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
To show his teeth as white as whale's bone ; 
And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with 

my heart, 
That put Armado's page out of his part ! 
Biron. See where it comes ! Behavior, 

what wert thou 
Till 'tins madman show'd thee ? and what art 

thou now ? 

R -cnivr the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; 
Rosaline, Maria, and Katharine. 

King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time 
of day ! 

Prin. ' Fair ' in ' all hail ' is foul, as I con- 
ceive. 

King. Construe my speeches better, if you 
may. 

Prin. Then wish me better ; I will give you 
leave. 

King. We came to visit you, and purpose 
now 

To lead you to our court ; vouchsafe it then, 
6 



82 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



I Act v. 



Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold 

your vow : 
Nor God, nor I, delights in perjured men. 
King. Rebuke me not lor that which you 

provoke : 
The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 
Prin. You nickname virtue ; vice you 

should have spoke ; 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure 351 

As the unsullied lily, 1 protest, 
A world of torments though 1 should endure, 
I would not yield to be your house's guest ; 
So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
King. O, you have lived in desolation here, 
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ; 
We have had pastimes here and pleasant 
game : 3G0 

A mess of Russians left us but of late. 
King. How, madam ! Russians ! 
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ; 

Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state. 
Ros. Madam, speak true. It is not so, my 
lord : 
My lady, to the manner of the days, 
In courtesy gives undeserving praise. 
We four indeed confronted were with four 
In Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour, 
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, 
They did not bless us with one happy w^ord. 
I dare not call them fools ; but this 1 think, 371 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have 
drink. 
Biron. This jest is dry to me. Fair gentle 
sweet, 
Your wit makes wise things foolish : when we 

greet, 
With eyes best seeing, heaven's fiery eye, 
By light we lose light : your capacity 
Is of that nature that to your huge store 
Wise things seem foolish and rich things but 
poor. 
Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in 

my eye, — 
Biron. 1 am a fool, and full of poverty. 
Ros. But that you take what doth to you 
belong, '381 

It were a fault to snatch words from my 
tongue. sess ! 

Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I pos- 
Ros. All the fool mine ? 
Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Ros. Which of the vizards was it that you 

wore ? 
Biron. Where ? when ? what vizard ? why 

demand you this ? 
Ros. There, then, that vizard ; that super- 
fluous case 
That hid the worse and show'd the better face. 
King. We are descried ; they'll mock us 

now downright. 
Dmn. Let us confess and turn it to a jest. 
Prin. Amazed, my lord ? why looks your 
liighness sad ? 391 



Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! 
Why look you pale ? 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. 
Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues 

for perjury. 
Can any face of brass hold longer out ? 
Here stand I : lady, dart thy skill at me ; 
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a 
flout ; [ranee ; 

Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my igno- 
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 
And I will wish thee never more to dance, 400 

Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
0, never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 

Nor to the motion of a schoolbc >•, s tongue, 
Nor never come in vizard to my friend, 
Nor w r oo in rhyme, like a blind harper's 
song ! 
Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three-piled hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 
I do forsw r ear them ; and I here protest, 410 
By this white glove, — how white the hand, 
God knows ! — 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be ex- 
press' d 
In russet yeas and honest kersey noes : 
And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 
Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage : bear with me, I am sick ; 
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see : 
Write, ' Lord have mercy on us ' on those 

three ; 
They are infected ; in their hearts it lies ; 420 
They have the plague, and caught it of your 

eyes ; 
These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
Prin. No, they are free that gave these 

tokens to us. 
Biron. Our states are forfeit : seek not to 

undo us. 
Ros. It is not so ; for how can this be true, 
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 
Biron. Peace ! for I will not have to do 

with you. 
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
Biron. Speak for yourselves ; my wit is at 
an end. 430 

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
transgression 
Some fair excuse. 

Prin. The fairest is confession. 

Were not you here but even now disguised ? 
Kinr/. Madam, I was. 
Prin. And were you well advised ? 

King. I was, fair madam. 
Prin. When you then were here, 

What did you whisper in your lady's ear ? 
King. That more than all the world I did 

respect her. 
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you 
will reject her. 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LA130UR y S LOST. 



83 



King. Upon mine honor, no. 
Prin. Peace, peace ! forbear : 

Y"our oath once broke, you force not to for- 
swear. 440 
King. Despise me, when I break this oath 

of mine. 
Prin. I will : and therefore keep it. R< (sa- 
line, 
'What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 
Eos. Madam, he swore that he did hold me 
dear 
As precious eyesight, and did value me 
Above this world ; adding thereto moreover 
That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 
Prin. God give thee joy of him ! the noble 
lord 
Most honorably doth uphold his word. 
King. What mean you, madam ? by my 
life, my troth, 450 

I never swore this lady such an oath. 
Eos. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm 
it plain, 
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
King. My faith and this the princess I did 
'give : 
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she 
wear ; 
And Lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear. 
What, will you have me, or your pearl again ? 
Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both 
twain. 
I see the trick on't : here was a consent, 460 
Knowing aforehand of our merriment, 
To dash it like a Christmas comedy : 
Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight 

zany, 
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, 

some Dick, 
That smiles his cheek in years and knows the 

trick 
To make my lady laugh when she's disposed, 
Told our intents before ; which once disclosed. 
The ladies did change favors : and then we, 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 470 
We are again forsworn, in will and error. 
Much upon this it is: and might not you 

[To Boyet, 
Forestall our sport, to make us thus untrue? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squier, 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye'.' 
And staud between her back, sir, and the fire, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? 
You put our page out: go, you are a'llow'd ; 
Die when you will, a smock shall be your 

shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye 
Wounds like a leaden sword. 481 

Boyet. Full merrily 

Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight! Peace! 
I have done. 

Enter Costard. 
Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 



Cost. Lord, sir, they would know 
Whether the three Worthies shall come in oi 
no. 
Biron. What, are there but three ? 
Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 

For every one pursents three. 

Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 

Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; 1 
hope it is not so. 
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; 
we know what we know : 490 

I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir,— • 
Biron. Is not nine. 

Cost Under correction, sir, we know where- 
until it doth amount. 

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes 
for nine. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should 
get your living by reckoning, sir. 
Biron. How much is it ? 
Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, 
the actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth 
amount : for mine own part, I am, as they say, 
but to parfect one man in one poor man, Poiii- 
pion the Great, sir. 
Biron. Art thou one of the Worthies ? 
Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy 
of Pompion the Great : for mine own part, I 
know not the degree of the Worthy, but I am 
to stand for him. 
Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 510 

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will 
take some care. [Exit. 

King. Biron, they will shame us : let them 

not approach. 
Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord : aud 
'tis some policy 
To have one show worse than the king's and 
his company. 
King. I say they shall not come. 
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'errule 
you now : 
That sport best pleases that doth least know 

how : 
t Where zeal strives to content, and the con- 
tents 
Dies in the zeal of that which it presents : 
Their form confounded makes most form in 

mirth, 
When great things laboring perish in their 
birth. 
Biron. A right description of our sport, my 
lord. 

Enter Armado. 

Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expense 
of thy royal sweet breath as will utter a brace 
of words. 

[Converses apart ivith the King, and 
delivers him a paper. 

Prin. Doth this man serve God ? 

Biron. Why ask you ? 

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's 
making. 

Ann. That is all one, my fair, sweet, honey 
monarch ; lor, I protest, the schoolmaster i» 



84 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act v. 



exceeding fantastical ; too too vain, too too 
vain : but we will put it, as they say, to for- 
tuna de la guerra. I wish you the peace of 
mind, most royal couplement ! [Exit 

King. Here is like to be a good presence of 
Worthies. He presents Hector of Troy ; the 
swain, Pompey the Great ; the parish curate, 
Alexander ; Armado's page, Hercules ; the 
pedant, Judas Maccabseus : 540 

And if these four Worthies in their first show 

thrive, 
These four will change habits, and present 
the other five, 
Biron. There is five in the first show. 
King. You are deceived ; 'tis not so. 
Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
priest, the fool and the boy : — 
T Abate throw at novum, and the whole world 

again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in 
his vein. 
King. The ship is under sail, and here she 
comes amain. 

Enter Costard, for Pompey. 
Cost. I Pompey am, — 
Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 550 

Cost. I Pompey am, — 
Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker : I must needs 

be friends with thee. 
Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnamed the 

- LJ1 JDi 

Bum. The Great. 

Cost. It is, ' Great,' sir : — 

Pompey surnamed the Great ; 
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did 

make my foe to sweat : 
And travelling along this coast, I here am 

come by chance, 
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet 

lass of France, 
If your ladyship would say, ' Thanks, Pompey,' 
I had done. 
Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 560 
Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but I hope I 
was perfect : I made a little fault in ' Great.' 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey 
proves the best Worthy. 

Enter Sir Nathaniel, for Alexander. 

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the 

world's commander ; 
By east, west, north, and south, I spread my 

conquering might : 
My scutcheon plain declares that I am Alis- 

ander, — 
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; 

for it stands too right. 
Biron. Your nose smells ' no ' in this, most 

tender-smelling knight. 
Prin. The conqueror is dismay' d. Proceed, 

good Alexander. 570 

Nath. When in the world I lived, I was the 

world's commander, — 
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, 

Alisander. 



Biron. Pompey the Great, — 

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take 
away Alisander. 

Cost. [To Sir Nath.] 0, sir, you have over- 
thrown Alisander the conqueror ! You will 
be scraped out of the painted cloth for this : 
your lion, that holds his poll-axe sitting on a 
close-stool, will be given to Ajax : he will be 
the ninth Worthy. A conqueror, and afeard 
to speak ! run away for shame, Alisander. 
[Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; 
a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, 
and soon dashed. He is a marvellous good 
neighbor, faith, and a very good bowler : but, 
-for Alisander, — alas, you see how 'tis, — a little 
o'erparted. But there are Worthies a-coming 
will speak their mind in some other sort. 590 

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 

Enter Hoeofernes, for Judas ; and Moth, 
for Hercules. 

Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this 
imp, 

Whose club kill'd Cerberus, that three- 
headed canis ; 

And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 
Thus did he strangle serpents in his 
manus. 

Quoniam he seemeth in minority, 

Ergo I come with this apology. 
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 

[Moth retires. 
Judas I am, — 

Bum. A Judas ! 600 

Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. 
Judas I am. ycliped Maccabseus. 

Bum. Judas Maccabyeus dipt is plain 
Judas. 

Biron. A kissing traitor. How art thou 
proved Judas ? 

Hoi. Judas I am, — 

Bum. The more shame for you, Judas. 

Hoi. What mean you, sir ? 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 

Hoi. Begin, sir ; you are my elder. 

Biron. Well followed : Judas was hanged 
on an elder. 610 

Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hoi. What is this ? 

Boyet. A cittern-head. 

Bum. The head of a bodkin. 

Biron. A Death's face in a ring. 

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, 
scarce seen. 

Boyet. "The pommel of Cresar's falchion. 

Bum. The carved-bone face on a flask. 

Biron. Saint George's half-cheek in a 
brooch. 620 

Bum. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth- 
drawer. 
And now forward ; for we have put thee in 
countenance. 

Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 



Scene ii.) 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



85 



Biron. False ; we have given thee faces. 
Hoi. But you have out-faced them all. 
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 
Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him 

go. 
And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou 

stay ? 
Bum. For the latter end of his name. 630 
Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; give it 

him :— Jud-as, away ! 
Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not 

humble. 
Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas ! it 

grows dark, he may stumble. 

[Hoi. retires. 
Prin. Alas, poor Maccabseus, how hath he 

been baited ! 

Enter Armado, for Hector. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles : here 
comes Hector in arms. 

Bum. Though my mocks come home by 
me, I will now be merry. 

Kinq. Hector was but a Troyan in respect 
of this. 640 

Boyet. But is this Hector ? 

King. I think Hector was not so clean-tim- 
bered. 

Long. His leg is too big for Hector's. 

Bum. More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hectpr. 

Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes 
faces. 

Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the 
almighty, 650 

Gave Hector a gift, — 

Bum. A gilt nutmeg. 

Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. 

Bum. No, cloven. 

Arm. Peace ! — 
The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ; 
A man so breathed, that certain he would 
fight ; yea 
From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that flower, — 661 

Bum. That mint. 

Long. That columbine. 

Arm. Sweet Lord Longaviile, rein thy 
tongue. 

Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it 
runs against Hector. 

Bum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 

Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and 
rotten ; sweet chucks, beat not the bones of 
the buried : when he breathed, he was a man. 
But I will forward with my device. [7b the 
Princess] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the 
sense of hearing. 670 

Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much 
delighted. 

Arm. 1 do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. [Aside to Bum.] Loves her by the 
foot. 



Bum. [Aside to Boyet] He may not by the 
yard. 

Arm. This Hector far surmounted Han- 
nibal, — 

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she 
is gone ; she is two months on her way. 

Arm. What meanest thou ? 630 

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest 
Troyan, the poor wench is cast away : she'e 
quick ; the child brags in her belly already : 
'tis yours. 

Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among 
potentates ? thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped for Ja- 
quenetta that is quick by him and hanged for 
Pompey that is dead by him. 

Bum. Most rare Pompey ! 

Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 690 

Biron. Greater than great, great, great, 
great Pompey ! Pompey the Huge ! 

Bum. Hector trembles. 

Biron. Pompey is moved. More Ates, 
more Ates ! stir them on ! stir them on ! 

Bum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if a' have no more man's blood 
in's belly than will sup a flea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge 
thee. 

Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a 
northern man : I'll slash ; I'll do it by the 
sword. I bepray you, let me borrow my arms 
again. 

Bum. Room for the incensed Worthies ! 

Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. 

Bum. Most resolute Pompey ! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a button- 
hole lower. Do you not see Pompey is uncas- 
ing for the combat ? What mean you ? You 
will lose your reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen and soldiers, pardon me ; 
I will not combat in my shirt. 710 

Bum. You may not deny it : Pompey hath 
made the challenge. 

Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 

Biron. What reason have you for't ? 

Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no 
shirt ; I go wool ward for penance. 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoined him in 
Rome for want of linen : since when, I'll be 
sworn, he wor. none but a dishclout of Jaque- 
nctta's, and that a' wears next his heart for a 
favor. 

Enter Mercade. 

Mer. God save you, madam ! 

Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
But that thou interrupt' st our merriment. 

Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I 
bring 
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father— 

Prin. Dead, for my life ! 

Mer. Even so ; my tale is told. 7;!0 

Biron. Worthies, away ! the scene begins 
to cloud. 

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free 
breath. I have seen the day of wrong through 



86 



LOVE'S LABOURS LOST. 



[Act v. 



the little hole of discretion, and I will right 
myself like a soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. 

King. How fares your majesty ? 
Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to- 
night. 
King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, 

stay. 
Prin. Prepare, I say. I thank you, gra- 
cious lords, 
For all vour fair endeavors ; and entreat, 740 
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
In your rich wisdom to excuse or hide 
The liberal opposition of our spirits, 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
In the converse of breath : your gentleness 
Was guilty of it. Farewell, worthy lord ! 
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue : 
Excuse me so, coming too short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily obtain' d. 
King. fThe extreme parts of time extremely 
forms 750 

All causes to the purpose of his speed, 
And often at his very loose decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate : 
And though the mourning brow of progeny 
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love 
The holy suit which fain it would convince, 
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
From what it purposed ; since, to wail friends 

lost 
Is not by much so wholesome-profitable 760 
As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
Prin. 1 understaud you not : my griefs 

are double. 
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the 
ear of grief ; 
And by these badges understand the king. 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
Play'd foul play with our oaths : your beauty, 

ladies, 
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our hu- 
mors 
Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains, 770 

All wanton as a child, skipping and vain, 
Form'd by the eye and therefore, like the eye, 
Full of strange shapes, of habits and of forms, 
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
To every varied object in his glance : 
Which parti-coated presence of loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, 
Have misbecomed our oaths and gravities, 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
Suggested us to make. Therefore, ladies, 780 
Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, 
By being once false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, 
Thus purifies itself and turns to grace. 
Prin. We have received your letters full of 
love ; 
Your favors, the ambassadors of love ; 
And, in our maiden council, rated them 



At courtship, pleasant jest and courtesy, 790 
As bombast and as lining to the time : 
But more devout than this in our respects 
Have we not been ; and therefore met youi- 

loves 
In their own fashion, like a merriment. 

Bum. Our letters, madam, show'd much 
more than jest. 

Long. So did our looks . 

Bos. We did not quote them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the 
hour, 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short- 

To make a world-without-end bargain in. 
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjured much, 
Full of dear guiltiness; and therefore this: 801 
If for my love, as there is no such cause, 
You wili do aught, this shall you do for me : 
Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 
There stay until the twelve celestial signs 
Have brought about the aniuuu reckoning. 
If this austere insociable life 
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 
If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds 
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
But that it bear this trial and last love ; 
Then, at the expiration of the year, 
Come challenge me, challenge me by these 

deserts, 
And, by this virgin palm now kissing thine, 
I will be thine ; and till that instant shut 
My woeful self up in a mourning house, 
Raining the tears of lamentation 
For the remembrance of my father's death. 820 
If this thou do deny, let our hands part, 
Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

King. If this, or more than this, I would 
deny, 

To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 

Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 
[Biron. And what to me, my love ? and what 
to me ? 

Bos. You must be purged too, your sins are 
rack'd, 
You are attaint with faults and perjury : 
Therefore if you my favor mean to get, 830 
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
But seek the weary beds of people sick.] 

Bum. But what to me, my love ? but what 
to me ? 
A wife ? 

Kath. A beard, fair health, and honesty ; 
With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 

Bum. O. shall I say, I thank you, gentle 
wife ? 

Kath. Not so, my lord ; a twelvemonth and 
a day [say : 

I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers 
Come when the king doth to my lady come ; 
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 

Bum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till 
then. " S41 



Scene ii-I 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



87 



Kath. Yet swear uot, lest ye be forsworn 

again. 
Long. What says Maria ? 
Mar, At the twelvemonth's end 

I'll change ray black gown for a faithful friend. 
Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time 

is long. 
Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 
Biron. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on 
me ; 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
What humble suit attends thy answer there : 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 850 
Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my Lord 
13 iron, 
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks, 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts, 
Which you on all estates will execute 
That lie" within the mercy of your wit. 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful 

brain, 
And therewithal to win me, if you please, 
Without the which I am not to be won, 
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to 
day 860 

Visit the speechless sick and still converse 
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall 

be, 
With all the fierce endeavor of your wit 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat 
of death ? 
It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 
Ros. Why, that's the w r ay to choke a gibing 
spirit, 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 871 

Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, 
Deaf'd with the clamors of their own dear 

groans, 
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, 
And 1 will have you and that fault withal ; 
But if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
And I shall find you empty of that fault, 
Right joyful of your reformation. 
Biron. A twelvemonth ! well ; befall what 
will befall, 880 

I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 

Prin. [To the King] Ay, sweet my lord ; and 

so 1 take my leave. 
King. No, madam ; we will bring you on 
your way. [old play ; 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an 
Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a, comedy. 
King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth 
and a day, 
And then 'twill end. 
Biron. That's too long for a | 

Re-enter A km ado. 
Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,— 



Prin, Was not that Hector ? 

Dam. The worthy knight of Troy. 890 

Ann. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take 
leave. I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaque- 
netta to hold the plough for her sweet love 
three years. But, most esteemed greatness, 
will you hear the dialogue that the two learned 
men have compiled in praise of the owl and 
the cuckoo ? it should have followed in the 
end of our show. 

King. Call them forth quickly ; we will do 
so. 

Arm. Holla ! approach. 900 

Re-enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, 
Costard, and others. 

This side is Hiems, Winter, this Ver,the Spring; 
the one maintained by the owl, the other by 
the cuckoo. Ver, begin. 

The Song. 
Spring. 

When daisies pied and violets blue 
And lady-smocks all silver-white 

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 
Do paint the meadows with delight, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 

Cuckoo ; 910 

Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men ; for th us sings he, 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 920 

Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

Winter. 

When icicles hang by the wall 
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail 

And Tom bears logs into the hall 
And milk comes frozen home in pail, 

When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul, 

Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
Tu-whit ; 

Tu-who, a merry note, 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 930 

When all aloud the wind doth blow 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw 

And birds sit brooding in the snow 
And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 

Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
Tu-whit ; 

Tn- who, a merry note, 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

Arm,. The words of Mercury a re harsh after 
the songs of Apollo, You that way : we tin* 
way. [Ejpeunk 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



(WRITTEN ABOUT 1591. 



INTRODUCTION. 

This is Shakespeare's one farcical play. Its sources of laughter lie almost wholly in the situa» 
tionsand incidents, hardly at all in the characters. The spectator of the play is called upon to 
accept much that is improbable and all but impossible ; not, as in A Midsummer Night's Dream, 
for the sake of freer play of imagination, and because the world pictured by the poet is a fairy-world 
of romantic beauty and grotesqueness, but for the sake of mere fun and laughter-stirring surprises. 
So cleverly, however, are the incidents and persons entangled and disentangled, so rapidly does 
surprise follow surprise, that we are given no time to raise difficulties or oiler objections. The 
subject of the comedy is the same as tiiat of the Menaechmi of Plautus — mistakes of identity arising 
from the likeness of twin-born children. How Shakespeare made acquaintance with Plautus has 
not been ascertained; possibly through William Warner's translation of the Menaechmi, seen in 
manuscript before its publication in 1595 ; more probably through an earlier play, not now extant. 
To the twins of the Menaechmi , Shakespeare has added a second pair of brothers, the twins Droniio. 
This does not make the improbability of the whole seem greater, but rather the reverse ; for the fun 
is doubled, and where so much is incredible we are carried away and have no wish but to yield our- 
selves up to belief in the incredible for the time being, so as to enter thoroughly into the jest. 
Shakespeare added other characters — the Duke Solinus (when he can he always introduces a duke), 
xEgeon, Balthazar, Angelo, the Abbess, and Luciana; and he alters the character of the married 
brother, Antipholus, from the repulsive Menaechmus of Plautus, with whom we can have little sym- 
pathy, into a person who at least is not base and vicious. The scene he transfers from Epidamnum 
to Ephesus, that city which had an evil repute for its roguery, licentiousness, and magical 
practices, a city in which such errors might be supposed to be the result of sorcery and witchcraft. 
(See Act I., Sc. II., L. 97—102.) To Shakespeare belongs wholly the serious background, from which 
the farcical incidents stand out in relief — the story of the Syracusan merchant who almost forfeits 
his life in the search for his lost children, and finally recovers both the lost ones and his own liberty. 
The date of the play cannot be exactly determined, but it is certainly one of the very earliest. " In 
what part of her body stands .... France?" asks Antipholus of Syracuse, questioning Dromio 
about the ki^chen-wehch, who is so large and round that she has been compared to a globe ; and 
Dromio answers : " In her forehead, armed and reverted, making war against her heir." (Act 
III., Sc. II., L. 125—127). France was in a state of civil war, fighting for and against her heirj 
Henri IV., from August, 1589, until shortly before his coronation in February, 1594. In 1591, Henri 
received the assistance of troops from England, commanded by the Earl of Essex. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Solinus, duke of Ephesus. 
^Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse. 

Antipholus of Ephesus, ) twin toners, and 

Antipholus of Syracuse, ( sons *> ^ eon aud 
J ' ) iEmiha. 

Dromio of Ephesus,)*™ brothers, and at- 
Dromio of Syracuse pendants on the two 

J ) Antipholuses. 

Balthazar, a merchant. 
Angelo, a goldsmith. [cuse. 

First Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syra- 



Second Merchant, to whom Angelo is a debtor. 
Pinch, a schoolmaster. 

^Emilia, wife to iEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus 
Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 
Luciana, her sister. 
Luce, servant to Adriana. 
A Courtezan. 

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 

Scene : Ephesus* 



ACT I. 

Scene I. A hall in the Duke's palace. 

Enter Duke, ^Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and 
other Attendants. 



sEge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall 
And by the doom of death end woes and all. 
Duke. Merchant of Syracuse, plead no 
more ; 
I am not partial to infringe our laws : 
(88> 



Scene i.] 



TDZE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



C9 



The enmity and discord which of late 
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your 

duke 
,To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, 
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives 
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their 

bloods, 
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 11 

'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, 
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns 
Nay, more, 

If any born at Ephesus be seen 
At any Syracusian marts and fairs ; 
Again : if any Syracusian born 
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 20 

His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose, 
Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
To quit the penalty and to ransom him. 
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; 
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die. 
/Ege. Yet this my comfort : when your 

words are done, 
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
Duke. Well, Svracusian, say in brief the 

cause 29 

Why thou departed'st from thy native home 
And for what cause thou earnest to Ephesus. 
/Eye. A heavier task could not have been 

imposed 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
Yet, that the world may witness that my end 
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave. 
In Syracusa was I born, and wed 
Unto a woman, happy bat for me, 
And by me, had not our hap been bad. 
With her I lived in joy ; our wealth increased 
By prosperous voyages I often made 41 

To Epidamnum ; till my factor's death 
And the great care of goods at random left 
Drew me from kind embracements of my 

spouse : 
From whom my absence was not six months 

old 
Before herself, almost at fainting under 
The pleasing punishment that women bear, 
Had made provision for her following me, 
And soon and safe arrived where I was. 
There had she not been long, but she became 
A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 51 

And, which was strange, the one so like the 

other, 
As could not be distinguished but by names. 
That very hour, and in the self-same inn, 
A meaner woman was delivered 
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike 
Those, — for their parents were exceeding 

poor, — 
I bought and brought up to attend my sons. 
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
Made daily motions for our home return : iX) 
Unwilling I agreed. Alas 1 too soon, 



We came aboard. 

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 
Before the always wind-obeying deep 
Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 
But longer did we not retain much hope ; 
For what obscured light the heavens did grant 
Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
Which though myself would gladly have em- 
braced, 70 
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 
Weeping before for what she saw must come, 
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 
That mo urn' d for fashion, ignorant what to 

fear, 
Forced me to seek delays for them and me. 
And this it was, for other means was none : 
The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us 
My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 
Had fasten' d him unto a small spare mast, 80 
Such as seafaring men provide for storms ; 
To him one of the other twins Mas bound, 
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other : 
The children thus disposed, my wife and I, 
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
Dispersed those vapors that offended us ; 1)0 
And, by the benefit of his wished light, 
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 
Two ships from far making amain to us, 
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 
But ere they came, — (), let me say no more ! 
Gather the sequel by that went before. 
Duke. Nay, forward, old man ; do not 

break off so ; 
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
sE;/e. O, had the gods done so, I had not 

now 
Worthily term'd them merciless to us ! 100 
For, ere the ships could meet by twice live 

leagues, 
We were encounter' d by a mighty rock ; 
Which being violently borne upon, 
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst 
So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
Fortune had left to both of us alike 
What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe, 
Was carried with more speed before the wind; 
And in our sight they three were taken up 111 
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
At length, another ship had seized on us ; 
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck 'd 

guests ; 
And would have reft the fishers of their prey, 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail ; 
And therefore homeward did they bend their 

course. 
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my 

bliss, 



90 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act i. 



That by misfortunes was my life prolong' d, 
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 121 

Duke. And for the sake of them thou sor- 
rowest for, 
Do me the favor to dilate at full 
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. 

JSge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest 
care, 
At eighteen years became inquisitive 
After his brother : and importuned me 
That his attendant — so his case was like, 
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name — 
Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see, 131 
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved. 
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ; 
Hopeless to find, 'yet loath to leave unsought 
Or that or any place that harbors men. 
But here must end the story of my life ; 
And happy were I in my timely death, 
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 140 

Duke. Hapless JEgeon, whom the fates 
have mark'd 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap ! 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
But, though thou art adjudged to the death 
And passed sentence may not be recall'd 
But to our honor's great disparagement, 
Yet I will favor thee in what I can. 150 

Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day 
To seek thy life by beneficial help : 
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
And live ; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. 
Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 

Gaol. I will, my lord. 

sEr/c. Hopeless and helpless doth iEgeon 
wend, 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The Marl. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, Dromio of 
Syracuse, and First Merchant. 

First Mer. Therefore give out you are of 

Epidamnum, 
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
This very day a Syracusian merchant 
Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
And not being able to buy out his life 
According to the statute of the town, 
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. 
There is your money that I had to keep. 
Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where 

we host, 
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 10 
Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, 
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
And then return and sleep within mine inn, 
For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
Get thee awaj. 



Dro. S. Many a man would take you at 
your word, 
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit. 
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 
When I am dull with care and melancholy, 20 
Lightens my humor with his merrj jests. 
What, will you walk with me about the town, 
And then go to my inn and dine with me ? 
First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain mer- 
chants, 
Of whom I hope to make much benefit* 
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock, 
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart 
And afterward consort you till bed-time : 
My present business calls me from you now. 
Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose 
myself 30 

And wander up and down to view the city. 
First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own 
content. [Exit. 

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own 
content 
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
I to the world am like a drop of water 
That in the ocean seeks another drop, 
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, 
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself : 
So I, to find a mother and a brother, 
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 40 

Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 

Here comes the almanac of my true date. 

What now ? how chance thou art return'd so 
soon ? 
Dro. E. Return'd so soon ! rather ap- 
proach'd too late : 

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit, 

The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; 

My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 

She is so hot because the meat is cold ; 

The meat is cold because you come not home ; 

You come not home because you have no stom- 
ach ; 

You have no stomach having broke your fast ; 

But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray 51 

Are penitent for your default to-day. 
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, 
I pray : 

Where have you left the money that I gave yoi '. ? 
Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wed- 
nesday last 

To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ? 

The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. 
Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humor now; 

Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ? 

We being strangers here, how darest thou trust 

So great a charge from thine own custody? 01 
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit ax 
dinner : 

I from my mistress come to you in post ; 

If I return, I shall be post indeed, 

For she will score your fault upon my pate. 

Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your 
clock, 

And strike you home without a messenger 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



01 



Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests 
are out of season ; 
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. 
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 70 
Di'o. E. To me, sir ? why, you gave no gold 

to me. 
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your 
foolishness, 
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge. 
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you 
from the mart 
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to din- 
ner : 
My mistress and her sister stays for you. 

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me 
In what safe place you have hestow'd my 

money, 
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours 
That stands on tricks when 1 am undisposed : 80 
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ? 
Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon 
my pate, 
Some of my mistress' marks upon my should- 
ers, 
But not a thousand marks between you both. 
If [ should pay your worship those again, 
Perchance you will not bear them patiently. 
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ? what mis- 
tress, slave, hast thou ? 
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at 
the Phoenix.: 
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner, 
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. 
Ant. 8. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto 
my face, 91 

Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave. 
Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for God's 
sake, hold your hands ! 
Nay, and you wiil not, sir, I'll take my heels. 

[Exit. 
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or 
other 
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
They say this town is full of cozenage, 
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, 
Soul-killing witches that deform the body, 100 
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
And many such-like liberties of sin : 
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave : 
I greatly fear my money is not sale. [Exit. 



ACT II. 



Scene I. The house of Antipholus of 
Ephesus. 
Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave 
return'd, 
That in such haste I sent to seek his master S 
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited 
him. 



And from the mart he's somewhere gone to 

dinner. 
Good sister, let us dine and never fret : 
A man is master of his liberty : 
Time is their master, and, when they see time, 
They'll go or come : if so, be patient, sister. 
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours bo 
more ? 10 

Luc. Because their business still lies out o' 
door. | it ill. 

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes 
Luc (), know he is the bridle of your will. 
Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled 

so. 
Luc. AVhy, headstrong liberty islash'd with 
woe. 
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
Are their males' subjects and at their controls: 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 20 
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas, 
Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
Are masters to their females, and their lords . 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep 

unwed. 
Jalc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage- 
bed. 
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would 

bear some sway. 

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. 

Adr. How if your husband start some other 

where ? 30 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would 

forbear. 
Adr. Patience unmoved ! no marvel though 
she pause ; 
They can be meek that have no other cause. 
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity, 
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ; - 
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
As much or more we should ourselves com- 
plain : 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve 

. thee, 
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve 

me ; 
But, if thou live to sec like right bereft, 10 
Tins fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try. 
Here comes your man; now is your husband 
nigh. 

Enter Dkomio of Ephesus. 

Adr. Say, is you r tardy master nowat hand? 

Dro. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me, 
and that my two ears can witness. 

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? 
know'stthou his mind ? 

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine 
ear : 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst 
not feel his meaning 2 51 



92 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act it. 



Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could 
too well feel his blows ; and withal so doubt- 
fully that I could scarce understand them. 

Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? 
It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is 

horn-mad. 
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ! 
Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad ; 

But, sure, he is stark mad. 
When I desired him to come home to dinner, 60 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
' Tis dinner-time,' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' quoth 

he : 
' Your meat doth burn,' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' 

quoth he : 
' Will you come home ? ' quoth I ; ' My gold ! ' 

quoth he. 
'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, 

villain ? ' 
' The pig,' quoth I, ' is burn'd ; M My gold ! ' 

quoth he : 
' My mistress, sir,' quoth I ; ' Hang up thy 
mistress ! 

I know not thy mistress ; out on thy mistress ! ' 

Luc. Quoth who ? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master : 70 

I I know,' quoth he, ' no house, no wife, no 

mistress.' 
So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; 
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch 

him home. 
Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten 
home ? 
For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate 

across. 
Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with 
other beating : 
between you I shall have a holy head. 80 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant ! fetch thy 

master home. 
Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you 
with me, 
That like a football you do spurn me thus ? 
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me 

hither : 
If I last in this service, you must case me in 
leather. [Exit. 

Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth in your 

face ! 
Adr. His company must do his minions 
grace, 
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek ? then he hath wasted it: 
Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ? 91 
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard : 
Do their gay vestments his affections bail ? 
That's not my fault : he's master of my state: 
What ruins are in me that can be found, 
By him not ruin'd ? then is he the ground 
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair 



A sunny look of his would soon repair : 

But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale 100 

And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale 

Luc. Self-harming jealousy ! fie, beat it 
hence ! 

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs 
dispense. 
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; 
Or else what lets it but he would be here ? 
Sister, you know he promised me a chain ; 
Would that alone, alone he would detain, 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
I see the jewel best enamelled 
Will lose his beauty ; yet the gold bides still, 
That others touch, and often touching will 111 
f Wear gold : and no man that hath a name, 
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. 

Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jeal- 
ousy ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A public place. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 

Ant. 8. The gold I gave to Droniio is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
Is wander' d forth, in care to seek me out 
By computation and mine host's report. 
I could not speak with Droniio since at first 
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. 

Enter Dbomio of Syracuse, 
How now, sir ! is your merry humor alter'd? 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur ? you received no gold ? 
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou 
mad, 11 

That thus so madly thou didst answer me ? 
Dro. 8, What answer, sir ? when spake I 

such a word ? 
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an 

hour since. 
Dro. S. 1 did not see you since you sent me 
hence, 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave 
me. 
Ant. 8. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's 
receipt, 
And told' st me of a mistress and a dinner ; 
For which, 1 hope, thou felt'st I was displeased. 
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry 
vein : 20 

What means this jest ? I pray you, master, 
tell me. 
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in 
the teeth ? 
Think' st thou I jest ? Hold, take thou that, 
and that. [Beating him. 

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake ! now your 
jest is earnest : 
Upon what bargain do you give it me ? 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use you for my fool and chat with you, 
Your sauciness will jest upon my love 
And make a common of my serious hours. 



Scene ii.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



\)?. 



When the suu shines let foolish gnats make 
sport, 30 

But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
VI you will jest with me, know my aspect, 
And fashion your demeanor to my looks, 
Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 

Dro. «S". Sconce call you it ? so you would 
leave battering, I had rather have it a head : 
au you use these blows long, I must get a 
sconce for my head and insconce it too ; or 
else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders, 
lit it, [ pray, sir, why am I beaten ? 40 

Ant. S. Dost thou not know ? 

Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. 

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for they 
say every why hath a wherefore. 

Ant. 8. Why, first, — for flouting me ; and 
then, wherefore, — 
For urging it the second time to me. 

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus 
beaten out of season, 
When in the why and the wherefore is neither 

rhyme nor reason ? 
Well, sir, I thank you. 50 

Ant. S. Thank me, sir, for what ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that 
you gave me for nothing. 

Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give 
you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it 
dinner-time ? 

Dro. S. No, sir ; I think the meat wants 
that I have. 

Ant. 8. In good time, sir ; what's that ? 

Dro. S. Basting. > 

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. (50 

Dro. /$>'. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none 
of it. 

Ant. S. Your reason ? 

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric and pur- 
chase me another dry basting. 

Ant. 8. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time : 
there's a time for all things. 

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before 
you were so choleiic. 

Ant. S. By what rule, sir ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the 
plain bald pate of father Time himself. 71 

Ant. S. Let's hear it. 

Dro. 8. There's no time for a man to re- 
cover his hair that grows bald by nature. 

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and re- 
covery ? 

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and 
recover the lost hair of another man. 

Ant. 8. Why is Time such a niggard of 
hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? 

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he be- 
stows on beasts; and what he hath scanted 
men in hair he hath given them in wit. 

Ant. 8. Why, but there's many a man hath 
more hair than wit. 

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the 
wit to lose his hair. . 

Ant. 8. Why, thou didst conclude hairy 
men plain dealers without wit. 



Dro. 8. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost 
yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 00 

Ant. 8. For what reason ? 

Dro. 8. For two ; and sound ones too. 

Ant. 8. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 

Dro. 8. Sure ones, then. 

Ant. 8. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing 

Dro. 8. Certain ones then. 

Ant. 8. Name them. 

Dro. 8. The one, to save the money that 
he spends in trimming ; the other, that at 
dinner they should not drop in his porridge. 

Ant. S. You would all this time have 
proved there is no time for all things. 101 

Dro. 8. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no 
time to recover hair lost by nature. 
_ Ant. 8. But your reason was not substan- 
tial, why there is no time to recover. 

Dro. 8. Thus I mend it : Time himself is 
bald and therefore to the world's end will have 
bald followers. 

Ant. 8. I knew 'twould he a bald conclu- 
sion : 110 
But, soft ! who wafts us yonder "* 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and 

frown : 
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects ; 
I am not Adriana nor thy wife . 
The time was once when thou unurged wouldst 

vow 
That never words were music to thine ear, 
That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
That never touch well welcome to thy hand, 
That never meat sweet-savor' d in thy taste, 
Unless I spake, or look'd, ortouch'd, or carved 

to thee. 120 

How comes it now, my husband, O, how conies 

it, 
That thou art thus estranged from thyself ? 
Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 
That, undividable, incorporate, 
Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
Ah, do not tear away thyself from mo ! 
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall 
A drop of water in the breaking gulf 
And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
Without addition or diminishing, 130 

As take from me thyself and not me too. 
How dearly would it touch thee; to the quick 
Shouldst thou but hear 1 w_re licentious 
And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
By ruffian lust should be contaminate ! 
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me 
And hurl the name of husband in my face 
And tear the gtain'd skin oil' my harlot-brow 
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring 
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 140 
1 know thou canst ; and therefere see thou do 

it. 
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
For if we too be one and thou play false, 
1 do digest the poison of thy fieshi 
Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 



THE COMEDY OF EURO US. 



[Act lit. 



Keep then fair league and truce with thy true 

bed ; 
I live unstain'd, thou undishonored. 
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I 
know you not ; 
In Ephesus I am but two hours old. 150 

As strange unto your town as to your talk ; 
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, 
Want wit in all one word to understand. 
Luc. Fie, brother, how the world is changed 
with you! 
When were you wont to use my sister thus ? 
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
Ant. 8. By Dromio? 
Dro.S. Byrne? 

Adr. By thee ; and this thou didst return 
from him, 
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows, 160 
D ".lied my house for his, me for his wife. 
Ant. 8. Did you converse, sir with this 
gentlewoman? 
What is the course and drift of your compact ? 
Dro. 8. I, sir? I never saw her till this 

time. 
Ant. 8. Villain, thou liest ; for even her 
very words 
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
Dro. 8. I never spake with her in all my 

life. 
Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by 
our names, 
Unless it be by inspiration. 169 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood ! 
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, 
But wrong not that wrong with a more con- 
tempt. 
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: 
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, 
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger 

state, 
Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss ; 180 

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion. 
Ant. 8. To me she speaks; she moves me 
for her theme : 
What, was I married to her in my dream ? 
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this ? 
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ? 
Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread 

for dinner. 
Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a 
sinner. 190 

This is the fairy land : O spite of spites ! 
We talk with goblins, owls and sprites: 
If we obey them not, this will ensue, 
They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black 
and blue. 
Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself and an- 
swer 'st not ? 
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, 
thou sot! 



Dro 8. I am transformed, master, am I 

not? 
Ant. 8. I think thou art in mind, and so 

am I. 
Dro. 8. Nay master, both in mind and in 

my shape. 
Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
Dro. 8. No, I am an ape. 200 

Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to 

an ass. 
Dro. S. 'Tis true: she rides me and I long 
for grass. 
'Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be 
But I should know her as well as she knows 
me. 
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to 

scorn. 
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate. 
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. 210 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. 
Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well. 
Ant, S. Am I in earth, in heaven or in 
hell? 
Sleeping or waking ? mad or well-advised ? 
Known unto these, and to myself disguised ! 
I'll say as they say and persever so 
And in this mist at all adventures go. 
Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the 

gate? 

Adr. Ay : and let none enter lest I break 

your pate. 220 

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine toe, 

late. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. 



Before the house of Antipholus 
of Ephesus. 



Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of 
Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar. 

Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must 

excuse us all ; 
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours : 
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop 
To see the making of her carcanet, 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
But here's a villain that would face me down 
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, 
And charged him with a thousand marks in 

gold, 
And that I did deny my wife and house. 
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean 

by this? 10 

Dro. E. Say what you will sir, but I know 

what I know ; 
That you beat me at the mart, I have your 

hand to show ; 
If the skin were parchment, and the blows 

you gave were ink, 
Your own handwriting would tell you what I 

think. 
Ant. E. I think thou axt an ass. 






Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



95 



Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 

By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I hear. 
I should kick, being kick'd ; and, being at that 

pass, 
You would keep from my heels and beware of 
an ass. 
Ant. E. You're sad, Signior Bafttiazar : 
pray God our cheer 
May answer my good will and your good wel- 
come here. 20 
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and 

your welcome dear. 

Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at 

flesh or fish, [dish. 

A table full of Avelcome make scarce one dainty 

Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every 

churl affords. 
Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for 

that's nothing but words. 
Bed. Small cheer and great welcome makes 

a merry feast. 
Ant. E* Ay, to a niggardly host, and more 
sparing guest : 
But though my cates be mean, take them in 

good part ; 
Better cheer may you have, but not with better 

heart. 
But, soft ! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let 
us in. 30 

Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicel, 

Gillian, Ginn ! 
Dro. S. [ Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, 
coxcomb, idiot, patch ! 
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at 

the hatch. 
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st 

for such store, 
When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from 
the door. 
Dro E. What patch is made our porter ? 

My master stays in the street. 
Dro. S. [Within] Let him walk from 
whence he came, lest he catch cold on ! s 
feet. 
Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open 

the door ! 
Dro. S. [Within] Right, sir ; I'll tell you 

when, an you'll tell me wherefore. 
Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner : I 
have not dined to-day. 40 

Dro. S. [Within] Nor to-day here you must 

not ; come again when you may. 
Ant. E. What art thou that keepest me out 

from the house I owe ? 
Dro. S. [ Within] The porter for this time, 

sir, and my name is Dromio. 
Dro. E. O villain ! thou hast stolen both 
mine office and my name. 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle 

blame. 
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
Thou wouklst have changed thy face for a 
name or thy name for an ass. 
Luce. [Within] What a coil is there, Dro- 
mio ? who are those at the gate ? 
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. 



Luce. [Within] Faith, no ; he comes too 

late ; 
And so tell your master. 

Dro. E. Lord, I must laugh ! 

Have at you with a proverb — Shall I set in my 

staff ? 
Luce. [ Within] Have at you with another ; 

that's — When ? can you tell ? 
Dro. S. [Within] If thy name be call' dLnce, 

— Luce, thou hast answered him well. 
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll 

let us in, I hope ? 
Luce. [Within] I thought to have asked 

you. 
Dro. S. [ Within] And you said no. 
Dro. E. So, come, help : well struck ! 

there was blow for blow. 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
Luce. [Within] Can you tell for whose 

sake ? 
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
Luce. [Within] Let him knock till it ache. 
Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I 

beat the door down. 
Luce. [Within] What needs all that, and a 

pair of stocks in the town ? GO 

A dr. [ Within] Who is that at the door that 

keeps all this noise ? 
Dro. S. [Within] By my troth, your town 

is troubled with unruly boys. 
Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might 

have come before. 
Adr. [ Within] Your wife, sir knave ! go 

get you from the door. 
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this 

' knave ' would go sore. 
Am}. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor wel- 
come : we would fain have either. 
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall 

part with neither. 
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; 

bid them welcome hither. 
Ant. E. There is something in the wind, 

that we cannot i>et in. 
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your 

garments were thin. 70 

Your cake there is warm within ; you stand 

here in the cold : 
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so 

bought and sold. 
Ant. E. Go fetch me something : I'll break 

ope the gate. 
Dro. S. [Within] Break any breaking here, 

and I'll break your knave's pate. 
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, 

sir, and words are but wind, 
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it 

not behind. 
Dro. S. [Within] It seems thou want'st 

breaking : out upon thee, hind ! 
Dro. E. Here's too much ' out upon thee !' 

I pray thee, let me in. 
Dro. S. [Within] Ay, when fowls have no 

feathers and fish have no fin. 
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in : go borrow me 

a crow. 80 



96 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act hi. 



Di'o. E. A crow without leather ? Master, 
mean you so ? 
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without 

a leather : 
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow 
together. 
Ant. E. Go get thee gone ; fetch me an 

iron crow. 
Bal. Have patience, sir ; 0, let it not be 
so ! 
Herein you war against your reputation 
And draw within the compass of suspect 
The unviolated honor of your wife. 
Once this, — your long experience of her wis- 
dom, 
Her sober virtue, years and modesty, 90 

Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against 

you. 

Be ruled by me : depart in patience, 

And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, 

And about evening come yourself alone 

To know the reason of this strange restraint. 

If by strong hand you offer to break in 

Now in the stirring passage of the day, 

A vulgar comment will be made of it, 100 

And that supposed by the common rout 

Against your yet ungalled estimation 

That may with foul intrusion enter in 

And dwell upon your grave when you are 

dead ; 
For slander lives upon succession, 
For ever housed where it gets possession. 
Ant. E. You have prevail' d : I will depart 

in quiet, 
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse, 109 
Pretty and witty ; wild, and yet, too, gentle : 
There will we dine. This woman that I mean, 
My wife — but, I protest, without desert — 
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal : 
To her will we to dinner. [To Aug.] Get 

you home 
And fetch the chain ; by this I know 'tis made : 
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ; 
For there's the' house : that chain will I be- 
stow — 
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife — 
Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make 

haste. 
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain 

me. 121 

Ang. I'll meet you at that place some hour 

hence. 
Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me 

some expense. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. 
Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse. 

Luc. And may it be that you have quite 

forgot 
A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, 
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs 

rot? 



Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous ? 
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 
Then for her wealth's sake use her with 
more kindness : 
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; 
Muffle your false love with some show of 
blindness : 
Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ; 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ; 11 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger ; 
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be 
tainted ; 
Teach sin tho carriage of a holy saint ; 
Be secret-false : what need she be acquainted ? 
What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed 
And let her read it in thy looks at board : 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 

111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 20 
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe, 

Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
Though others have the arm, show us the 
sleeve ; 
We in your motion turn and you may move 
us. 
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain, 
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers 

strife. 
Ant. S- Sweet mistress, — what your name 

is else, I know not, 
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine, — 
Less in your knowledge and your grace you 
show not 31 

Than our earth's wonder, more than earth 
divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and 
speak ; 
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, 
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, 

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
Against my soul's pure truth why labor you 
To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
Are you a god ? would you create me new ? 
Transform me then, and to your power I'll 
yield. 40 

But if that I am I, then well I know 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mi no, 
Nor to her bed no homage do I OAve : 

Far more, far more to you do I decline. 
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy 
note, 
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears : 
Sing, siren, for thvseif and I will dote : 
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden 
hairs, 
And as a bed I'll take them and there lie, 

And in that glorious supposition think 50 
He gains by death that hath such means to 
die : 
Let Love, being light, be drowned if she 

sink ! 
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do rea- 
son so ? 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do 

not know. 
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your 

eye. 
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair 

sun, being by. 
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will 

clear your sight. 
Ant. 8. As good to wink, sweet love, as 

look on night. 
Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sis- 
ter so. 
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
Luc. That's my sister. 

Ant. S. No ; 60 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part, 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer 

heart, 
My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's 

aim, 
My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's 
claim. 
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am 
thee. 
Thee will I love and with thee lead my life : 
Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife. 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. • 0, soft, sir ! hold you still : 69 
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Ant. 8. Why, how now, Dromio ! where 
ruim'st thou so fast ? 

Dm. 8. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dro- 
mio ? am I your man ? am I myself ? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my 
man, thou art thyself. 

Dro. 8. I am an ass, I am a woman's man 
and besides myself. 

Ant. 8. What woman's man ? and how 
besides thyself ? 80 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due 
to a woman ; one that claims me, one that 
haunts me, one that will have me. 

Ant. 8. What claim lays she to thee? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you 
wOuld lay to your horse ; and she would have 
me as a beast : not that, I being a beast, she 
would have me ; but that she, being a very 
beastly creature, lavs claim to me. 

Ant. 8. What is she ? 90 

Dro. 8. A very reverent body ; ay, such a 
one as a man may not speak of without he say 
1 Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the 
match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat mar- 
riage ? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen weDch 
and all grease ; and 1 know not what use to 
put her to but to make a lamp ol* her and run 
from her by hei own light. 1 warrant, her 
rags and the tallow in them will bum a. Poland 
winter : if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn 
a week longer than the whole world. 

Ant. 8. What complexion is she of ? 



Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face 
nothing like so clean kept : for why, she 
sweats ; a man may go over shoes in the 
grime of it. 

Ant 8. That's a fault that water will 
mend. 

Dro. 8. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood 
could not do it. 

Aid. 8. What's her name ? 110 

Dro. 8. Nell, sir ; but her name and three 
quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will 
not measure her from hip to hip. 

Ant. 8 Then she bears some breadth ? 

Dro. 8. No longer from head to foot than 
frpm hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe; 
I could find out countries in her. 

Ant. 8. In what part of her body stands 
Ireland ? 120 

Dro. 8. Marry, sir, in her buttocks : I 
found it out by the bogs. 

Ant. 8. Where Scotland ? 

Dro. 8. I found it by the barrenness; hard 
in the palm of the hand. 

Ant. 8. Where France ? 

Dro. 8. In her forehead ; armed and re- 
verted, making war against her heir. 

Ant. 8. Where England ? 

Dro. 8. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I 
could find no whiteness in them ; but I guess 
it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that 
ran between France and it. 

Ant. 8. Where Spain ? 

Dro. 8. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it 
hot in her breath. 

Ant. 8. Where America, the Indies ? 

J)ro. 8. Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em- 
bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, 
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of 
Spain ; who sent whole armadoes of caracks 
to be ballast at her nose. 141 

Ant. 8. Where stood Belgia, the Nether- 
lands ? 

Dro. 8. h, sir. I did not look so low. To 
conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to 
me ; called me Dromio , swore 1 was assured 
to her ; told me what privy marks I had about 
me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in 
my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that 
I amazed ran from her as a witch : 
And, I think-, if my breast had not been made 
of faith and my heart of steel, 150 

She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and 
made me turn i' the wheel. 

Ant. 8. Go hie thee presently, post to the 
road : 
An if the wind blow any way from shore, 
I will not harbor in this town to-night : 
If any bark put forth, come to the mail, 
AY 'here I will walk till thou return to me. 
[f every one know-; ns and we know none, 
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be 
gone. [for life, 

Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run 
So fly 1 from her that would be my wife. [Exit. 

Ant. 8. There's none but witches do in- 
habit here ; 161 



98 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act iv. 



And therefore 'tis high time that I w«re hence. 
She that doth call me husband, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, 
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 
01' such enchanting presence and discourse, 
Hath almost made me traitor to myself : 
But, lest myself he guilty to self-wrong, 
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 

Eater Angelo with the chain. 

Ang. Master Antipholus, — 

Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 170 

Any. I know it well, sir : lo, here is the 

chain. 

I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine: 

The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 

Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do 

with this ? 
Any. What please yourself, sir : I have 

made it for you. 
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir S I bespoke it 

not. 
Any. Not once, nor twice, but twenty 
times you have. 
Go home with it and please your wife withal ; 
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you 
And then receive my money for the chain. 180 
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money 
now, 
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 
Any. You are a merry man, sir : fare you 
well. [Exit. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I can- 
not tell : 
But this I think, there's no man is so vain 
That would refuse so fair an offer' d chain. 
I see a man here needs not live by shifts, 
When in the streets he meets such golden 

gifts. 
I'll to the mart, and there for Drpmio stay : 
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



Scene 1. A public place. 

Enter Second Merchant, Angelo, and an 
Officer. 

Sea. Mer. You know since Pentecost the 
sum is due, 
And since I have not much importuned you ; 
Nor now 1 had not, but that I am bound 
To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage : 
Therefore make present satisfaction, 
Or I'll attach you by this officer. 
Any. Even just the sum that I do owe to 
you 
Is growing to me by Antipholus, 
And in the instant that 1 met with you 
He had of me a chain : at five o'clock 10 

1 shall receive the money for the same. 
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
1 will discharge my bond and thank you too. 
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio 
of Ephesus from the courtezan's. 



Off. That labor may you save : see where 

he comes. 
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's 
house, go thou 
And buy a rope's end : that will I bestow 
Among my wife and her confederates, 
For locking me out ol my doors by day. 
But, soft ! I see the goldsmith. Get thee 

gone ; 
Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me. 20 
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year : 1 
buy a rope. [Exit. 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts 
to you : 
I promised your presence and the chain ; 
But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. 
Belike you thought our love would last toe 

long, 
If it were chain' d together, and therefore 
came not. 
Any. Saving your merry humor, here's the 
note 
How much your chain weighs to the utmost 
carat, [ion. 

The fineness of the gold and ch;:rgeful fash- 
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 31 
I pray you, see him presently discharged, 
For he is bound to sea and stays but for it. 
Ant. E. I am not furnish' d with the pres- 
ent money ; 
Besides, I have some business in the tovui. 
Good signior, take the stranger to my house 
And with you take the chain and bid my wife 
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof : 
Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
Any. Then you will bring the chain to her 
yourself? 40 

Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I tome 

not time enough. 
Any. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain 

about you ? 
Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you 
have ; 
Or else you may return without your money. 
Any. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me 
the chain 
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, 
And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
Ant. E. Good Lord ! you use this dalliance 
to excuse 
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. 
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 50 
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
Sec. Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, 

sir, dispatch. 
Any. You hear how he importunes me ; — 

the chain ! 
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch 

your money. 
Any. Come, come, you know I gave it you 
even now. 
Either send the chain or send me by some 
token. 
Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humor out 
of breath, 



Scene ii.J 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



Come, where's the chain ? I pray you, let me 
see it. 
Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this 
dalliance. 
Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no: 
If not, I'll leave him to the officer. 61 

Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I an- 
swer you ? 
An;/. The money that you owe me for the 

chain. 
Ant. E. I owe you none till I receive the 

chain. 
Any. You know I gave it you half an hour 

since. 
Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong 

me much to say so. 
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying 
* it : 
Consider how it stands upon my credit. 
Sec. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my 

suit. 
Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's 
name to obey me. 70 

Ang. This touches me in reputation. 
Either consent to pay this sum for me 
Or I attach you by this officer. 
Ant . E. Consent to pay thee that I never 
had ! 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest. 

Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer, 
I would not spare my brother in this case, 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off'. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit. 
Ant.E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. 
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 81 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame ; I doubt it not. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse, from the bay. 

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epi- 
damnum 
That stays but till her owner comes aboard, 
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraught- 
age, sir, 
I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought 
The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae. 
The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 90 
Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at 

all 
But for their owner, master, and yourself. 
Ant. E. How now ! a madman ! Why, 
thou peevish sheep, 
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ? 
Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire 

waftage. 
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee 
for a rope ; 
And told thee to what purpose and what end. 
Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as 
soon : 
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark . 

Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more 
leisure 100 

And teach your ears to list me with more heed. 
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight : 



Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
That's cover' d o'er with Turkish tapestry, 
There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it : 
Tell her I am arrested in the street 
And that shall bail me ; hie thee, slave, be 

gone ! 
On, officer, to prison till it come. 

[Exeunt Sec. Merchant, Angclo, Officer, 

and Ant. E. 
Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where we 
dined, 
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her hus- 
band : 110 
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
Thither I must, although against my will, 
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. 

[Exit 

Scene II. The house of Antipholus of 

Ephesus. 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
That he did plead in earnest ? yea or no ? 

Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? 
What observation madest thou in this case 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? 
Luc. First he denied you had in him no 

right . 
Adr. He meant he did me none ; the more 

my spite. 
Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger 

here. 
Adr. And true he swore, though yet for- 
sworn he were. 10 
Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
Adr. And what said he ? 
Luc. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd 

of me. 
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy 

love? 
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might 
move. 
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. 
Adr. Didst speak him fair ? 
Luc. Have patience, I beseech 

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; 
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have 

his will. 
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, 
Ill-laced, worse bodied, shapeless every where : 
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, 21 
Stigmatical in making, worse in ni'nd. 
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a 
one ? 
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 

Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say, 
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse. 
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away : 
My heart prays for him, though my tongue 
do curse. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
Dro. S. Here ! go ; the desk, the purse 

sweet, now, make haste. 
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 



100 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



| Act iv. 



Dro. S. By running fast. 30 

Adr. Where is thy master, Drouiio ? is lie 

well ? 
Dro. S. No, lie's in Tartar limbo, worse than 
hell. 
f A devil in an everlasting garment hath hi in ; 
One whose hard heart is button' d up with 

steel ; 
A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough ; 
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff ; 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that 

countermands 
The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow 

lands ; 
A hound that runs counter and yet draws dry- 
foot well ; 
One that before the judgement carries poor 
souls to hell. 40 

Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ? 
Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 

'rested on the case. 
Adr. What, is he arrested ? Tell me at 

whose suit. 
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is ar- 
rested well ; 
But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him,that 

can 1 tell. 
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the 
money in his desk ? 
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit Lueiana.] 
This I wonder at, 
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt. 
Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? 
Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger 
thing ; 50 

A chain, a chain ! Do you not hear it ring ? 
Adr. What, the chain ? 
Dro. S. No, no, the bell : 'tis time that I 
were gone : 
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock 
strikes one. 
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never 

hear. 
Dro. S. O, yes ; if any hour meet a ser- 
geant, a' turns back for very fear. 
Adr. As if Time were in debt ! how fondly 

dost thou reason ! 
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes 
more than he's worth, to season. 
Nay, he's a thief too : have you not heard men 

say, 
That Time comes stealing on by night and 
day ? 60 

If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in 

the way, 
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a 
day? 

Re-enter Luciana with a purse. 

Adr. Go, Dromio ; there's the money, bear 
it straight, 
And bring thy master home immediately. 
Come, sister : I am press'd down with con- 
ceit — 
Conceit, my comfort and my injury. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene III. A public place. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth 

salute me 
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; 
And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me ; some invite me ; 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
Some offer me commodities to buy : 
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop 
And show'd me silks that he had bought for 

me 
And therewithal took measure of my body. 
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles 10 

And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me 
for. What, have you got the picture of old 
Adam new-apparelled ? 

Ant. S. What gold is this ? what Adam 
dost thou mean ? 

Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Para- 
dise, but that Adam that Keeps the prison : he 
that goes in the calf's skin that was killed for 
the Prodigal ; he that came behind you, .sir, 
like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your 
liberty. 20 

Ant. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that 
went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather ; the 
man,- sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives 
them a sob and 'rests them ; he, sir. that takes 
pity on decayed men and gives them suits of 
durance ; he that sets up his rest to do more 
exploits with his mace than a morris-pike, 

Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer ? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; 
he that brings any man to answer it that 
breaks his band ; one that thinks a man always 
going to bed and says ' God give you good 
rest ! ' 

Ant. S. Well, r,ir, there rest in your foolery. 
Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we 
be gone ? 

Dro. 8. Why, sir, I brought you word an 
hour since that the bark Expedition put foith 
to-night ; and then were you hindered by the 
sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here 
are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. 

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
And here we wander in illusions : 
Some blessed pchver deliver us from hence ! 

Enter a Courtezan. 
Cour. Well met, well met, Master Anti- 
pholus. 
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
Is that the chain you promised me to-day ? 
Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt 

me not. 

Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan ? 

Ant. S. It is the devil. 50 

Dro. *S'. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's 

dam ; and here she comes in the habit ot a 

light wench : and thereof comes that the 



Scene iv.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



101 



wenches say ' God damn me ; ' that's as much 
to say ' God make me a light wench.' It is 
written, they appear to men like angels of 
light : light is an effect of lire, and fire Avill 
burn ; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come 
not near her. 

Coiir. Your man and you are marvellous 
merry, sir. 
Will you go with me ? We'll mend our dinner 
* here ? GO 

Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon- 
meat ; or bespeak a long spoon. 

Ant. S. Why, Dromio ? 

Dro. S. Marry, ho must have a long spoon 
that must oat with the devil. 

Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tcll'st thou 
me of supping ? 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : 
1 conjure thee to leave me and be gone. 

Coar. Give me the ring of mine you had at 
dinner, 
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised, 
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 71 

Dro. 8. Some devils ask but the parings of 
one's nail, 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
A nut, a cherry-stone ; 

But she, more covetous, would have a chain. 
Master, he wise : an if you give it her, 
The devil will shake her chain and fright us 
with it. 

Cow. 1 pray you, sir, my ring, or else the 
chain : 
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. 

Ant. S. Avaunt. thou watch ! Come, Dromio, 
let us go, 80 

Dro. S. ' Fly pride,' says the peacock : mis- 
tress, that you know. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S- 

Cour. Now, out of doubt Antipho] us is mad, 
Else would he never so demean himself. 
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
And for the same he promised me a chain : 
Both one and other lie denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad, 
Besides this present instance of his rage, 
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner, 
Of liis own doors being shut against his en- 
trance. ( J0 
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, 
On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
My way is now to hie home to his house, 
And tell his wife that, being lunatic, 
He rush'd into my house and took perforce 
My ring away. This course I fittest choose ; 
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. 

Scene IV. A street. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and the Officer. 

Ant. E. Fear me not, man ; I will not break 
away : 
I'll give thee ,*ere I leave thee, so much money, 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day, 
And will not lightly trust the messenger. 
That I should be attach' d in Ephesus, 



I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. 
Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope's-end. 
Here comes my man ; I think he brings the 

money. 
How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for ? 

Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay 
them all. 10 

Ant. E. But where's the money ? 

Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the 
rope. 

Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a 
rope ? 

Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at 
the rate. 

Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee 
home ? 

Dro. E. To a rope's-end, sir ; and to that 
end am I returned. 

Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome 
you. [Beating him. 

Of. " (iood sir, be patient. 20 

Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; 1 
am in adversity. 

Off Good; now, hold thy tongue. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold 
his hands. 

Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 

Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that 
I might not feel your blows. 

A at. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but 
blows, and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may 
prove it by my long ears. I have served him 
from the hour of my nativity to this instant, 
and have nothing at his hands for my service 
but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with 
beating ; when j am warm, he cools me with 
beating ; I am waked with it when I sleep ; 
raised with it when I sit ; driven out of doors 
with it when I go from home ; welcomed home 
with it when I return ; nay, I bear it on my 
shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, I 
think, when he hath lamed me, I shall beg 
with it from door to door. 

Ant. E, Come, go along ; my wife is com- 
ing yonder. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, the Courtezan, 

and Pinch. 
Dro. E. Mistress, ' respice finem,' respect 
your end ; or rather, f the prophecy like the 
parrot, ' beware the rope's-end.' 
Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? {Beating him. 
Cour. How say you now ? is not your hus- 
band mad ? 
Adr. His incivility confirms no less. 
Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 50 
Establish him in his true sense again, 
And I will please you what you will demand. 
Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he 

looks ! 
Cour. Mark how lie trembles in his ecstasy! 
Pinch. (Jive me your hand and let me feel 

your pulse. 
Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel 
your ear, [Striking him. 



102 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



TACT IT. 



Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within 

this man, 

To yield possession to my holy prayers 

And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight: 

I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven ! 60 

Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ! I am 

not mad. 
Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed 

soul ! 
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your 
customers ? 
Did this companion with the saffron face 
Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut 
And I denied to enter in my house ? 
Adr. husband, God doth know you dined 
at home ; 
Where would you had remain' d until this time, 
Free from these slanders and this open shame ! 
Ant. E. Dined at home ! Thou villain, what 
sayest thou ? 71 

Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine 

at home. 
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up and 

I shut out ? 
Dro. E. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and 

you shut out. 

Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me 

there ? [there. 

Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself reviled you 

Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, 

taunt, and scorn me ? 
Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal 

scorn' d you. 
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from 

thence ? 
Dro. E. In verity you did ; my bones bear 
witness, 80 

That since have felt the vigor of his rage. 
Adr. Is't good to soothe him in these con- 
traries ? 
Pinch. It is no shame : the fellow finds his 
vein, 
And yielding to him humors well his frenzy. 
Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith 

to arrest me. 
Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, 
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
Dro. E. Money by me ! heart and good-will 
you might ; 
But surely, master, not a rag of money. 
Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse 
of ducats ? 90 

Adr. He came to me and I deliver' d it. 
Luc. And I am witness with her that she 

did. 
Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me 
witness 
That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! 
Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is 
possess' d ; 
I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
They must be bound and laid in some dark 
room. 
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me 
forth to-day? 



And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 
Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee 
forth. 100 

Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no 
gold ; 
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak' st 
false in both. [in all; 

Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false 
And art confederate with a damned pack 
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : 
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false 

eyes 
That would behold in me this shameful sport. 

Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He 
strives. 

Adr. O, bind him, bind him ! let him not 

come near me. 
Pinch. More company ! The fiend is strong 
within him. 110 

Luc. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan 

he looks ! 
Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou 
gaoler, thou, 
I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them 
To make a rescue ? 

Off. Masters, let him go : 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
Pinch. Go bind this man, for he is frantic 
too. [They offer to bind Dro. E. 

Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish offi- 
cer ? 
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
Do outrage and displeasure to himself ? 

Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 120 
The debt he owes will be required of me. 
Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from 
thee : 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, 
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay 

it. 
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
Home to my house. O most unhappy day ! 
Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 
Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond 

for you. 
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore 
dost thou mad me ? 130 

Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be 

mad, good master : cry ' The devil ! ' 
Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they 

talk ! 
Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you 
with me. 

[Exeunt all but Adriana. Luciana, 
Officer and Courtezan. 
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 

Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith : do you know 

him ? 
Adr. I know the man. What is the sum he 

owes ? 
Off. Two hundred ducats. 
Adr. Say, how grows it due ? 

Off. Due for a chain your husband had of 
him. 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



103 



Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but 

had it not. 
Cour- When as your husband all in rage 
to-day 140 

Came to my house and took away my ring — 
The ring I saw upon his finger now — 
Straight after did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it. 
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith 

is : 
I long to know the truth hereof at large. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier 
drawn, and Dkomio of Syracuse. 

Luc. God, for thy mercy ! they are loose 

again. 

Adr. And come Avith naked swords. 

Let's call more help to have them bound again. 

Of. Away ! they'll kill us. 150 

[Exeunt ail but Ant. S. and Dro. S. 

Ant. S. I see these witches are afraid of 

swords. 
Dro. S. She that would be your wife now 

ran from you. 
Ant. S. Come to the Centaur ; fetch our 
stuff from thence : 
I long that we were safe and sound aboard. 

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night ; they 
will surely do us no harm : you saw-they speak 
us fair, give us gold : methinks they are such 
a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of 
mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could 
find in my heart to stay here still and turn 
witch. 160 

Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the 
town ; 
Therefore aAvay, to get our stuff aboard. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



Scene I. A street before a Priory. 

Enter Second Merchant and Angelo. 

Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder' d 
you ; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me, 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 
Sec. Mer. How is the man esteemed here in 

the city ? 
Any. Of very reverend reputation, sir, 
Of credit infinite, highly beloved, 
Second to none that lives here in the city : 
His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
Sec. Mer. Speak softly ; yonder, as I think, 
he w r alks. 

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dkomio 
of Syracuse. 

Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his 
neck 10 

Which he forswore most monstrously to have. 

Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. 

Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 

That you would put me to this shame ftnd 
trouble ; 



And, not without some scandal to yourself, 
With circumstance and oaths so to deny 
This chain which now you wear so openly : 
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend, 
Who, but for staying on our controversy, 20 
Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day : 
This chain you had of me ; can you deny it ? 
Ant. S. I think I had ; I never did deny it. 
Sec. Mer. Yes, that you did, sir, and for~ 

swore it too. 
Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it or for- 
swear it ? 
Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know' st, 
did hear thee. 
Fie on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity that thou livest 
To walk where any honest men resort. 
Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me 
thus : 
I'll ] trove mine honor and mine honesty 30 
Against thee presently, if thou darest stand. 
Sec. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a vil- 
lain. [They draw. 
Enter Adkiana, Luciana, the Courtezan, and 
others. 
Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ! 
he is mad. 
Some get within him, take his sword away : 
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, 
take a house ! 
This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd ! 
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. 

Enter the Lady Abbess. 

Abb. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng 

you hither ? 
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband 
hence. 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast 40 
And bear him home for his recovery. 
Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 
Sec. Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw 

on him. 
Abb. How long hath this possession held 

the man ? 
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, 
sad, 
And much different from the man he was ; 
But till this afternoon his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 
Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck 
of sea ? 
Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his 
eye 50 

Stray' d his affection in unlawful love ? 
A sin prevailing much in youthful men, 
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
Winch of these sorrows is he subject to '.' 

Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; 
Namely, some love that drew him oft from 
home. 
Abb. You should for that have reprehended 

him. 
Adr. Why. so I did. 

Ay, but not rouuh eflQU| 



104 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act 



Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let 

me. 
Abb. Haply, in private. 
Adr. And in assemblies too. 

Abb. Ay, but not enough. 61 

Adr. It was the copy of our conference : 
In bed he slept not for my urging it ; 
At board he fed not for my urging it ; 
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
In company I often glanced it ; 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 
Abb. And thereof came.it that the man was 
mad : 
The venom clamors of a jealous woman 
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy rail- 
ing, 71 
And therefore comes it that his head is light. 
Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy up- 

braidings : 
Unquiet meals make ill digestions ; 
Thereof the raging fire of lever bred ; 
And what's a fever but a fit of madness ? 
Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy 

brawls : 
Sweet recreation barr'd, Avhat doth ensue 
But moody and dull melancholy, 
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 80 
And at her heels a huge infectious troop 
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life ? 
In food, in sport and life-preserving rest 
To be disturb' d, would mad or man or beast : 
The consequence is then thy jealous fits 
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits. 
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, 
When he demean' d himself rough, rude and 

wildly. 
Why bear you these rebukes and answer not ? 
Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. 
Good people enter and lay hold on him. 91 
Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 
Adr. Then let your servants bring my hus- 
band forth. 
Abb. Neither : he took this place for sanc- 
tuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands 
Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
Or lose my labor in assaying it. 

Adr. I Avill attend my husband, be his nurse, 
Diet his sickness, for it is my office, 
And will have no attorne}- but myself ; 100 
And therefore let me have him home with me. 
Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir 
Till I have used the approved means I have, 
With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy 

prayers, 
To make of him a formal man again : 
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
A charitable duty of my order. 
Therefore depart and leave him here with me. 
Adr. I will not hence and leave my hus- 
band here : 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness 110 

To separate the husband and the wife. 
Abb. Be quiet and depart : thou shalt not 
have him. [Exit. 



Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indig- 
nity. 
Adr. Come, go : I will fall prostrate at his 
feet 
And never rise until my tears and prayers 
Have won his grace to come in person hither 
And take perforce my husband from the ab- 
bess. 
Sec. Mer. By this, 1 think, the dial points at 
five : 
Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale, 120 
The place of death and sorry execution, 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
Ang. Upon what cause ? 
Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusiau 
merchant, 
Who put unluckily into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
Beheaded publicly for his offence. 
Ang. See where they come: we will behold 

his death. 
Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the 
abbey. 

Enter Duke, attended ; ./Egeon bareheaded ; 
vnth the Headsman and other Officers. 

Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 
If any friend will pay the sum for him, 131 
He shall not die ; so much we tender him. 
Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the 

abbess ! 
Dul'e. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady : 
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. 
Adr. May it please .your grace, Antipholus, 

my husband, 
Whom I made lord of me and all 1 had, 
At your important letters, — this ill day 
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ; 
That desperately he hurried through the street, 
With him his bondman, all as mad as he, — 141 
Doing displeasure to the citizens 
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
Kings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound and sent him home, 
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
That here and there his fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, 
He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
And with his mad attendant and himself, 150 
Each one wfth ireful passion, with drawn 

swords, 
Met us again and madly bent on us, 
Chased us away ; till, raising of more aid, 
We came again to bind them. Then they fled 
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them : 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us 
And will not suffer us to fetch him out, 
Nor send him forth that we may bear him 

hence. 
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com- 
mand 
Let him be brought forth and borne hence for 

help. 
Duke. Long since thy husband served me 

in my wars, 101 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



105 



And I to thee engaged a prince's word, 
When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. 
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate 
And bid the lady abbess come to me. 
I will determine this before I stir. 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. mistress, mistress, shift and save 
yourself ! 
My master and his man are both broke loose, 
Beateii the maids a-row and bound the doctor, 
Whose beard they have singed off with brands 
of lire ; 171 

And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him 
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
My master preaches patience to him and the 

while 
His man with scissors nicks him like a fool, 
And sure, unless you send some present help, 
Between them they will kill the conjurer. 
Adr. Peace, fool ! thy master and his man 
are here, 
And that is false thou dost report to us. 

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, 1 tell you true; 
I have not breathed almost since I did see it. 
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, 
To scorch your face and to disfigure you/ 

[Cry within. 
Hark, hark ! I hear him, mistress: fly, begone! 
Duke. Come, stand by me ; fear nothing. 

Guard with halberds ! 
Adr. Ay me, it is my husband ! Witness 
you, 
That he is borne about invisible : 
Even now we housed him in the abbey here ; 
And now he's there, past thought of human 
reason. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of 
Ephesus. 
Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, 
grant me justice ! 190 

Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
When I bestrid thee in the wars and took 
Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me j ustice. 
JEge. Unless the fear of death doth make 
me dote, 
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. 
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that 
woman there ! 
She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife, 
That hath abused and dishonor' d me 
Even in the strength and height of injury ! 200 
Beyond imagination is the wrong 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on 
me. 
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find 

me just. 
Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the 
doors upon me, 
While she with harlots feasted in my house. 
Duke. A grievous fault ! Say, woman, didst 

thou so ? 
Adr. No, my good lord : myself, he and my 
sister 



To-day did dine together. So befall my soul 
As this is false he burdens me withal ! 
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on 
night, 210 

But she tells to your highness simple truth ! 
Ang. O perjured woman ! They are both 
forsworn : 
In this the madman justly chargeth them. 

An/. E. My liege, I am advised what 1 say, 
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, 
Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire. 
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman lock'd me out this day from din- 
ner : 
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with 

her, 
Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 220 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, 
Where Balthazar and 1 did dine together. 
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
I went to seek him : in the street I met him 
And in his company that gentleman. 
There did this perjured goldsmith swear me 

down 
That I this day of him received the chain, 
Which, God lie knows, I saw not: for the which 
He did arrest me with an officer. 230 

I did obey, and sent my peasant home 
For certain ducats : he with none return' d. 
Then fairly I bespoke the officer 
To go in person with me to my house. 
By the way we met 
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
Of vile confederates. Along with them 
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced 

villain, 
A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller, 
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, 
A living-dead man : this pernicious slave, 241 
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, 
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, 
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me, 
Cries out, I was possess' d. Then all together 
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence 
And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
There left me and my man, both bound to- 
gether ; 
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sun- 
der, 
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 250 
Ran hither to your grace ; whom 1 beseech 
To give me ample satisfaction 
For these deep shames and great indignities. 
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far 1 witness 
with him, 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee or 

no ? 
Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran 
in here, 
These people saw the chain about his neck. 
Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears 
of mine 
Heard you confess you had the chain of him 



106 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



[Act v. 



After you first forswore it on the mart : 261 
And thereupon I drew my sword on you ; 
And then you fled into this abhey here, 
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
Ant. E. 1 never came within these abbey- 
walls, 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me : 
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven ! 
And this is false you burden me withal. 
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is 
this ! 
I think you all have drank of Circe's cup. 270 
If here you housed him, here he would have 

been ; 
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : 
You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you ? 
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the 

Porpentine. 
Cour. He did, and from my finger snatch' d 

that ring. 

Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege ; this ring I had 

of her. here ? 

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey 

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your 

grace. 
Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the 
abbess hither. 280 

I think you are all mated or stark mad. 

[Exit one to the Abbess. 
yEge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me 
speak a word : 
Haply I see a friend will save my life 
And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou 

wilt. 
yEge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Anti- 
pholus ? 
And is not that your bondman, Dromio ? 
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman 
sir, 
But he, I thank him, gnaw'din two my cords : 
Now am I Dromio and his man unbound. 290 
yEge. lam sure you both of you remember 

me. 
Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by 
you ; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? 
yEge. Why look you strange on me ? you 

know me well. 
Ant. E, I never saw you in my life till now. 
yEge. 0, grief hath changed me since you 
saw me last, 
And careful hours with time's deformed hand 
Have written strange defeatures in my face : 
But tell me vet, dost thou not know my voice? 
Ant. E. Neither. 301 

yEge. Dromio, nor thou ? 
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 

yEge. I am sure thou dost. 
Dro. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not ; and 
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound 
to believe him. 
yEge. Not know my voice ! O time's ex- 
tremity, 



Hast thou so crack' d and splitted my pool 

tongue 
In seven short years, that here my only son 
Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares ? 
Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up, 
Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
My wasting lamps some lading glimmer left 
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
All these old witnesses — I cannot err- 
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 

yEge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, 

boy, 320 

Thou know'st we parted : but perhaps, my 

son, 
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery. 

Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in 
the city 
Can witness with me that it is not so : 
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time lie ne'er saw Syracusa : 
1 see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Re-enter Abbess, with Anthmioi.ts of Syra- 
cuse and Dkomio of Syracuse. 

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
wrong'd. [All gather to see them. '■Y.'O 
Aclr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes de- 
ceive me. 
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the 
other ; 
And so of these. Which is the natural man, 
And which the spirit ? who deciphers them ? 
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio ; command him 

away . 
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray, let me 

stay. 
Ant. S. vEejeon art thou not ? or else his 

ghost ?. 
Dro. S. O, my old master ! who hath bound 

him here ? 
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his 
bonds 
And gain a husband by his liberty. 340 

Speak, old /Egeon, if thou be'st the man 
That hadst a wife once call'd ^Emilia 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
O, if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak, 
And speak unto the same ^Emilia ! 

yEge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia : 
If thou art she, tell me where is that son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I 
And the twin Dromio all were taken up ; 350 
But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dromio and my son from them 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum. 
What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
I to this fortune that you see me in. 
J) tike. Why, here begins his morning story 
right ; 
These two Antipholuses, these two so like^ 






ran 










The Two Dromios. 



Comedy of Errors, p. 107 



Scene i.] 



THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



107 



And these two Dromios, one in semblance,- 
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,— 
These are the parents to these children, 360 
Which accidentally are met together. 
Autipholus, thou earnest from Corinth first ? 
Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syra- 
cuse, [is which. 
Duke Stay, stand apart ; I know not which 
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gra- 
cious lord, — 
Dro. E. And I with him. 
Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most 
famous warrior, 
Duke Meiiaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me 

to-day ? 
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
Adr. " And are not you my husband_? 

Ant E. No ; I say nay to that. 371 

Ant. S. And so do I ; yet did she call me so : 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
Did call me brother. [To Luc] What 1 told 

you then, 
I hope I shall have leisure to make good ; 
If this be not a dream I see and hear. 
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had 

of me. 
Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not. 
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrest- 
ed me. 380 
Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not. 
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not. 
'Dro. E. No, none by me. 
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received 
from you, 
And Dromio, my man, did bring them me. 
I see we still did meet each other's man, 
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, 
And thereupon these errors are arose. 
jilt. E. These ducats pawn I for my father 
here. [his life. 
Duke. It shall not need ; thy father hath 
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from 
you. 391 
Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks 
for my good cheer. 



Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the 
pains 
To go with us into the abbey here 
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : 
And all that are assembled in this place, 
That by this sympathized one day's error 
Have suffer' d wrong, go keep us company, 
And we shall make full satisfaction. 
Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail 
Of you, my sons ; and till this present hour 401 
My heavy burthen ne'er delivered. 
The duke, my husband and my children both, 
And you the calendars of their nativity, 
Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me ; 
After so long grief, such festivity ! 
Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this 
feast. [Exeunt all but Ant. $., Ant E., 
Dro. &.; and Dro. E. 
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from 

shipboard ? 
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast 

thou embark'd ? 
Dro S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in 
the Centaur. 410 

Ant. S. He speaks to me. I am your mas- 
ter, Dromio : 
Come, go with us ; we'll look to that anon : 
Embrace thy brotherthere ; rejoice with him. 
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E. 
Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your mas- 
ter's house, 
That kitchen'd me for yon to-day at dinner : 
She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not 
my brother : 
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. 
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ? 
Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 420 
Dro E. That's a question : how^ shall wo 

try it ? 
Dro. $. We'll draw cuts for the senior . 

till then lead thou first. 
Dro. E. Nav, then, thus : 
We came into the world like brother and 

brother ; 
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before 
another. [Exeunt 



THE 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



'written about 1592-93.* 



INTRODUCTION. 

This play, though slightly worked out in parts, exhibits an advance on the preceding comedies. 
The Errors was a clever tangle of diverting incidents, with a few passages of lyric beauty, and one 
of almost tragic pathos ; Love's Labour's Lost was a play of glittering and elaborate dialogue. In 
The Two Gentlemenof Verona Shakespeare struck into a new path, which be was to pursue with ad- 
mirable results ; it is his earliest comedy in which a romantic love-story is told in dramatic form. 
Here first he records the tender and passionate history of a woman's heart, and the adventures to 
which love may prompt her. Julia is the first of that charming group of children of Shakespeare's 
imagination which includes Viola, Portia, Rosalind, and Imogen —women who assume, under 
some constraint of fortune, the disguise of male attire, and who, while submitting to their transfor- 
mation, forfeit none of the grace, the modesty, the sensitive delicacy, or the pretty wilfulness of 
their sex. Launce, accompanied by his immortal dog, leads the train of Shakespeare's humorous 
clowns : his rich, grotesque humanity is " worth all the light, fantastic interludes of Boyet and 
Adriano, Costard and llolof ernes," worth all the "dancing doggerel or broad-witted prose of either 
Dromio." The characters of the play are clearly conceived, and contrasted with almost too obvious 
a design : the faithful Valentine is set over against the faithless Proteus ; the bright and clever Sylvia 
is set over against the tender and ardent Julia; the clown Speed, notable as a verbal wit andquibbler, 
is set over against the humorous Launce. The general theme of tne play may be defined as love 
and friendship, with their mutual relations. The date of the play cannot be definitely fixed : but its 
place among the comedies is probably after Love's Labour's Lost and before A Midsummer Night's 
Dream. The language and verse are characterized by an even sweetness ; rhymed lines and doggerel 
verses are lessening in number ; the blank verse is written with careful regularity. It is as if Shake- 
speare were giving up his early licences of versification, were aiming at a more refined style (which 
occasionally became a little tame), but being still a novice in the art of writing blank verse, were 
timid and failed to write it with the freedom and " happy valiancy " which distinguish his later 
manner. The story of the play is identical in many particulars with The Story of the Shepherdess 
Felismena in the Spanish pastoral romance, Diana, bv George of Montemayor ; but though manu- 
script translations of the Diana existed at an earlier date, no translation was published before that 
of Yonge, in 1598. Valentine's consenting to become captain of the robbers' band has been com- 
pared with a somewhat similar incident in Sidney's Arcadia, but the coincidences are slight, and it 
may be doubted that Shakespeare had then any thought of the Arcadia. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 

Antonio, Father to Proteus. 

Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. 

Ec.lamcuk, Agent for Silvia in her escape. 

Host, where Julia lodges. 

Outlaws, with Valentine. 

Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. Verona. An open place 
Enter Valentine and Proteus. 
108 



Launce, the like to Proteus. 
Panthino, Servant to Antonio. 
Julia, beloved of Proteus. 
Silvia, beloved of Valentine. 
Lucetta, waiting- woman to Julia. 

Servants, Musicians. 

Scene, Verona ; Milan ; the frontiers of 
Mantua. 



Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Pro- 
teus : 
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits. 
Were't not affection chains thy tender days 



Scene i. 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



109 



To the sweet glances of thy honor'd love, 
I rather would entreat thy company 
To sec the wonders of the world abroad, 
Than, living dully sluggardized at home, 
Wear out thy youth w,ith shapeless idleness. 
But since thou lovest, love still and thrive 

therein, 
Even as I would when I to love begin. 10 

Pro. Wilf thou be gone ? Sweet Valen- 
tine, adieu ! 
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest 
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
Wish me partaker in thy happiness • 
When thou dost meet good hap ; and in thy 

danger, 
If ever danger do environ thee, 
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. 

Val. And on a love-book pray for my suc- 
cess ? 
Pro. Upon some book 1 love I'll pray for 
thee. 20 

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep 
love : 
How young Leander cross' d the Hellespont. 

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love : 
For he was more than over shoes in love. 
Val. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in 
love, 
And yet you never swum the Hellespont. 
Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not 

the boots. 
Val. No, I will not, for it boots thee not. 
Pro. What ? 

Val. To be in love, where scorn is bought 
with groans ; 
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs ; one fading 
moment's mirth 30 

With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: 
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain ; 
If lost, why then a grievous labor won ; 
However, but a folly bought with wit, 
Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call 

me fool. 
Val. So. by your circumstance, I fear you'll 

prove. 
Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at : I am not Love. 
Val. Love is your master, for he masters 
you : 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 40 

Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise. 
Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest 
bud 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Val. And writers say, as the most forward 
bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, 
Losing his verdure even in the prime 
And all the fair effects of future ho 50 

But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
That ;ut a votary to fond desire ? 
Once more adieu ! my father at the road 



Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valen- 
tine. 
Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take 
our leave. 
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters 
Of thy success in love, and what news else 
Betid eth here in absence of thy friend ; 
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 60 
Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in 

Milan ! 
Val. As much to you at home ! and so, 
farewell. [Exit. 

Pro. He after honor hunts, I after love : 
He leaves his friends to dignify them more , 
I leave myself, my friends and all, for love. 
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me, 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
War with good counsel, set the world at 

nought ; 
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with 
thought. 

Enter Speed 

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you ! Saw you 
my master ? 70 

Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark 
for Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd 
already, 
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray, 
An if the shepherd be a while away; 

Speed. You conclude that my master is a 
shepherd, then, and I a sheep ? 

Pro. I do. 

Speed. Why then, my horns are his horns, 
whether I wake or sleep . 80 

Pro. A silly answer and fitting well a 
sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 

Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circum- 
stance, [other. 

Pro. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by an- 

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and 
not the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my 
master, and my master seeks not me : there- 
fore I am no sheep. 91 

Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shep- 
herd ; the shepherd for food follows not the 
sheep : thou for wages followest thy master ; 
thy master for wages follows not thee : there- 
fore thou art a sheep. 

Speed. Such another proof will make mo 
cry ' baa.' 

Pro. But, dost thou hear ? gavest thou my 
letter to Julia ? 

Sj>rrd. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave 
your letter to her, a laced mutton, and she, a 
laced mutton, gave me, a lost mutton, nothing 
for my labor. 

Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such 
store of muttons. 

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you 
were best stick her. 



110 



TBE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act i. 



Pro. Nay : in that you are astray, 'twere 
best pound you. 110 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall 
serve me for carrying your letter. 

Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, — a 
pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin ? fold it over 
and over, 
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to 
your lover. 

Fi*o. But what said she ? 

Speed. [First nodding'] Ay. 

Pro. Nod — Ay — why, that's noddy. 

Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did 
nod : and you ask me if she did nod ; and I 
say, ' Ay.' 121 

Pro. And that set together is noddy. 

Speed. Now you have taken the pains to 
set it together, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no ; you shall have it for bearing 
the letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive I must be fain to 
bear with you. 

Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ? 

Speed. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly ; 
having nothing but the word ' noddy ' for my 
pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your 
slow purse . 

Pro. Come, come, open the matter in 
brief : what said she ? 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money 
and the matter may be both at once delivered. 

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains. 
What said she ? 140 

Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win 
her. [from her ? 

Pro. Why, couldst thou perceive so much 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all 
from her ; no, not so much as a ducat for de- 
livering your letter : and being so hard to me 
that brought your mind, I fear she'll prove as 
hard to you in telling your mind. Give her 
no token but stones ; for she's as hard as steel. 

Pro. What said she ? nothing ? 150 

Speed. No, not so much as ' Take this for 
thy pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank 
you, you have testerned me ; in requital 
whereof, henceforth carry your letters your- 
self : and so, sir, I'll 'commend you to my 
master. 

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship 
from wreck, 
Which cannot perish having thee aboard, 
Being destined to a drier death on shore. 

[Exit Speed. 
I must go send some better messenger : 
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 160 
Receiving them from such a worthless post. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. The same. Garden of Julia's 

house. 

Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 



Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 
Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not un- 

heedfully. 
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen 
That every day with parle encounter me, 
In thy opinion which is worthiest love ? 
Luc. Please you repeat their names, I'll 

show my mind 
According to my shallow simple skill. 
Jul. What think' st thou of the fair Sir 

Eglamour ? 
Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and 

fine ; 10 

But, were I you, he never should be mine. 
Jul. What think' st thou of the rich Mer- 

catio ? 
Luc. Well of his wealth ; but of himself,. 

so so. 
Jul. What think' st thou of the gentle Pro- 
teus ? 
Luc. Lord, Lord ! to see what folly reigns 

in us ! 
Jul. How now ! what means this passion 

at his name ? 
Luc. Pardon, dear madam : 'tis a passing 

shame 
That I, unworthy body as I am, 
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 
Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the 

rest? 
Luc. Then thus : of many good I think 

him best . 
Jul. Your reason ? 

Luc. I have no other, but a woman's rea- 
son ; 
I think him so because I think him so. 
Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my 

love on him ? 
Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast 

away. 
Jul. Why he, of all the rest, hath never 

moved me. 
Luc. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best 

loves ye. 
Jul. His little speaking shows his love but 

small. 
Luc. Fire that's closest kept burns most of 

all. 30 

Jul. They do not love that do not show 

their love. 
Luc. O, they love least that let men know 

their love. 
Jul. I would I knew his mind. 
Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 
Jul. ' To Julia.' Say, from whom ? 
Luc. That the contents will show. 
Jul. Say, say, who gave it thee ? 
Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I 

think, from Proteus. 
He would have given it you ; but I, being in 

the way, 
Did in your name receive it : pardon the fault, 

1 pray. 40 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker.' 
Dare you presume to harbor wanton lines ? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 



Scene n.) 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Ill 



Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth 
And you an officer lit for the place. 
There, take the paper : see it he return' d ; 
Or else return no more into ray sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee 
than hate. 

Jul. Will ye be gone ? 
1 <~-*Luc. That you may ruminate. 

[Ex.it. 

Jul. And yet I would I had o'erlooked the 
letter : 50 

It were a shame to call her back again 
And pray her to a fault for which 1 chid her. 
What a fool is she. that knows I am a maid, 
And would not force the letter to my view ! 
Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that 
Which they would have the profferer construe 

' ay.' 
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love 
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse 
And presently all humbled kiss the rod ! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 60 

When willingly I would have had her here ! 
How angerly I taught my brow to frown, 
When inward joy enforced my heart to smile ! 
My penance is to call Lucetta back 
And ask remission for my folly past. 
What ho ! Lucetta ! 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship ? 

Jul. Is't near dinner-time ? 
Luc. I would it were, 

That you might kill your stomach on your 

meat 
And not upon your maid. 70 

Jul. What is't that you took up so gingerly ? 
Luc. Nothing. 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop, then ? 
Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 
Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
Jul. Then let it lie for those that it con- 
cerns. 
Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it con- 
cerns, 
Unless it have a false interpreter. 
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you 

in rhyme. 
Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a 
tune. 80 

Give me a note : your ladyship can set. 
Jul. As little by such toys as may be pos- 
sible. 
Best sing it to the tune of ' Light o' love.' 
IjUc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
Jul. Heavy ! belike it hath some burden 

then ? 
Luc. Ay, and melodious were it, would 

you sing it. 
Jul. And why not you ? 
Luc. I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let's see your song. How now, min- 
ion ! 
Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing 
it out : 



And yet raethinks I do not like this tune. 90 
Jul. You do not ? 

Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 

Jul. You, minion, are too saucy. 
Luc. Nay, now you are too flat 
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: 
There wantcth but a mean to fill your song. 
Jul. The mean is drown' d with your un- 
ruly bass. 
Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. 
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble 
me. 
Here is a coil with protestation ! 

[Tears the letter. 
Go get you gone, and let the papers lie : 100 
You would be fingering them, to anger mo. 
Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would 
be best pleased 
To be so anger' d with another letter. [Exit. 
Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with 
the same ! 

hateful bauds, to tear such loving words ! 
Injurious was] is, to Iced on such sweet honey 
And kill the bees that yield it with your 

stings ! 
I'll kiss each several paper for amends. 
Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind 

Julia ! 
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 110 

1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' 
Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed 
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be thoroughly 

heal'd ; 
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written 

down. 
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away 
Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
Except mine own name : that some whirlwind 

bear 120 

Unto a ragged fearful-hanging rock 
And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, 
'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
To the sweet Julia : ' that I'll tear away. 
And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
He couples it to his complaining names. 
Thus will i fold them one upon another : 
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. Madam, 130 

Dinner is ready, and your father stays. 

Jul. Well, let us go. 

Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell- 
tales here ? [up. 

Jul. If you respect them, best to take them 

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them 
down : 
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 

Jul. I see you have a month's mind to 
them. 

Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights 
you see : 



112 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act ii. 



I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
Jul. Come, come ; will't please you go ? 

{Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Awtoiwo's house. 

Enter Antonio and Panthino. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was 
that 
Wherewith my brother held you in the clois- 
ter ? 

Pan. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your 
son. 

Ant. Why, what of him ? 

Pan. He wonder'd that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home, 
While other men, of slender reputation, 
Pat forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
Some to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
Some to discover islands far away ; 
Some to the studious universities. 10 

For any or for all these exercises, 
He said that Proteus your son was meet, 
And did request me to importune you 
To let him spend his time no more at home, 
Which would be great impeachment to his age, 
In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me 
to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have consider' d well his loss of time 
And how he cannot be a perfect man, 20 

Not being tried and tutor' d in the world ? 
Experience is by industry achieved 
And perfected by the swift course of time. 
Then tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 

Pan. I think your lordship is not ignorant 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
Attends the emperor in his royal court. 

Ant. I know it well. 

Pan. 'Twere good, I think, your lordshfp 
sent him thither : 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noble- 
men, 31 
And be in eye of every exercise 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou 
advised : 
And that thou mayst perceive how well I 

Like it. 
The execution of it shall make known. 
Even witli the speediest expedition 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 

Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don 
Alphonso, 
With other gentlemen of good esteem, 40 

Are journeying to salute the emperor 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. Good company ; with them shall Pro- 
teus go : 
And, in good time ! now will we break with 
him. 

Enter Proteus. 

Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
Here is her oath for love, her honor's pawn. 



0, that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
To seal our happiness with their consents ! 

heavenly Julia ! 50 

1 Ant. How now ! what letter are you read- 

ing there ? 
Pro. May 't please your lordship, 'tis a word 
or two 
Of commendations sent from Valentine, 
Deliver' d by a friend that came from him. 
Ant. Lend me the letter ; let me see what 

news. 
Pro. There is no news, my lord, but that 
he writes 
How happily he lives, how well beloved 
And daily graced by the emperor ; 
Wishing me witli him, partner of his fortune. 
Ant. And how stand you affected to his 
wish ? (>0 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will 
And not depending on his friendly wish. 
Ant. My will is something sorted with his 
wish. 
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
I am resolved that thou shalt spend some time 
With Valentinus in the emperor's court : 
What maintenance he from his friends re- 
ceives, 
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go : 70 

Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided : 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent 
after thee : 
No more of stay ! to-morrow thou must go. 
Come on, Panthino : you shall be employ' d 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Pan. 
Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear 
of burning, 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am 

drown'd. 
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
Hath he excepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring of love resembleth 
The uncertain glory of an April day, 
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 
Re-enter Panthino. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you : 

He is in haste ; therefore, I pray you, go. 
Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords 
thereto, !>0 

And yet a thousand times it answers ' no. ' 

[Exeunt 



80 



ACT II. 

Scene I. Milan. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Vai.knttne and Speed. 
Speed. Sir, your glove. 



Scene i.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



113 



Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why, then, this may be yours, for 
this is but one. 

Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's 
mine : 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ' 
Ah, Silvia, Silvia ! 

Speed. Madam Silvia ! Madam Silvia ! 

Val. How now, sirrah ? 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her ? 

Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 

Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 11 

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being 
too slow. 

Val. Go to, sir : tell me, do you know 
Madam Silvia ? 

Speed. She that your worship loves ? 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in 
love? 

Speed. Marry, by these special marks : first, 
you have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreathe 
your arms, like a malecontent ; to relish a 
love-song, like a robin-redbreast ; to walk 
alone, like one that had the pestilence ; to sigh, 
like a school-boy that had lost his ABC; to 
weep, like a young wench that had buried her 
grandam ; to fast, like one that takes diet ; to 
watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak 
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You 
were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a 
cock ; when you walked, to walk like one of 
the lions ; when you fasted, it was presently 
after dinner ; when you looked sadly, it was 
for want of money : and now you are meta- 
morphosed with a mistress, that, when I look 
on you, I can hardly think you my master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 

Speed. They are all perceived without ye. 

Val. Without me ? they cannot. 

Speed. Without you ? nay, that's certain, 
for, without you were so simple, none else 
would : but you are so without these follies, 
that these follies are within you and shine 
through you like the water in an urinal, that 
not an eye that sees you but is a physician to 
comment on your malady. 

Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady 
Silvia ? 

Speed. She that you gaze on so as she sits 
at supper ? 

Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she, I 
mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 50 

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on 
her, and yet knowest her not ? 

Speed. Is she not hard-favored, sir ? 

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well-favored. 

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 

Val. What dost thou know ? 

Speed. That she is not so fair as, of you, 
■well-favored. 

Val. I mean that her beauty is exquisite, 
But her favor infinite. 60 

Speed. That's because the one is painted 
and the other out of all count. 
8 



Val. How painted ? and how out of count ? 

Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her 
fair, that no man counts of her beauty. 

Val. How esteemest thou me ? I account 
of her beauty. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was de- 
formed. 

Val. How long hath she been deformed ? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 71 

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; 
and still I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why ? 

Speed. Because Love is blind. O, that you 
had mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the 
lights they were wont to have when you chid 
at Sir Proteus for going ungartered ! 

Val. What should I see then ? 80 

Speed. Your own present folly and her 
passing deformity : for he, being in love, could 
not see to garter his hose, and you, being in 
love, cannot see to put on your hose. 

Val. Belike, boy, then, you are in love ; 
for last morning you could not see to wipe my 
shoes. 

Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : 
I thank you, you swinged me for my love, 
which makes me the bolder to chide you for 
yours. 

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 

Speed. I would you were set, so your affec- 
tion would cease. 91 

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write 
some lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you ? 

Val. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them. 
Peace ! here she comes. 

Speed. [Aside] excellent motion ! ex- 
ceeding puppet ! Now will he interpret to her. 

Enter Silvia. 

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand 
good-morrows. 

Speed. [ Aside] O, give ye good even ! here's 
a million of manners. 

SiL Sir Valentine and servant, to you two 
thousand. 

Speed. [Aside] He should give her interest, 
and she gives it him. 

Val. As you enjoin' d me, I have writ your 
etter 
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in 
But for my duty to your ladyship. 
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very 

clerkly done. 
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly 
off; 
For being ignorant to whom it goes 
I writ at random, very doubtfully. 
Sil. Perchance you think too much of so 

much pains ? 
Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I 'nil 
-^write, 



114 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 



[Act ii. 



Please you command, a thousand times as 
much ; 

^Wpretty period! Well, I guess the 

sequel ; 
And yet I will not name it ; and yet I care 

And vet take this again ; and yet I thank you, 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
Speed. [Aside] And yet you will ; and yet 

another 'yet' 
Vol. What means your ladyship ? do you 

not like it ? 
Sil Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly 
writ ; 
But since unwillingly, take them again. 
Nay, take them. ldU 

Val. Madam, they are for you. 
Mil. Ay, ay : you writ them, sir, at my re- 
quest ; 
But I will none of them ; they are for you ; 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 
Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship 

another. 
Sil. And when it's writ, for my sake read it 
over, 
And if it please you, so ; if not, why so. 
Val If it please me, madam, what then i 
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your 
labor ; 
And so, good morrow, servant. [Exit. 140 
Speed O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
As a nose on a man's face, >r a weathercock 

on a steeple ! 
My master sues to her, and she hath tauglit 

her suitor, 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. • 
excellent device ! was there ever heard a 

That my master, being scribe, to liimself should 
write the letter ? 

Val. How now, sir? what are you reason- 
ing with yourself ? 

Speed. Nay, 1 was rhyming : 'tis you that 
have the reason. 150 

Faf. To do what? . . 

Speed. To be a spokesman for Madam 
Silvia. 

F«Z. To whom ? 

Speed. To yourself : why, she wooes you 
by a figure. 

Val. What figure ? 

Speed. By a letter, I should say. 

FaL Why, she hath not writ to me ? 

Speed What need she, when she hath 
made you write to yourself ? Why, do you not 
perceive the jest ? lb0 

Fed. No. believe m3. , 

Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir. But 
did vou perceive her earnest ? 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry 

word. . . ,, 

Speed. Whv, sh hath given you a letter 
Va J That's tin, etter I writ to her friend. 
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, 

and there an end. 



Val I would it were no worse. 
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 170 
For often have you writ to her, and she, in 

modesty, 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again 

reply ; 
Or fearing else some messenger that might her 

mind discover, 
Herself hath taught her love himself to write 

unto her lover. 
All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. 
Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time. 
Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the 
chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one 
that am nourished by my victuals, and would 
fain have meat. 0, be not like your mistress ; 
be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Verona. Julia's house. 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the 
sooner. 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

[Giving a ring. 
Pro. Why, then, we'll make exchange; 

here, take you this. 
Jul. A n i 1 seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
Pro. Here is my hand for my true con- 
stancy ; 
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day 
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, 10 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forget fulness ! 
My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
The tide is now: nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should. 
Julia, farewell ! ' [Exit Julia. 

What, gone without a word ? 
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; 
For truth hath better deeds than words to 
grace it. 

Enter Panthino. 
Pan. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. 
Pro. Go ; I come, I come. 20 

Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. A street. 
Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
Lami.ee. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have 
done weeping ; all the kind of the Launces 
have this very fault. I have received my pro- 
portion, like the prodigious son, and am going 
with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I 
think Crab, my dog, bethesourest-natured dog 
that lives: my mother weeping, my father 
wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, 
our catwringing her hands, and all our house 
in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel- 
hearted cur shed one tear : he is a stone, " 



SCENE IV.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



115 



very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him 
than a dog : a Jew would have wept to have 
seen our parting ; why, my grandam, having 
no eves, look you, wept herself blind at my 
parting. Nav, 111 show you the manner of 
it. This shoe "is my father : no, this left shoe is 
my father : no, no, this left shoe is my mother : 
nay, that cannot be so neither : yes, it is so, it 
is so, it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with 
the hole in it, is my mother, and this my 
father ; a vengeance on't ! there 'tis : now, 
sit, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is 
as white as a lily and as small as a wand : 
this hat is Nan, our maid : I am the dog : no, 
the dog is himself, and I am the dog— Oh ! 
the dog is me, and I am myself ; ay, so, so. 
Now come I to my father ; Father, your bless- 
ing : now should not the shoe speak a word 
for weeping : now should I kiss my father ; 
well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother : 
O, that she could speak now like a wood 
woman ! Well, I kiss her ; why, there 'tis ; 
here's my mother's breath up and down. Now 
come I to my sister ; mark the moan she 
makes. Now the dog all this whne sheds not 
a tear nor speaks a word ; but see how I lay 
the dust with my tears. 

Enter Panthino. 

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard ! thy 
master is shipped and thou art to post after 
with oars. What's the matter ? why weepest 
thou, man ? Away, ass ! you'll lose the tide, 
if vou tarry any longer. 

Launce. It is no matter if the tied were 
lost ; for it is the unkindest tied that ever 
any man tied. 

Pan. What's the unkindest tide ? 

Launce. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, 
my dog. 

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the 
flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage, 
and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, 
and, in losing thy master, lose thy service, and, 
in losing thv service, — Why dost thou stop my 
mouth ? 51 

Launce. For fear thou shouldst lose thy 
tongue. 

Pan. Where should I lose my tongue ? 

Launce. In thy tale. 

Pan. In thy tail ! 

Launce. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and 
the master, and the service, and the tied ! 
Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to 
fill it with my tears ; if the wind were down, 1 
could drive the boat with my sighs. 60 

Pan. Come, come away,' man ; I was sent 
to call thee. 

Launce. Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pan. Wilt thou go ? 

Launce. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Milan. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Silvia, Valentine, Tjiukio, and 
Speed. 



Sil. Servant ! 

Val. Mistress ? 

Speed. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you. 

Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 

Speed. Not of you. 

Val. Of my mistress, then. 

Speed. 'Twere good you knocked him. 

[Exit 

Sil- Servant, you are sad. 

Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 

Thu. Seem vou that you are not ? 10 

Vcd. Haply I do. 

Thu. So do counterfeits. 

Val. So do you. 

Thu. What seem I that I am not ? 

Val. Wise. 

Thu. What instance of the contrary ? 

Val. Your folly. 

Thu. And how quote you my folly ? 

Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 20 

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 

Thu. How ? 

Sil. What, angrjr, Sir Thurio ! do you change 
color ? 

Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind 
of chameleon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
blood than live in your air. 

Val. You have said, sir. 

Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 30 

Val. I know it well, sir ; you always end 
ere you begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
quickly shot off. 

Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the 
giver. 

Sil. Who is that, servant ? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave 
the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your 
ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows 
kindly in your company. 40 

Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with 
me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Vcd. I know it well, sir ; you have an ex- 
chequer of words, and, I think, no other treas- 
ure to give your followers, for it appears, by 
their bare liveries, that they live by your bare 
words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more : here 
comes my father. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. Noav, daughter Silvia, you are hard 
beset. 
Sir Valentino, your father's in good health : 50 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news ? 

Val. My lord, I will be thankful, 

To any happy messenger from thence. 
Duke. Know ye Don Antonio, your country- 
man ? 
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentle- 
man 
To be of worth and worthy estimation 



116 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act it. 



Aud not without desert so well reputed. 
Duke. Hath he not a son ? 
Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well de- 
serves 
The honor and regard of such a father. 60 
Duke. You know him well ? 
Val. I know him as myself ; for from our 
infancy 
We have conversed and spent our hours to- 
gether : 
And though myself have been an idle truant, 
Omitting the sweet benefit of time 
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, 
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
His years but young, but his experience old ; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; 
And, in a word, for far behind his worth 71 
Comes all the praises that I now bestow, 
He is complete in feature and in mind 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this 
good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love 
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me, 
With commendation from great potentates ; 
And here he means to spend his time awhile : 
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 81 

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had 

been he. 
Duke. Welcome him then according to his 
worth. 
Silvia, I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio ; 
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it : 
I will send him hither to you presently. [Exit. 
Val. This is the gentleman I told your lady- 
ship 
Had come along with me, but that his mis- 
tress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
Sil. Belike that now she hath enfranchised 
them 90 

Upon some other pawn for fealty. 

Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them pris- 
oners still. 
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and, 
being blind, 
How could he see his way to seek out you ? 
Val. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of 

eyes. 
Thu. They say that Love hath not an eye at 

all. 
Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as your- 
self : 
Upon a homely object Love can wink. 
Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the 
gentleman. 

Enter Proteus. [Exit Thurio. 

Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! Mistress, I 

beseech you, 100 

Confirm his welcome with some special favor. 

Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome 

hither, 



If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain 
him 
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a ser- 
vant. 
Pro. Not so, sweet lady : but too mean a 
servant 
To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 

Val. Leave off discourse of disability : 109 
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
Pro. My duty will I boast of ; nothing elee. 
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed : 
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mis- 
tress. 
Pro. I'll die on him that says so but your- 
self. 
Sil. That you are welcome ? 
Pro. That you are worthless. 

Re-enter Thurio. 

Thu. Madam, my lord your father would 

speak with you. 
Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir 
Thurio, 
Go with me. Once more, new servant, wel- 
come : 
I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
When you have done, we look to hear from 
you. 
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 
[Exeunt Silvia and Thurio. 
Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence 

you came ? 
Pro. Your friends are well and have them 

much commended. 
Val. And how do yours ? 
Pro. I left them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives 

your love ? 
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary 
you ; 
I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter' d 
now : 
I have done penance for contemning Love, 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd 

me 
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
With nightly tears and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
For in revenge of my contempt of love, 
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled 

eyes 
And made them watchers of mine own heart's 

sorrow. 
O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord, 
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, 
There is no woe to his correction, 
Nor to his service no such joy on earth. 
Now no discourse, except it be of love ; 140 
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup and sleep, 
Upon the very naked name of love. 
Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your 
eye. 
Was this the idol that you worship so ? 



Scene v.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



117 



Val. Even she ■ and is she not a heavenly- 
saint ? 
Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
Val. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not flatter her. 

Val. 0, flatter me ; for love delights in 

praises. 
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter 
pills, 
And I must minister the like to you. 150 

Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not 
divine, 
Yet let her be a principality, 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
Pro. Except my mistress. 
Val. Sweet, except not any ; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine 

own ? 
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too : 
She shall be dignified with this high honor- 
To bear my lady's train, lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss 
And, of so great a favor growing proud, 161 
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower 
And make rough winter everlastingly. 
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is 

this? 
Val. Pardon me, Proteus : all I can is noth- 
ing 
To her whose worth makes other worthies 

nothing ; 
She is alone. 
Pro. Then let her alone. 

Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is 
mine own, 
And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
The water nectar and the rocks pure gold. 171 
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, 
Because thou see'st me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her father likes 
Only for his possessions are so huge, 
Is gone with her along, and I must after, 
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
Pro. But she loves you ? 
Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd : nay, more, 
our marriage-hour, 
With all the cunning manner of our flight, 180 
Determined of ; how I must climb her win- 
dow, 
The ladder made of cords, and all the means 
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
Pro. Go on before ■ I shall inquire you 
forth : 
I mast unto the road, to disembark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use, 
And then I'll presently attend you. 

Val. Will you make haste ? 190 

Pro. I will [Exit Valentine. 

Even as one heat another heat expels, 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten, 



lis it mine, or Valentine's praise, 

Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 

That makes me reasonless to reason thus ? 

She is fair ; and .so is Julia that I love — 

That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 

Which, like a waxen image, 'gainst a fire, 201 

Bears no impression of the thing it was. 

Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, 

And that I love him not as I was wont. 

0, but I love his lady too too much, 

And that's the reason I love him so little. 

How shall I dote on her with more advice, 

That thus without advice begin to love her ! 

'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 

And that hath dazzled my reason's light ; 210 

But when I look on her perfections, 

There is no reason but I shall be blind. 

If I can check my erring love, I will ; 

If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit. 

Scene V. The same. A street. - 
Enter Speed and Launce severally. 

Speed. Launce ! by mine honesty, welcome 
to Milan ! 

Launce. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, 
for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, 
that a man is never undone till he be hanged, 
nor never welcome to a place till some certain 
shot be paid and the hostess say ' Welcome ! ' 

Speed. Come on, you madcap, I'll to the 
alehouse with you presently ; where, for one 
shot of five pence, thou shalt have five thou- 
sand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy 
master part with Madam Julia ? 

Launce. Mam-, after they closed in ear- 
nest, they parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him ? 

Launce. No. 

Speed. How then ? shall he marry her ? 

Launce. No, neither. 

Speed. What, are they broken ? 

Launce. No, they are both as whole as a 
fish. 

Speed. Why, then, how stands the matter 
with them ? 

Launce. Marry, thus ; when it stands well 
with him, it stands well with her. 

Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand 
thee not. 

Launce. What a block art thou, that thou 
canst not ! My staff understands me. 

Speed. What thou sayest ? 

Launce. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, 
I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Launce. Why, stand-under and under- 
stand is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match ? 

Launce. Ask my dog : if he say ay, it will ! 
if he say no, it will ; if he shake his tail and 
say Dothing, it will. 

Speed. The conclusion is then that it will. 

Launce. Thou shalt never get such a secret 
from me but by a parable. 

Speed. 'Tis well that I get it bo. But, 



18 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act ii 



Launce, how sayest thou, that my master is 
become a notable lover ? 

Launce. I never knew him otherwise. 

>Speed. Than how ? 

Launce. A notable lubber, as thou report- 
est him to be. 

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mis- 
takest me. 50 

Launce. Why, fool, I meant not thee ; I 
meant thy master. 

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a 
hot lover. 

Launce. Why, I tell thee, I care not though 
he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with 
me to the alehouse ; if not, thou art an He- 
brew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a 
Christian. 

Speed. Why ? 

Launce. Because thou hast not so much 
charity in thee as to go to the ale with a 
Christian. Wilt thou go ? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. The same. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Proteus. 

Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be for- 
sworn : 

To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 

To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 

And even that power which gave me first my 
oath 

Provokes me to this threefold perjury ; 

Love bade me swear and Love bids me for- 
swear. 

sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it ! 
At first I did adore a twinkling star, 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 10 

Unheedful vows may heediully be broken, 
And he wants wit that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. 
Fie, lie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 

But there I leave to love where I should love. 

Julia I lose and Valentine I lose : 

If T keep them, I needs must lose myself ; 20 

If I lose them, thus find I by their loss 

Fcr Valentine myself, for J alia Silvia. 

1 co myself am dearer than a friend, 

For love is still most precious in itself ; 

And Silvia — witness Heaven, that made her 

fair !— 
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
1 will forget that Julia is alive, 
Remembering that my love to her is dead ; 
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, 
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 30 

1 cannot now prove constant to myself, 
Without some treachery used to Valentine. 
This night he meaneth with a corded laddei 
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window. 
Myself in counsel, his competitor. 
.Now presently I'll give her father notice 



Of their disguising and pretended flight ; 

Who, all enraged, will banish Valentine ; 

For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: 

But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross 

By some sly trick blunt Thurio' s dull pro- 
ceeding. 

Love, lend me wings to make my purpose 
swift, 

As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! 

[Exit. 

Scene VII. Verona. Julia's house. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta . 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist 
me ; 
And even in kind love I do conjure thee, 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character' d and engraved, 
To lesson me and tell me some good mean 
How, with my honor, I may undertake 
A journey to my loving Proteus. 

Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long ! 

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; 
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to 
fly, 11 

And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. 

Luc. Better forbear till Proteus make re- 
turn. 

Jul. O, know'st thou not his looks are my 
soul's food ? 
Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow 
As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's 
hot fire, 21 

But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the 
more it burns. 
The current that with gentle murmur glides, 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth 

rage ; 
But when his fair course is not hindered, 
He makes sweet music with the enamell'd 

stones, 
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, SO 

And so by many winding nooks he strays 
With willing sport to the wild ocean. • 
Then let me £0 and hinder not my course 
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream 
And make a pastime of each weary step, 
Till the last step have brought me to my love , 
And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil 
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? 

Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would pre- 
vent 40 
The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 



Scene i.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



no 



Luc. Why, tiien, your ladyship must cut 

your hair. 
Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken 
strings 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots. 
To be fantastic may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make 

your breeches ? 
Jul. That fits as well as ' Tell me, good my 
lord. 50 

What compass will you wear your farthingale ?' 
Why even what, fashion thou best likest, 
Lucetta. 
Luc. You must needs have them with a cod- 
piece, madam. 
Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that would be ill- 
favor' d. 
Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not 
worth a piu, 
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. 
Jul. Lucetta, as thou lovest me, let me 
have 
What thou thinkest meet and is most man- 
nerly. 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute 

me 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey ? 60 
I fear me, it will make me scandalized. 
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home 

and go not. 
Jul. Nay, that I will not. 
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like your journey when you come, 
No matter who's displeased wnen you are 

gone : 
I fear me, he will scarce be pleased withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear : 
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears 
And instances of infinite of love 70 

Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
Luc. All these are servants to deceitful 

men. 
Jul. Base men, that use them to so base 
effect ! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, 
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, 
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from 
earth. 
Luc. Pray heaven he prove so, when you 

come to him ! 
Jul. Now, as thou lovest me, do him not 
that wrong 80 

To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
Only deserve my love by loving him ; 
Ami presently go with me to my chamber, 
To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
All that is mine 1 leave at thy dispose, 
My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence. 
Come, answer not, but to it presently ! . 
I am impatient of my tarriancc. 90 

LExeunU 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Milan. The Duke's palace 
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, 

awhile ; 
We have some secrets to confer about. 

[Exit Thu. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with 

me ? 
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would 

discover 
The law of friendship bids me to conceal ; 
But when I call to mind your gracious favors 
Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
My duty pricks me on to utter that 
Which else no worldly good should draw from 

me. 9 

Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend, 
This night intends to steal away your daughter: 
Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
I know* you have determined to bestow her 
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ; 
And should she thus be stol'n away from you, 
It would be much vexation to your age. 
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
To cross my friend in his intended drift 
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
A pack of sorrows which would press you 

down , 20 

Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine hon- 
est care ; 
Which to requite, command me while I live. 
This love of theirs myself'have often seen, 
Haply when they have judged me fast asleep, 
And oftentimes have purposed to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company and my court : 
But fearing lest my jealous aim might err 
And so unworthily disgrace the man, 
A rashness that 1 ever yet have shunn'd, 30 
I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclosed to me. 
And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, 
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devised 

a mean 
How he her chamber-window will ascend 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 40 
Lor which the youthful lover now is gone 
And this way comes he with it presently ; 
Where, if it please you, you may intercept 

him. 
But, good my Lord, do it so cunningly 
That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
Ihitli made me publisher of this pretence. 
Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never 

know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 
Pro. Adieu, my Lord ; Sir Valentine is 

coming. [Exit. 5Q 



120 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act hi. 



Enter Talentine. 
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ? 
Val. Please it your grace, there is a mes- 
senger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
And I am going to deliver them. 
Duke. Be they of much import ? 
Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
My health and happy being at your court. 
Duke. Nay then, no matter ; stay with me 
awhile ; 
I am to break with thee of some affairs 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be se- 
cret. 60 
'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought 
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. 
Val. I know it well, my Lord ; and, sure, 
the match 
Were rich and honorable ; besides, the gentle- 
man 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth and qualities 
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
Cannot your Grace win her to fancy him ? 
Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, 
froward, 
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty, 
Neither regarding that she is my child 70 
Nor fearing me as if I were her father ; 
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ; 
And, where I thought the remnant of mine 

age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like 

duty, 
I now am full resolved to take a wif e 
And turn her out to who will take her in : 
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
Val. What would your Grace have me to 
do in this ? 80 

Duke fThere is a lady in Verona here 
Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
Now therefore would I nave thee to my tutor — 
For long agone I have forgot to court ; 
Besides, the fashion of the time is changed — 
How and which way I may bestow myself 
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 

Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not 

words : 

Dumb jewels often in their silent kind 90 

More than quick words do move a woman's 

mind. 

Duke. But she did scorn a present that I 

sent her. 
Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best 
contents her. 
Send her another ; never give her o'er ; 
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
But rather to beget more love in you : 
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ; 100 
For ' get you gone,' she doth not mean 
1 away 1 ' 



Flatter and praise, commend, extol their 

graces ; 
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels* 

faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
Duke. But she I mean is promised by her 
friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth, 
And kept severely from resort of men, 
That no man hath access by day to her. 
Val. Why, then, I would resort to her by 
night. 110 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys 
kept safe, 
That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
Val. What lets but one may enter at his 

window ?' 
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the 
ground, 
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Val. Why then, a ladder quaintly made of 
cords, 
To cast up, with a pair of anchoring hooks, 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
So bold Leander would adventure it. 120 

Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of 
blood, 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 
Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, 

tell me that. 
Duke. This very night ; for Love is like a 
child, 
That longs for every thing that he can come by. 
Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a 

ladder. 
Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her 
alone : 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 
Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may 
bear it 
Under a cloak that is of auy length. 130 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the 

turn ? 
Val. Ay, my good lord. 
Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 

I'll get me one of such another length. 

Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, 

my lord. 
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a 
cloak ? 
I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. 
What letter is this same ? What's here ? ' To 

Silvia ' ! 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding. 
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. 140 

[Reads. 
1 My thoughts do harbor with my Silvia 
nightly, [flying : 

And slaves they are to me that send them 
O, could their master come and go as lightly, 
Himself would lodge where senseless they 
are lyirg 1 
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest 
them; 



SCENK I.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



121 



While I, their king, that hither them impor- 
tune, 
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath 
bless' d them, 
Because myself do want my servants' for- 
tune : 
I curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
That they should harbor where their lord 

would be. ' 
What's here ? 150 

' Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.' 
'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. 
Why, Phaeton, — for thou art Merops' son, — 
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car 
And with thy daring folly burn the world ? 
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on 

thee ? 
Go, base intruder ! overweening slave ! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates, 
And think my patience, more than thy desert, 
Is privilege for thy departure hence : 160 

Thank me for this more than for all the favors 
Which all too much I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if thou linger in my territories 
Longer than swiftest expedition 
Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 
By heaven ! my wrath shall far exceed the 

love 
I ever bore my daughter or thyself. 
Be gone ! I will not hear thy vain excuse ; 
But, as thou lovest thy life, make speed from 
hence. [Exit. 

Val. And why not death rather than living 
torment ? 170 

To die is to oe banish' d from myself ; 
And Silvia is myself : banish' d from her 
Is self from self : a deadly banishment ! 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
Unless it be to think that she is by 
And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
There is no music in the nightingale ; 
Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 180 

There is no day for me to look upon ; 
She is my essence, and I leave to be, 
If I be not by her fair influence 
Foster'd, illumined, cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom : 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death : 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 
Launce. Soho, soho ! 

Pro. What seest thou ? 190 

Launce. Him we go to find : there's not a 
hair on's head but 'tis a Valentine. 
Pro. Valentine ? 
Val. No. 

Pro. Who then ? his spirit V 
Val. Neither. 
Pro. What then ? 
Val. Nothing. 

Launce. Can nothing speak ? Master, shall 
I strike ? 



Pro. Who wouldst thou strike ? 200 

Launce. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Launce. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I 

pray you, — 
Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valen- 
tine, a word. 
Val. My ears are stopt and cannot heai 
good news, 
So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury 
mine, 
For they are harsh, untuneable and bad. 
Val. Is Silvia dead ? 

Pro. No, Valentine. 210 

Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred 
Silvia. 
Hath she forsworn me ? 
Pro. No, Valentine. 

Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn 
me. 
What is your news ? 
Launce. Sir, there is a proclamation that 

you are vanished. 
Pro. That thou art banished — O, that's the 
news ! — 
From hence, from Silvia and from me thy 
friend. 
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 220 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished ? 
Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offer' d to the 
doom — 
Which, unreversed, stands in effectual force — 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
With them, upon her knees, her humble self ; 
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so be- 
came them 
As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding 
tears, 230 

Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chafed him so, 
When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
That to close prison lie commanded her, 
With many bitter threats of biding there. 
Val. No more; unless the next word that 
thou speak 'st 
Have some malignant power upon my life: 
If so, 1 pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
As ending ant hem of my endless dolor. 240 
Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst 
not help, 
And study help for that which thou lament'st 
Time is the nurse and breeder of ail good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst net see thy love, 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life, 
Hope is a lover's stall'; walk hence with that 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art 

hence; 
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 250 



122 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act hi. 



The time now serves not to expostulate : 
Come, I'll convey thee through the city-gate ; 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that may concern thy love-affairs. 
As thou lovest Silvia, though not for thyself, 
Regard thy danger, and along with me ! 
Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest 
my boy, 
Bid him make haste and meet me at the North- 
gate. 
Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valen- 
tino. 
Val. O my dear Silvia ! Hapless Valen- 
tine ! 260 
[Exeunt Val. and Pro. 
Launce. I am but a fool, look you ; and 
yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind 
of a knave : but that's all one, if he be but one 
knave. He lives not now that knows me to be 
in love ; yet 1 am in love ; but a team of horse 
shall not pluck that from me ; nor who 'tis I 
love; and yet 'tis a woman ; but what woman, 
I will not tell myself ; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; 
yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips ; 
yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, 
and serves for wages. She hath more qualities 
than a water-spaniel ; which is much in a bare 
Christian. [Pulling out a paper.] Here is the 
cate-log of her condition. 'Imprimis: She can 
fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do no 
more : nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only 
carry ; therefore is she better than a jade. 
* Item : She can milk ; ' look you, a sweet 
virtue in a maid with clean hands. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. How now, Signior Launce ! what 
news with your mastership ? 280 

Launce. With my master's ship ? why, it 
is at sea. 

Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake 
the word. What news, then, in your paper ? 

Launce. The blackest news that ever thou 
heardest. 

Speed. Why, man, how black ? 

Launce. Why, as black as ink. 

Speed. Let me read them. 290 

Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head ! thou canst 
not read. 

Sliced. Thou best ; I can. 

Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this: who 
begot thee ? 

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 

Launce. O illiterate loiterer ! it was the son 
of thy grandmother : this proves that thou 
canst not read. 

Speed. Come, fool, come ; try me in thy 
paper. 300 

Launce. There ; and St. Nicholas be thy 
speed ! 

Speed. [Reads'] ' Imprimis : She can milk.' 

Launce. Ay, that she can. 

Speed. ' Item : She brews good ale.' 

Launce. And thereof comes the proverb : 

Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale. ' 

Speed. ' Item : She can sew.' 



Launce. That's as much as to say, Can she 
so ? 

Speed. 'Item : She can knit' 310 

Launce. What need a man care for a stock 
with a wench, when she can knit him a stock? 

Speed. ' Item : She can wash and scour.' 

Launce. A special virtue : for then she 
need not be washed and scoured. 

Speed. ' Item : She can spin.' 

Launce. Then may 1 set th e world on wheels, 
when she can spin for her living. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath many nameless 
virtues.' 320 

Launce. That's as much as to say, bastard 
virtues ; that, indeed, know not their fathers 
and therefore have no names. 

Speed. * Here follow her vices.' 

Launce. Close at the heels of her virtues. 

Speed. * Item She is not to be kissed fast- 
ing, in respect of her breath.' 

Launce. Well, that fault may be mended 
with a breakfast. Read on. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath a sweet mouth.' 

Launce. That makes amends for her sour 
breath. 331 

Speed. ' Item : She doth talk in her sleep.' 

Launce. It's no matter for that, so she sleep 
not in her talk. 

Speed. ' Item : She is slow in words.' 

Launce. O villain, that set this down among 
her vices ! To be slow in words is a woman's 
only virtue : I pray thee, out with't, and place 
it for her chief virtue. 340 

Speed. ' Item : She is proud.' 

Launce. Out with that too ; it was Eve's 
legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath no teeth.' 

Launce. I care not for that neither, because 
I love crusts. 

Speed. ' Item : She is curst.' 

Launce. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth 
to bite. 

Speed. ' Item : She will often praise her 
liquor.' 351 

Launce. If her liquor be good, she shall : 
if she will not, I will ; for good things should 
be praised. 

Speed. ' Item : She is too liberal .' 

Launce. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's 
writ down she is slow of ; of her purse she 
shall not, for that I'll keep shut : now, of an- 
other thing she may, and that cannot I help. 
Well, proceed. 360 

Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than wit, 
and more faults than hairs, and more wealth 
than faults.' 

Launce. Stop there ; I'll have her: she was 
mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that last 
article. Rehearse that once more. 

Speed. ' Item : She hath more hair than 
wit,' — 

Launce. More hair than wit ? It may be ; 
I'll prove it. The cover of the salt hides the 
salt, and therefore it is more than the salt ; the 
hair that covers the wit is more than the wit, 
for the greater hides the less. Whats next ? 



*t>CENE II.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



123 



Speed. : And more faults than hairs,' — 

Launce. That's monstrous : 0, that that 
were out ! 

Speed. 'And more wealth than faults.' 

Lctunce. Why, that word makes the faults 
gracious. Well, I'll have her ; and if it be a 
match, as nothing is impossible, — 

Speed. What then ? 380 

Launce. Why, then will I tell thee — that 
thy master stays for thee at the North-gate. 

Speed. For me ? 

Launce*. For thee ! ay, who art thou ? he 
hath stayed for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him ? 

Launce. Thou must run to him, for thou 
hast stayed so long that going will scarce serve 
the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? pox 
of your love-letters ! {Exit. 391 

Launce. Now will he be swinged for read- 
ing my letter ; an unmannerly slave, that will 
thrust himself into secrets ! I'll alter, to re- 
joice in the boy's correction. [Exit. 

Scene II. The same. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Duke and Thurio. 

Luke. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will 
love you, 
Now Valentine is banish' d from her sight. 
Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me 
most, 
Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
Lake. This weak impress of love is as a 
figure 
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. 10 

Enter Proteus. 

How now, Sir Proteus ! Is your countryman 
According to our proclamation gone ? 
Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
Luke. My daughter takes his going griev- 
ously. 
Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that 

grief. 
Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not 
so. 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee — 
For thou hast shown some sign of good de- 
sert — 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your 
grace -0 

Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
Luke. Thou know'st how willingly I would 
effect 
The match between Sir Thurio and my daugh- 
ter. 
Pro. I do, my lord. 

Duke. And also, I think, thou art not igno- 
rant 
How she opposes her against my will. 



Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was 

here. 
Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine and love Sir Thurio ? 30 
Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice and poor descent, 
Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
Luke. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke 

in hate. 
Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken 
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
Duke. Then you must undertake to slander 
him. [do : 

Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to 
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, 40 

Especially against his very friend. 
Luke. Where your good word cannot ad- 
vantage him, 
Your slander never can endamage him ; 
Therefore the office is indifferent, 
Being entreated to it by your friend. 
Pro. You have prevail' d, my lord ; if I can 
do it 
By ought that I can speak m his dispraise, 
She shall not long continue love to him. 
But say this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. 50 
Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love 
from him, 
Lest it should ravel and be good to none, 
You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
Which must be done by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. 
Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in 
this kind, 
Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
You are already Love's firm votary 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access 00 
Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of 

you ; 
Where you may temper her by your persua- 
sion 
To hate young Valentine and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : 
But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ; 
Yon must lay lime to tangle her desires 
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should be fall-fraught with serviceable vows. 
Duke. Ay, 71 

Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
You sacrifice your tears, your .sighs, your 

heart : 
Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears 
Moist it again, and frame some feeling line 
That may discover such integrity : 
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' 

sinews. 
Whose golden touch could soften steel and 

stones, 
Make tigers tame and huge leviathans 80 



124 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act iv. 



Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands . 
After your dire-lamenting elegies, 
Visit by night your lady's chamber- window 
With some sweet concert ; to their instruments 
Tune a deploring dump : the night's dead 

silence 
Will well become such sweet-complaining 

grievance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been 
in love. [practice. 

Thu. And thy advice this night I'll put in 
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
Let us into the city presently 91 

To sort some gentlemen well skill' d in music. 
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 
Duke. About it, gentlemen ! 
Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after 
supper, 
And afterward determine our proceedings. 
Duke. Even now about it ! I will pardon 
you. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. The frontiers of Mantua. A forest. 

Enter certain Outlaws. 

First Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a pas- 
senger. 

Sec. Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but 
down with 'em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

Third Oui. Stand, sir, and throw us that 
you have about ye : 
If not, we'll make you sit and rifle you. 
Speed. Sir, we are undone ; these are the 
villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 
Val. My friends, — 
First Out. That's not so, sir : we are your 

enemies. 
Sec. Out. Peace ! we'll hear him. 
Third Out. Ay, by my beard, will we, for 
he's a proper man. 10 

Val. Then know that I have little wealth to 
lose: 
A man I am cross' d with adversity; 
My riches are these poor habiliments, 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 
Sec. Out. Whither travel you ? 
Val. To Verona. 
First Out. Whence came you ? 
Val. From Milan. 

Third Out. Have you long sojourned there? 
Val. Some sixteen months, and longer might 
have stay'd, 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
First Out. What, were you banish'd thence? 
Val. I was. 

Sec. Out. For what offence ? 
Val. For that which now torments me to 
rehearse : 



I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
Without false vantage or base treachery. 
First Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were 
done so. 30 

But were you banish'd for so small a fault ? 
Val. I was, and held me glad of such a 

doom. 
Sec. Out. Have you the tongues ? 
Val. My youthful travel therein made me 
happy, 
Or else I often had been miserable. 

Third Out. By the bare scalp of Robin 
Hood's fat friar, 
This fellow were a king for our wild faction ! 
First Out. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. 
Speed. Master, be one of them ; it's an 
honorable kind of thievery. 40 

Val. Peace, villain ! 
Sec. Out. Tell us this : have you any thing 

to take to ? 
Val. Nothing but my fortune. 
Third Out. Know, then, that some of us 
are gentlemen, 
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
Thrust from the company of awful men • 
Myself was from Verona banished 
For practising to steal away a lady, 
An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
Sec. Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentle- 
man, 50 
Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
First Out. And I for such like petty crimes 
as these, 
But to the urpose — for we cite our faults, 
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; 
And partly, seeing you are beautified 
With goodly shape and by your own report 
A linguist and a man of such perfection 
As we do in our quality much want — 
Sec. Out. Indeed, because you are a ban- 
ish'd man, 
Therefore ; above the rest, we parley to you : 
Are y u content to be our general ? 61 
To make a virtue of necessity 
And live, as we do, in this wilderness ? 

Third Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou 
be of our consort ? 
Say ay, and be the captain of us all : 
We'll do thee homage and be ruled by thee, 
Love thee as our commander and our king. 
First Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, 

thou diest. 
Sec. Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what 

we have offer'd. 
Val. I take your offer and will live with 
you, 70 

Provided that you do no outrages 
On silly women or poor passengers. 

Third Out. No, we detest such vile base 
practices. 
Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our 

crews, 
And show thee all the treasure we have got ; 
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene ii.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



125 



Scene II. Milan. Outside the Duke's palace, 
under Silvia's chamber. 

Enter Proteus. 

Pro. Already have I been false to Valen- 
tine 
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
Under the coior of commending him* 
I have access my own love to prefer : 
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
When I protest true loyalty to her, 
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend ; 
When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
She bids me think how I have been forsworn 
In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved: 11 
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my 

love. 
The more it grows aud fawneth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her 

window, 
And give some evening music to her ear. 

Enter Thurio and Musicians. 
Thu. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept 

before us ? 
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio : for you know 

that love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 20 
Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not 

here. 
Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be 

hence. 
Thu. Who ? Silvia ? 

Pro. Ay, Silvia ; for your sake. 

Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, 

gentlemen, 
Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 

Enter, at a distance, Host, and Julia in 
boy' a clothes. 

Host. Now, my young guest, methinks 
you're allycholly : I pray you, why is it ? 

Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be 
merry. 

Host. Come, we'll have you m rry : I'll 
bring you where you shall hear music and see 
the gentleman that you asked for. 

Jul. But shall I hear Mm speak '{ 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. 

Host. Hark, hark ! 

Jul. Is he among these ? 

Host. Ay : but, peace . let's hear 'em. 



Song. 

Who is Silvia ? what is she, 

That all our swains commend her ? 
Holy, fair and wise is she ; 

The heaven such grace did lend her, 
That she might admired be. 

Is she kind as she is fair ? 

For beauty lives with kindness 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 



40 



To help him of his blindness, 
And, being help'd, inhabits there 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling ; 60 

She excels each mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
To her let us garlands bring. 

Host. How now ! are you sadder than you 
were before ? How do you, man ? the music 
likes you not. 

Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me 
not. 

Host. Why, my pretty youth ? 

Jul. He plays false, father. 

Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 

Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he 
grieves my very heart-strings. 61 

Host. You have a quick ear. 

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ; it makes 
me have a slow heart. 

Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the 
music ! 

Jul. Ay, that change is the spite. 70 

Host. You would have them always play 
but one thing ? 

Jul. I would always have one play but one 
thing. 
But, host, doth this Sir Proteus that we talk 

on 
Often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, 
told me : he loved her out of all nick. 

Jul. Where is Launce ? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which to- 
morrow, by his master's command, he must 
carry for a present to his lady. 80 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside : the company 
parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you : I wili so 
plead 
That you shall say my cunning drift excels. 

Thu. Where meet we 

Pro. At Saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Thu. and Musicians. 

Enter Silvia above. 

Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you for your music, gentle- 
men. 
Who is that that spake ? 

Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure 
heart's truth, 
You would quickly learn to know him by his 
voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 90 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your 
servant. 

Sil. What's your will ? 

Pro. That I may compass yours 

Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even 
this : 
That presently you hie you home to bed- 



12ft 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



i Act iv. 



Thou subtle, perjured, false, disloyal man ! 
Think'st thou I am so shallow, so couceitless, 
To be seduced by thy flattery, 
That hast deceived so many with thy vows ? 
Return, return, aud make thy love amends. 
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, 
T am so far from granting thy request 101 

That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, 
And by and by intend to chide myself 
Even for this time 1 spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a 
lady ; 
But she is dead. 

Jul. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should 
speak it ; 
For I am sure she is not buried. 

Sil. Say that she be ; yet Valentine thy 
friend 
Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, 110 
I am betroth' d : and art thou not ashamed 
To wrong him with thy importunacy ? 

Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. 

Sil. And so suppose am I ; for in his grave 
Assure thyself my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the 
earth. 

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave and call hers 
thence, 
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 

Jul. [Aside] He heard not that. 

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
For since the substance of your perfect self 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Jid. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you 
would, sure, deceive it, 
And make it but a shadow, as I am. 

Sil. I am very loath to be your idol, sir ; 
But dnce your falsehood shall become you 
well 130 

To worship shadows aud adore false shapes, 
Send to me in the morning and I'll send it : 
And so, good rest. 

Pro. As wretches have o'ernight 

That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Exeunt Pro. and Sil. severally. 

Jul. Host, will yju go ? 

Host. By my halidom, ! was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray y- u, where lies Sir Proteus ? 

Host. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I 
think 'tis almost day. 

Jul. Not so • but it hath been the longest 
night 140 

That e'er I watch'd and the most heaviest. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 

Enter Eglamour. 

Egl. This is the hour that Madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call and know her mind . 
There's some great matter she'ld employ me 

in. 
Madam, madam ! 



Enter Silvia above. 

Sil. Who calls ? 

Egl. Your servant and your friend ; 

One that attends your ladyship's command. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good 
morrow. 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself : 
According to your ladyship's impose, 
I am thus early come to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 10 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman — 
Think not I flatter, for I swear 1 do not- - 
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish' d : 
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
I bear unto the banish' d Valentine, 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors. 
Thyself hast loved ; and I have heard thee say 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart 
As when thy lady and thy true love died, 20 
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode ; 
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
I do desire thy worthy company, 
Upon whose faith and honor I repose. 
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief, 
And on the justice of my flying hence, 
To keep me from a most unholy match, 30 
Which heaven and fortune still rewards with 

plagues. 
I do desire thee, even from a heart 
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
To bear me company and go with me : 
If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances; 
Which since I know they virtuously are placed, 
I give consent to go along with you, 
Recking as little what betideth me 40 

As much I wish all good befortune you. 
When will you go ? 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you ? 

Sil. At Friar Patrick's cell, 

Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship. Good 
morrow, gentle lady. 

Sil.- Good morrow, kind Sir Eglamour. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene IV. The same. 

Enter Launce, ivith his Dog. 

Launce. When a man's servant shall play 
the cur with him, look you, it goes hard : one 
that I brought up of a puppy ; one that I saved 
from drowning, when three or four of his blind 
brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught 
him, even as one would say precisely, ' thus I 
would teach a dog. ' I was sent to deliver him as 
a present to Mistress Silvia from my master ; 
and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber 
but he steps me to her trencher and steals her 
capon's leg : O, 'tis a foul thing when a cul 



ScEXE IV.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN' OF VERONA. 



12? 



cannot keep himself in all companies ! I would 
Lave, as one should say, one that takes upon 
him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog 
at all things. If I had not had more wit than 
he, to take a fault upon me that he did, I think 
verily he had been hanged for't* sure as I live, 
he had suffered for't ; you shall judge. He 
thrusts me himself into the company of three 
or four gentlemanlike dogs, under the duke's 
table : he had not been there — bless the mark ! 
— a pissing while, but all the chamber smelt 
him. ' Out with the dog ! ' says one : ' What 
cur is that ? ' says another : ' Whip him out' 
says the third : ' Hang him up ' says the duke. 
I, having been acquainted with the smell be- 
fore, knew i- was Crab, and goes me to the 
fellow that whips the dogs : ' Friend,' quoth I, 
' you mean to whip the clog ? ' ' Ay, marry, do 
I, quoth he. ' You do him the more wrong,' 
quoth I; 'twas I did the thing you wot of.' 
He makes me no more ado, but whips me out 
of the chamber. How many masters would do 
this -or his servant ? Nay, I'll be sworn, I 
have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath 
stolen, otherwise he had been executed ; I have 
stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, 
otherwise he had suffered for't. Thou thinkest 
not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick 
you served me when I took my leave of Madam 
Silvia : did not I bid thee still mark me and do 
as I do ? when didst thou see me heave up my 
leg and make water against a gentlewoman's 
farthingale ? didst thou ever see me do such a 
trick ? 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Sebastian is thy name ? I like thee 
well 
And will employ thee in some service pres- 
ently. 
Jul. In what you please : I'll do what I can. 
Pro. I hope thou wilt. [To Launce] How 
now, you whoreson peasant ! 
Where have you been these two days loitering? 
Launce. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Sil- 
via the dog you bade me. 50 
Pro. And what says she to my little jewel? 
Launce. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, 
and tells you currish thanks is good enough for 
such a present. 
Pro. But she received my dog ? 
Launce. No, indeed, did she not : here have 
I brought him back again. 
Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from 

me? 
Launce. Ay, sir : the other squirrel was 
stolen from me by the hangman boys in the 
market-place: and then [offered her mine own, 
who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and there- 
fore the gilt the greater. 
Pro. Go get thee hence, and find my dog 
again, 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 

, , I say ! stay'st thou to vex me here ? 

[ Exit L<i>: w<\ 
A slave, that still au end turns me to shame ! 



Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
Partly that I have need of such a youth 
That can with some discretion do my business, 
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, 71 
But chiefly for thy face and thy behavior, 
Which, if my augury deceive me not, 
Witness good bringing up, fortune and truth : 
Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
(Jo presently and take this ring with thee, 
Deliver it to Madam Silvia : 
She loved me well deliver' d it to me. 

Jul. It seems you loved not her, to leave 
her token. 
She is dead, belike ? 

Pro. Not so ; I think she lives. 80 

Jul. Alas ! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry ' alas ' ? 

Jul. I cannot choose 

But pity her. 

Pro. ' Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ? 

Jul. Because methinks that she loved you 
as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia : 
She dreams on him that has forgot her love ; 
You dote on her that cares not for your love. 
'Tis pity love should be so contrary ; 
And thinking on it makes me cry ' alas !' 

Pro. Well, give her that ring and there 
withal 
This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my 

lady 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my cham- 
ber, 
Where thou shalt find me, sad and solitarv. 

[Exit. 

Jul. How many women would do such a 
message ? 
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain' 
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. 
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
That with his very heart despiseth me ? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me ; 100 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him when he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will ; 
And now am I, unhappy messenger, 
To plead for that which I would not obtain, 
T > carry that which I would have refused, 
To praise his faith which I would have dis- 
praised. 
I am my master's true-confirmed love ; 
But cannot be true servant to my master, 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 110 

Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly 
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him 
speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 

Gentlewoman, good day . I pray you, be my 

mean 
To bring me where to speak with Madam 

Silvia,. 
Sil. What would you with her, if that I be 

she ? 



128 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act v. 



Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your pa- 
tience 
v U"o near me speak the message I am sent on. 
\ Sil. From whom ? 

Jul. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. 

Sil. O, he sends you for a picture. 120 

Jul. Ay, madam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
Go give your masterthis: tell him from me, 
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
Would better lit his chamber than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter.— 
Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvised 
Deliver' d you a paper that I should not : 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon 
me. 

Sil. There, hold ! 
I will not look upon your master's lines : 
I know they are stuff' d with protestations 
And full of new-found oaths ; which he will 

break 
As easily as I do, tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this 
ring. 

Sil. The more shame for him that he sends 
it me ; 
For I have heard him say a thousand times 
His Julia gave it him at his departure. 140 
Though his false finger have profaned the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 

Jul. She thanks you. 

Sil. What say' st thou ? 

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender 
her. 
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her 
much. 

Sil. Dost thou know her ? 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
To think upon her woes I do protest 
That I have wept a hundred several times. 150 

Sil. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath 
forsook her. 

Jul. I think she doth ; and that's her cause 
of sorrow. 

Sil. Is she not passing fair ? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than 
she is : 
When she did think my master loved her well, 
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you : 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
The air hath starved the roses in her cheeks 
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 1G0 
That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall was she ? 

Jul. About my stature ; for at Pentecost, 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
Audi was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown, 
Which served me as fit, by all men's judg- 
ments, 
As if the garment had been made for me : 
Therefore I know she is about my height. 
And at that time I made her weep agood, 170 



For I did play a lamentable part *. 
Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning 
For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight ; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. 
Wept bitterly ; and Would I might be dead 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 

Sil. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth. 
Alas, poor lady, desolate and leit ! 
I weep myself' to think upon thy words. 18J 
Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee 

this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because tin u 

lovest her. 
Farewell. [Exit Silvia, with attendants. 

Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er 

you know her. 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful ! 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with itself ! 
Here is her picture : let me see ; I think, 
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 190 

Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
And yet the painter flatter' d her a little, 
Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
If that be all the difference in his love, 
I'll get me such a color' d periwig. 
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine : 
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as 

high. 
What should it be that he respects in her 
But I can make respective in myself, 200 

If this fond Love were not a blinded god ? 
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form. 
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, loved and 

adored ! 
And, were there sense in his idolatry, 
My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 
That used me so ; or else, by Jove I vow, 
I should have scratch' d out your unseeing eyes, 
To make my master out of love with thee ! 

[Exit. 



ACT V. 



Scene I. Milan. An abbey. 

Enter Eglamouk. 

Ecjl. The sun begins to gild the western sky ; 
And now it is about the very hour 
That Silvia, at Friar Patrick's cell, should 

meet me. 
She will not fail, for lovers break not hours, 
Unless it be to come before their time ; 
So much they spur their expedition. 
See where she comes. 

Enter Silvia. 

Lady, a happy evening.' 
Sil. Amen, amen ! Go on, good Eglamour, 
Out at the postern by the abbey-wall ; 



Scene iv.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, 



129 



I fear I am attended by some spies. 10 

Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three 
leagues off ; 
If we recover that, we are sure enough. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. The Duke's palace. 

Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 

Thu, Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my 

suit ? 
Pro. 0, sir, I find her milder than she was; 
\nd yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
Thu. What, that my leg is too long ? 
Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make it somewhat 

rounder. 
Jul. [Asi.le] But love will not be spurred 

to what it loathes. 
Thu. What says she to my face! 
Pro. She says it is a fair one. 
Thu. Nay then, the wanton lies; my face 

is black. 10 

Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old say- 
ing is, 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 
Jul. [Aside] 'Tis. true; such pearls as put 

out ladies' eyes ; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. 
Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
Thu. But well, when I discourse of love 

and peace ? 
Jul. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you 

hold your peace. 
Thu. What says she to my valor? 
Pro. O, sir, she makes no deubt of that. 20 
Jul. [Aside] She needs not, when she 

knows its cowardice. 
Thu. What says she to my birth? 
Pro. That you are well derived. 
Jul. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a 

fool. 
Thu. Considers she my possessions? 
Pro. O, ay; and pities them. 
Thu. Wherefore? 
Jul. [Aside] That such an ass should owe 

them. 
Pro. That they are out by lease. 
Jul. Here comes the duke. 30 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. How now, Sir Proteus ! how now, 
Thurio ! 
Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late ? 

TJiu. Not I. 

Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter ? 

Pro. Neither. 

Duke* Why then, 
She's fled unto that peasant Valentine ; 
And Eglamour is in her company. 
'Tis true ; for Friar Laurence met them both, 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest; 
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was 
she, 



But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it ; 40 

Besides, she did intend confession 

At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was 

not ; 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from 

hence. 
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
But mount you presently and meet with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are 

fled: 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. 

[Exit. 
Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
That flies her fortune when it follows her. 50 
I'll after, more to be revenged on Eglamour 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 
Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's 
love 
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her . 

[Exit. 
Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that 
love 
Than hate for Silvia that is gone for love. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. The frontiers of Mantw 
The forest. 

Enter Outlaws with Silvia. 

First Out. Come, come, 
Be patient ; we must bring you to our captain. 
Sil. A thousand more mischances than this 
on^ 
Have learn' d me how to brook this patiently. 
Sec. Out. Come, bring her away. 
First Out. Where is the gentleman that 

waj with her ? 
TJiird Out. Beiug nimble-footed, he hath 
outrun us, 
But Moyses and Valerius follow him. 
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood; 
There is our captain : we'll follow him that's 
fled • 10 

The thicket is beset ; he cannot 'scape. 
First Out. Come, I must bring you to our 
cai tain's cave . 
Fear not ; he bears an honorable mind, 
And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
Mil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee i 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Another part of the forest. 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns: 
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses and record my woes. 
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless, 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall 
And leave no memory of what it was ! 1C 

Bepair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 



130 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act y. 



Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
What halloing and what stir is this to-day ? 
These are my mates, that make their wills 

their law, 
Have some unhappy passenger in chase. 
They love me well ; yet I have much to do 
To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes 

here ? 

Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 
Pro. Madam, this service I have done for 
you, 
Though you respect not aught your servant 
doth, 20 

To hazard life and rescue you from him 
That would have forced your honor and your 

love ; 
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look ; 
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg 
And less than this, 1 am sure, you cannot give. 
Val. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see 
and hear ! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear awhile. 
Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I 
came ; 
But by my coming I have made you happy. 30 
Sil. By thy approach thou inakest me most 

unhappy. 
Jul. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth 

to your presence. 
Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
O, Heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ! 
And full as much, for more there cannot be, 
I do detest false perjured Proteus. 
Therefore be gone ; solicit me no more. 40 
Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next 
to death, 
Would I not undergo for one calm look ! 
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approved, 
When women cannot love where they're be- 
loved ! 
Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's 
beloved. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy 

faith 
luto a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
Descended into perjury, to love me. 
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst 
two ; 50 

And that's far worse than none ; better have 

none 
Than plural faith which is too much by one : 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 

Pro. In love 

Who respects friend ? 
Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving 
words 
Can do way change you to a milder form, 
I'll woo \> ou like a soldier, at arms' end. 



And love you 'gainst the nature of love, — force 

Sil. O heaven ! [ye. 

Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch, 
Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 60 

Pro. Valentine ! 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without 
faith or love, 
For such is a friend now ; treacherous man ! 
Thou hast beguiled my hopes ; nought but 

mine eye 
Could have persuaded me: now I dare not say 
I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove 

me. 
Who should be trusted, when one's own right 

hand 
Is perjured to the bosom ? Proteus, 
I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
The private wound is deepest: O time most 
accurst, 71 

'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the 
worst ! 

Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me. 
Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
I tender 't here ; I do as truly suffer 
As e'er I did commit. 

Val. Then I am paid • 

And once again I do receive thee honest. 
Who by repentance is not satisfied 
Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are 
pleased. 80 

By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased : 
And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. 

Jul. O me unhappy ! [Swoons. 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

Val. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ! 
what's the matter ? Look up ; speak. 

Jul. O good sir, my master charged me to 
deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of 
my neglect, was never done. 90 

Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 

Jul. Here 'tis ; this is it. 

Pro. How ! let me see : 
Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. 

Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, I have mistook: 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 

Pro. But how earnest thou by this ring ? 
At my depart 
I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

Pro. How ! Julia ! 100 

Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy 
oaths, 
And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart. 
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root 
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
Be thou ashamed that I have took upon me 
Such an immodest raiment, if shame live 
In a disguise of love : 
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
Women to change their shapes than men theii 
minds. 



SCENE IV.] 



THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



131 



Pro. Than men their minds ! 'tis true. 

heaven ! were man 110 

But constant, he were perfect. That one error 

Fills him with faults; makes him run through 

all the sins : 
Inconstancy falls off ere it begins. 
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ? 
Val. Come, come, a hand from either : 
Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
'Twere pity two such friends should be long 
foes. 
Pro. Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish 

for ever. 
Jul. And I mine. 120 

Enter Outlaws, with Duke and Thurio. 

Outlaws. A prize, a prize, a prize ! 

Val. Forbear, forbear, I say ! it is my lord 
the duke. 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgraced, 
Banished Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine ! 

Thu. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace 
thy death ; 
Come not within the measure of my wrath ; 
Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
t Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands ; 
Take but possession of her with a touch : 130 
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. 

Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ; 
I hold him but a fool that will endanger 
His body for a girl that loves him not : 
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 

Duke. The more degenerate and base art 
thou, 
To make such means for her as thou hast done 
And leave her on such slight conditions. 
Now, by the honor of my ancestry, 
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 140 

And think thee worthy of an empress' love : 



Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again, 
Plead a new state in thy unrival'd merit, 
To which I thus subscribe : Sir Valentine, 
Thou art a gentleman and well derived ; 
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved 
her. 
Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath 
made me happy. 
I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 150 
Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it 

be. 
Val. These banish' d men that I have kept 
withal 
Are men endued with worthy qualities : 
Forgive them what they have committed here 
And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
They are reformed, civil, full of good 
And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
Duke. Thou hast prevail' d ; I pardon them 
and thee : 
Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts. 
Come, let us go : we will include all jars 160 
With triumphs, mirth and rare solemnity. 

Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to 

smile. 
What think you of this page, my lord ? 
Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him ; 

he blushes. 
Val. I warrant you, my lord, more grace 

than boy. 
Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 
Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass 
along, 
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. 
Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance but to hear 
The story of your loves discovered : 171 

That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

{Exeunt. 



MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



(WKITTEtf ABOUT 1593-94.) 



INTRODUCTION. 



A Midsummer Night's Dream is a strange and beautiful web, woven delicately by a youthful 
poet's fancy. What is perhaps most remarkable about the play is the harmonious blending in it of 
widely different elements. It is as if threads of silken splendor were run together in its texture 
with a yarn of hempen homespun, and both these with lines of dewy gossamer and filaments drawn 
from the moonbeams. In North's Plutarch, or in Chaucer's Knight's Tale, Shakespeare may have 
found the figures of Theseus and his Amazonian bride; from Chaucer also ( Wife of Bath's Talc), 
may have come the figure of the elf -queen (though not her name, Titania), and the story of Py ra- 
mus and Thisbe (see Chaucer's Legend of Good Women) ; this last, however, was perhaps taken from 
Golding's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Oberon, the fairy-king, had recently appeared in 
Greene's play The Scottish History of James IV. ; Puck, under his name of Robin Goodfellow, was a 
roguish sprite, well known in English fairy-lore. Finally, in Montemayor's Diana, which Shake- 
speare had made acquaintance with before I 1 he Two Gentlemen of Verona was written, occur some 
incidents which may have suggested the magic effects of the flower-juice laid upon the sleeping 
lovers' lids. Taking a little from this quarter and a little from that, Shakespeare created out of such 
slight materials his marvellous Dream. The marriage of Duke Theseus and Hippolyta — who are 
classical in name only, being in reality romantic mediaeval figures— surrounds the whole, as it were, 
with a magnificent frame. Theseus is Shakespeare's early ideal of a heroic warrior and man of ac- 
tion. His life is one of splendid achievement and of joy; his love is a kind of happy victory, Ins mar- 
riage a triumph. From early morning, when his hounds — themselves heroic creatures— fill the valley 
with their " musical confusion," until midnight, when the Athenian clowns end their "very tragi- 
cal mirth" with a Bergomask dance, Theseus displays his joyous energy and the graciousness of power. 
In contrast with him and his warrior bride, the figures of the young lovers look slight and grace- 
ful, and their love-perplexities and errors are seen to be among the minor and remediable afflictions 
of the world. The mirth of the lovers' part of A Midsummer Night's Dream turns chiefly upon the 
incidents, and therefore, as with the brothers Antipholus,in The Comedy of Errors, differences of char- 
acter are not made prominent. Here, as in the Errors, there are entanglements and cross-purposes. 
The one play has been named " the mistakes of a day," and the other "the mistakes of a night :" 
but the difference lies deeper than such names intimate ; for in the Errors, the confusion is exter- 
nal to the mind, here it is internal ; in the Errors, the feelings of the actors remain constant, but 
the persons toward whom they are directed take the place, unobserved, one of another; here the 
persons remain constant, but their feelings of love, indifference, or dislike are at the mercy of mis- 
chief-making accident. As the two extremes of exquisite delicacy, of dainty elegance, and, on the 
other hand, of thick-witted grossness and clumsiness, stand the fairy tribe and the group of Athenian 
handicraftsmen. The world of the poet's dream includes the two— a Titania, and a Bottom the 
weaver— and can bring them into grotesque conjunction. No such fairy poetry existed anywhere 
in English literature before Shakespeare. The tiny elves, to whom a cowslip is tall, for whom the 




shock-pated little fellow, a very Shetlander among the gossamer-winged, dainty-limbed shapes 
around him." It has been conjectured that A Midsummer Night's Dream was written to grace the 
wedding of some noble person— Southampton who was married in 1598, or Essex who was married 
in 1590 ; but these dates are, the one too late, the other too early. A passage (Act II., Sc. I., L. 88-118) 
in which Titania describes the recent ill seasons, wintry summers, flood and fog, would very aptly 
correspond with the disastrous years 1593 and 1594. Perhaps we may incline towards 1594 as 
the date of the play. It contains a large proportion of rhyming lines : but the character of the 
play naturally calls for this. It has the gaiety, the fancifulness, and the want of either deep 
thought or passion which we might expect in an early drama. It was probably acted before Eliza- 
beth. The praise of « single-blessedness " (Act I., Sc. I.,L. 74-78) may have been designed to please the 
ears of the maiden queen ; andOberon's vision (Act II., Sc. I., L. 14S-168) contains a splendid piece 
of poetical homage to her. The "fair vestal throned bv the west" is certainly Elizabeth. Two 
quarto editions of the play, of which the second was probably pirated, were issued in the year 1600. 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



133 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Theseus, Duke of Athens. 
Egeus, father to Hermia. 

%Z£2£k, |i- >ove with Hermia. 
Philostrate, master of the revels to The- 
seus. 
Quince, a carpenter. 
Snug, a joiner. 
Bottom, a weaver. 
Flute, a bellows-mender. 
Snout, a tinker. 
Starveling, a tailor. 

Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons, betrothed 
to Theseus. 



Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Ly 

sander. 
Helena, in love with Demetrius 

Oberon, king of the fairies. 

Titania, queen of the fairies. 

Puck, or Robin Goodfellow. 

Peaseblossom, ) 

Cobweb, 

Moth, 

Mustardseed, 

Other fairies attending their King and Queen. 
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 

Scene : Athens, and a wood near it. 



fairies. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
and Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
Another moon : but, 0, methinks, how slow 
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
Like to a step-dame or a dowager 
Long withering out a young man's revenue. 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves 
in night ; 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 10 
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. 

The. Go, Philostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals ; 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. 

[Exit Philostrate. 
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
But I will wed thee in another key, 
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling. 

i Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and 
Demetrius. 

Eqe. Happy be Theseus, our renowned 

duke ! 20 

The. Thanks, good Egeus : what's the news 

with thee ? 
Ege. Full of vexation come I, with com- 
plaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord, 
This man hath my consent to marry her. 
Stand forth, Lysander : and, my gracious 

duke, 
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my 
child ; 



Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her 

rhymes 
And interchanged love-tokens with my child : 
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung 
With feigning voice verses of feigning love, ol 
And stolen the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, con- 
ceits, 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messen- 
gers ' 
Of strong prevailment in unhard< n'd youth : 
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's 

heart, 
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
To stubborn harshness : and, my gracious 

duke, 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 
( lonsent to marry with Demetrius, 10 

1 beg the ancient privilege of Athens, 
As she is mine, I may dispose of her : 
Which shall be either to this gentleman 
Or to her death, according to our law 
Immediately piovided in that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia ? be advised, 
fair maid : 
To you your father should be as a god ; 
One that composed your beauties, yea, and 

one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax 
By him imprinted and within his power 50 
To leave the figure or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
Her. So is Lysander. 
TJie. In himself he is ; 

But in this kind, wanting your lather's voice, 
The other must be held the worthier. 
Her. I would my father look'd but with my 

eyes. 
The. Rather your eyes must with his judg- 
ment look. 
Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
I know not by what power I am made bold, 
Nor how it may concern my modesty, 60 

In such a presence here to plead my thoughts,' 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 



134 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act i: 



The worst that may befall me in this case, 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

The. Either to die the death or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires ; 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's 

choice, 
You can endure the livery of a nun, 70 

For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
To live a barren sister all your life, 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless 

moon. 
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood, 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage ; 
But earthlier happy is tne rose distill'd, 
Thau that which withering on the virgin thorn 
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness. 
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my 

lord, 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 80 

Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next 

new moon — 
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
For everlasting bond of fellowship — 
Upon that day either prepare to die 
For disobedience to your father's will, 
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would ; 
Or on Diana's altar to protest 
For aye austerity and single life. 90 

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia : and, Lysan- 

der, yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 
Lys. You have her father's love, Deme- 
trius ; 
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him. 
Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my 

love, 
And what is mine my love shall render him. 
And she is mine, and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he, 
As well possess' d ; my love is more than his ; 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 101 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can 

be, 
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia : 
Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 110 
The. I must confess that I have heard so 

much, 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke 

thereof ; 
But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come ; 
And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 



Or else the law of Athens yields you up — 
Which by no means we may extenuate — 120 
To death, or to a vow of single life. 
Come, my Hippolyta : what cheer, my love ? 
Demetrius and Egeus, go along : 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourself 
Ege. With duty "and desire we follow you. 
[Exeunt all but Lysander and Hermia. 
Lys. How now, my love ! why is your cheek 
so pale ? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? 
Her. Belike for want of rain, which I could 
well 130 

Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes. 
Lys. Ay me ! for aught that I couid ever 
read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth , 
But, either it was different in blood, — 
Her. cross ! too high to be enthrall' d to 

low. 
Lys. Or else misgraffed in respect of 

years,— 
Her. O spite ! too old to be engaged to 

young. 
Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of 

friends, — 
Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's 
eyes. 140 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in 
choice, 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and 

earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say ' Behold ! ' 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 
Her. If then true lovers have been ever 
cross'd, 150 

It stands as an edict in destiny : 
Then let us teach our trial patience, 
Because it is a customary cross, 
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and 

sighs, 
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
Lys. A good persuasion : therefore, hear 
me, Hermia. 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
From Athens is her house remote seven 

leagues ; 
And she respects me as her only son. 160 

There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then, 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; 
And in the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 
Her, My good Lysander 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



135 



I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow, 
By his best arrow with the golden head, 170 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves, 
By that which knitteth souls and prospers 

loves, 
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage 

queen, 
"When the false Troyan under sail was seen, 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever women spoke, 
In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
Lys. Keep promise, love. Look, here comes 

Helena. 

Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! whither 
away ? 180 

Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again un- 
say. 
Demetrius loves your fair : O happy fair ! 
Your eyes are lode-stars ; and your tongue's 

sweet air 
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, 
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds 

appear. 
Sickness is catching : O, were favor so, 
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your 

eye, 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet 

melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
The rest I'd give to be to you translated. 191 
0» teach me how you look, and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me 

still. 
Hel. that your frowns would teach my 

smiles such skill ! 
Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me 

love. 
Hel. that my prayers could such affection 

move .' 
Her. The more I hate, the more he follows 

me. 
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth 

me. 
Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
Hel. None, but your beauty : would that 
fault were mine ! 201 

Her. Take comfort : he no more shall see 
my face ; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me : 
O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell ! 
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will un- 
fold : 
To-morrow night, when Phcebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the watery glass, 210 

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal, 
Through Athens' gates have we devised to 
steal 



Her. And in the wood, where often you 
and I 
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet, 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet ; 
And thence from Athens turn away our eyes, 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow : pray thou for us ; 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 221 
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our 

sight 
From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight. 

Lys. I will, my Hermia. [Exit Herm. 

Helena, adieu : 
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! 

[Exit. 

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can 
be! 
Through Athens 1 am thought as fair as she. 
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not .so ; 
lie will not know what all but he do know : 
And as he errs, doting on Hermia' s eyes, 230 
So I, admiring of his qualities : 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
Love can transpose to form and dignity : 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the 

mind ; 
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind : 
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste : 
And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
Because in choice he is so oft beguiled. 
As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
So the boy Love is perjured every where : 241 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 
He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine ; 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia 

felt, 
So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. 
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 
Then to the wood will lie to-morrow night 
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 250 

To have his sight thither and back again. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Athens. Quince's house. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 
and Starveling. 

Quin. Is all our company here ? 

Bot. You were best to call them generally, 
man by man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. Here is tne scroll of every man's 
name, which is thought fit, through all Athens, 
to play in our interlude before the duke and 
the duchess, on his wedding-day at night. 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
play treats on, then read the names of the 
actors, and so grow to a point. 10 

Quin. Marry, our play is, The most lament- 
able comedy, and most cruel death of Pyra- 
mus and Thisby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure 
you, and a merry. Now, good Peter Qiiin- 



136 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act ii. 



call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, 
spread yourselves. 

Quin. Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, 
the weaver. 20 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, 
and proceed. 

Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for 
Pyramus. 

Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a ty- 
rant ? 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gal- 
lant for love. 

Bot. That will ask some tears in the true 
performing of it : if I do it, let the audience 
look to their eyes ; I will move storms, I will 
condole in some measure. To the rest : yet 
my chief humor is for a tyrant : I could play 
Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to 
make all split. 

The raging rocks 
And shivering shocks 
Shall break the locks 
Of prison gates ; 
And Phibbus' car 
Shall shine from far 
And make and mar 

The foolish Fates. 40 

This was lofty ! Now name the rest of the 
players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; 
a lover is more condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Flute, you must take Thisby on you. 

Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight ? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must 
love. 

Flu. Nav, faith, let me not play a woman ; 
T have a beard coming, 50 

Quin. That's all one : you shall play it in a 
mask, and you may speak as small as you 
will. 

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play 
Thisby too, I'll speak in a monstrous little 
voice, 'Thisne, Thisne ;' 'Ah, Pyramus, my 
lover dear ! thy Thisby dear, and lady dear ! ' 

Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus : 
and, Flute, you Thisby. 

Bot. Well, proceed. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 60 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play 
Thisby' s mother. Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus' father : myself, 
Thisby's father. Snug, the joiner ; you, the 
lion's part : and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written ? 
pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of 
study. 

Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is 
nothing but roaring. 71 

Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, 
that I will do any man's heart good to hear 
me ; I will roar, that I will make the dnke say 
' Let him roar again, let him roar again.' 

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you 



would fright the duchess and the ladies, that 
they would shriek ; and that were enough to 
hang us all. 

All. That would hang us, every mother's 
son. 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would 
have no more discretion but to hang us : but 
I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar 
you as gently as any sucking dove ; I will 
roar you an 'twere any nightingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; 
for Pyramus is a sweet- faced man ; a proper 
man, as one shall see in a summer's day ; a 
most lovely gentleman-like man : therefore 
you must needs play Pyramus. ( J1 

Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What 
beard were I best to play it in ? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 

Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
color beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
purple-in-grain beard, or your French-erown- 
color beard, your perfect yellow. 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no 
hair at all, and then you will play barefaced. 
But, masters, here are your parts : and I am 
to entreat you, request you and desire you, to 
con them by to-morrow night ; and meet me 
in the palace wood, a mile without the town, 
by moonlight ; there will we rehearse, for if 
we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with 
company, and our devices known. In the 
meantime I will draw a bill of properties, such 
as our play wants. I pray you, fail me not 

Bot. We will meet ; and there we may re- 
hearse most obscenely and courageously. Take 
pains ; be perfect : adieu. 

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough ; hold or cut bow-strings. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Scene I. A wood near Athens. 

Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and Puck. 

Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wandej 

you ? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale, 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander everywhere, 
Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
And I serve the fairy queen, 
To dew her orbs upon the green. 
' The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 10 
In their gold coats spots you see ; 
Those be rubies, fairy favors, 
In those freckles live their savors : 
I must go seek some dewdrops here 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lob of spirits ; I'll be gone : 
Our queen and all our elves come here anon. 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



137 



Puck. The king doth keep his revels here 

to-night : 
Take heed the queen come not within his 

sight ; 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 20 

Because that she as her attendant hath 
A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king ; 
She never had so sweet a changeling ; 
And jealous Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild ; 
But she perforce withholds the loved boy, 
Crowns him with flowers and makes him all 

her joy : 
And now they never meet in grove or green, 
By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen, 
But they do square, that all their elves for 

fear 30 

Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there. 
Fai. Either I mistake your shape and 

making quite, 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite 
Call'd Robin Goodfellow : are not you he 
That frights the maidens of the villagery ; 
Skim milk, and sometimes labor in the quern 
And bootless make the breathless housewife 

churn ; 
And sometime make the drink to bear no 

barm ; 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their 

harm ? 
Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good 

luck : 
Are not you he ? 

Puck. Thou speak' st aright ; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon and make him smile 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal : 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
In very likeness of a roasted crab, 
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob 
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 50 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
Aud 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough ; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips and 

laugh, 
And waxen in their mirth and neeze and 

swear 
A merrier hour was never wasted there. 
But, room, fairy ! here comes Oberon. 
Fai. And here my mistress. Would that 

he were gone ! 

Enter, from one side, Oberon, with his. train ; 
from the other, Titania, with Iters. 

Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 
Tito. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairies, skip 
hence : f>l 

I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : am not I thy 

lord ? 
Tita. Then I must be thy lady : but I know 
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land, 



And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
Playing on pipes of corn and versing love 
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
Come from the farthest steppe of India ? 
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 70 
Your buskin' d mistress and your warrior love, 
To Theseus must be wedded, and you come 
To give their bed joy and prosperity. 

Obe. How canst thou thus for shame, Tita- 
nia, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ? 
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmer- 
ing night 
From Perigenia, whom he ravished ? 
And make him with fair yEgle break his faith, 
With Ariadne and Antiopa ? 80 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
And never, since the middle summer's spring, 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead, 
By paved fountain or by rushy brook, 
Or in the beached niargent of the sea, 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb' d our 

sport. 
Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land ( .X) 
Have every pelting river made so proud 
That they have overborne their continents : 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in 

vain, 
The ploughman lost his sweat, aud the green 

corn 
Hath rotted ere his youth attain' d a beard ; 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock ; 
The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud, 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green 
For lack of tread are undistinguishable : 100 
The human mortals want their winter here ; 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest : 
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
And thorough this distemperature we see 
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose, 
And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 110 
Is, as in mockery, set : the spring, the sum- 
mer, 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed -world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is 

which : 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension ; 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then: it lies in you: 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy, 120 

To be my bench man. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest : 

The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
His mother was a votaress of my order ; 



138 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



Act ii. 



And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
Full often hath she gossip' d by my side, 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
Marking the embarked traders on the flood, 
When we have laugh' d to see the sails con- 
ceive 
And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind ; 
Which she, with pretty and with swimming 

gait 130 

Following, — her womb then rich with my 

young squire, — 
Would imitate, and sail upon the laud, 
To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
And for her sake do I rear up her boy, 
And for her sake I will not part with him. 
Obe. How long within this wood intend 

you stay ? 
Tita. Perchance till after Theseus' wed- 
ding-day. 
If you will patiently dance in our round 140 
And see our moonlight revels, go with us ; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with 

thee. 
Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, 

away ! 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

[Exit Titania ivith her train. 
Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not 

from this grove 
Till I torment thee for this injury. 
My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou remem- 

berest 
Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back 150 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song 
And certain stars shot madly from their 

spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music. 
Puck. I remember. 

Obe. That very time I saw, but thou 

couldst not, 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd : a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal throned by the west, 
And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his 

bow, 
As it should pierce a hundred thousand 

hearts ; 160 

But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench' d in the chaste beams of the watery 

moon, 
And the imperial votaress passed on, 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
It fell upon a little western flower, 
Before milk-white, now purple with love's 

wound, 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I shew'd thee 

once : 
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid 170 
Will make or man or woman madly dote 



Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the 
earth 
In forty minutes. [Exit. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes. 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 180 

On meddling monkey, or on busy ape, 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love : 
And ere I take this charm from off her sight 
As I can take it with another herb, 
I'll make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. 

Dem: I love thee not, therefore pursue me 

not. 
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia ? 
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 190 
Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this 

wood ; 
And here am I, and wode within this wood, 
Because I cannot meet my Hermia. 
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted ada- 
mant ; 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
Is true as steel : leave you your power to 

draw, 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 
Dem. Do I entice you ? do I speak you 

fair ? 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 200 

Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 
Hel. And even for that do I love you the 

more. 
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me', strike 

me, 
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave, 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, — 
And yet a place of high respect with me, — 
Than to be used as you use your dog ? 210 
Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of 

my spirit, 
For I am sick when I do look on thee. 
Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 
Dem. You do impeach your modesty too 

much, 
To leave the city and commit yourself 
Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
To trust the opportunity of night 
And the ill counsel of a desert place 
With the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege : for that 
It is not night when I do see your face, 221 
Therefore I think I am not in the night ; 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, 
For you in my resuect are all the world : 






Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



139 



Then how can it be said I am alone, 
When all the world is here to look on me ? 
Bern. I'll run from thee and hide me in 
the brakes, 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as 
you. 
Run when you will, the story shall be changed : 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; 231 
The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger ; bootless 

speed, 
When cowardice pursues and valor flies. 
Bern. I will not stay thy questions ; let me 
go : 
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the 
field, 
You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius ! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 240 
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
We should be wood and were not made to 
woo. • [Exit Bern. 

I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, 
To die upon the hand I love so well. [Exit. 
Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere lie do 
leave this grove, 
Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love. 

Re-enter Puck. 

Hast thou the flower there ? Welcome, wan- 
derer. 
Puck. Ay, there it is. 
Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, 
tQuite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine : 
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, 
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and de- 
light ; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd 

skin, 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this 

grove : 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 260 

With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
But do it when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady : thou shalt know the man 
By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care, that he may prove 
More fond on her than she upon her love : 
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
Puck Fear not, my lord, your servant 
shall do so. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Another part of the wood. 
Enter Titania, with her train. 
Tita. Come, now a roundel and a fairy 
song ; 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; . 



Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds, 
Some war with rere-mice for their leathern 

wings, 
To make my small elves coats, and some keep 

back 
The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and 

wonders 
At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep ; 
Then to your offices and let me rest. 

The Fairies sing. 

You spotted snakes with double tongue, 

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 10 

Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, 

Come not near our fairy queen. 

Philomel, with melody 

Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby 
Never harm, 
Nor spell nor charm, 

Come our lovely lady nigh ; 

So, good night, with lullaby. 
Weaving spiders, come not here ; 20 

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! 
Beetles black, approach not near ; 
Worm nor snail, do no offence. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 

A Fairy. Hence, away ! now all is well : 
One aloof stand sentinel. 

[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps. 

Enter Oberon, and squeezes the flower on 
Titania' s eyelids. 

Obe. What thou seest when thou dost wake, 
Do it for thy true-love take, 
Love and languish for his sake : 
Be it ounce, or cat, or bear. 30 

Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wakest, it is thy dear : 
Wake when some vile thing is near. 

[Exit. 

Enter Lysander and Hermia. 

Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering 

in the wood ; 
And to speak troth, I have forgot our way : 
We'll rest us. Hermia, if you think it good, 
And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a 
bed ; 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 40 
Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us 
both ; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one 
troth. 
Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, 
my dear, 
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 
Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my inno- 
cence 1 
Love takes the meaning in love's conference. 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit 
So that but one heart we can make of it ; 



140 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act ii. 



Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
So then two hosoms and a single troth. 50 

Then by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
For lying so, Herniia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : 
Now much beshrew my manners and my 

pride, 
If Hermia meant to say Lysander lied. 
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off ; in human modesty, 
Such separation as may well be said 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, 
So far be distant ; and, good night, sweet 
friend : 60 

Thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end ! 

Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say 

i; 

And then end life when I end loyalty ! 
Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! 
Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes 
be press' d ! [They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 
Puck. Through the forest have I gone 
But Athenian found I none, 
On whose eyes I might approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence. — Who is here ? 70 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
This is he, my master said, 
Despised the Athenian maid ; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound, 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, this kill-courtesy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
All the power this charm doth owe. 
When thou wakest, let love forbid 80 
Sleep his seat on thy eyelid : 
So awake when I am gone ; 
For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. 

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 

Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet 

Demetrius. 
Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not 

haunt me thus. 
Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me ? do 

not so. 
Dem. Stay, on thy peril : I alone will go. 

[Exit. 
Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond 
chase ! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 90 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright ? Not with salt 

tears : 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
For beasts that meet me run away for fear : 
Therefore no marvel though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery 
eyne ? 99 



But who is here ? Lysander ! on the ground ! 
Dead ? or asleep ? I see no blood, no wound. 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
Lys. [ Awaking'] And run through fire I will 
for thy sweet sake. 
Transparent Helena ! Nature shows art, 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy 

heart. 
Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysauder ; say not so. 
What though he love your Hermia ? Lord, 
what though ? 109 

Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 
Lys. Content with Hermia ! No ; I do re- 
pent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermia but Helena I love : 
Who will not change a raven for a dove ? 
The will of man is by hih reason sway'd ; 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season: 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to rea- 
son ; 
And touching now the point of human skill, 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will 120 
And leads me to your eyes, where I o'erlook 
Love's stories written in love's richest book. 
Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery 
born ? 
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn ? 
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, 
That I did never, no, nor never can, 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
But you must flout my insufficiency ? 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you 

do, 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 130 

But fare you well : perforce I must confess 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady, of one man refused, 
Should of another therefore be abused ! [Exit. 
Lys. She sees not Hermia. Hermia, sleep 
thou there : 
And never mayst thou come Lysander near ! 
For as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings, 
Or as the heresies that men do leave 
Are hated most of those they did deceive, 140 
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 
Of all be hated, but the most of me ! 
And, all my powers, address your love and. 

might 
To honor Helen and to be her knight ! [Exit. 
Her. [Awaking \ Help me, Lysander, help 
me ! do thy best 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my 

breast ! 
Ay me, for pity ! what a dream was here ! 
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear : 
Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey. 150 

Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no 

word ? 
Alack, where are you ? speak, au if you hear : 



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Midsummer Night's Dream, p. 141 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



141 



Speak, of all loves ! I swoon almost with fear. 
No ? then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
Either death or you I'll find immediately. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. The wood. Titania lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, 
Snout, and Starveling. 

Bot. Are we all met ? 
Oiiin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous 
convenient place for our rehearsal. This green 
plot shall be our stage, this hawthorn-brake 
our tiring-house ; and we Avill do it in action 
as we will do it before the duke. 
Bot. Peter Quince,— 
Quin. What sayest thou, bully Bottom ? 
Bot. There are things in this comedy of 
Pyramus and Thisby that will never please. 
First, Pyramus must draw a sword to kill him- 
self ; which the ladies .cannot abide. How 
answer you that ? 

Snout. By'r lakin, a parlous fear. 
Star. I believe we must leave the killing 
out, when all is done. 

Bot. Not a whit : I have a device to make 
all well. Write me a prologue ; and let the 
prologue seem to say, we will do no harm 
with our swords, and that Pyramus is not 
killed indeed ; and, for the more better as- 
surance, tell them that I, Pyramus, am not 
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver : this will 
put them out of fear. 

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; 
and it shall be written in eight and six. 

Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be writ- 
ten in eight and eight. 

Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the 
lion? 
Star. T fear it, I promise you. 
Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with 
yourselves : to bring in— God shield us !— a 
lion among ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; 
for there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than 
your lion living ; and we ought to look to 't. 

Snout. Therefore another prologue must 
tell he is not a lion. 

Bot. Nav, vou must name his name, and 
half his face must be seen through the lion's 
neck : and he himself must speak through, 
saying thus, or to the same defect,—' Ladies,' 
—or 'Fair ladies,— I would wish you,'— or 'I 
would request you,'— or ' I would entreat you, 
—not to fear, not to tremble : my life for 
yours. If you think I come hither as a lion, it 
were pity of my life : no, I am no such thing ; 
I am a man as other men are ; ' and there in- 
deed let him name his name, and tell them 
plainly he is Snug the joiner. 

Quin, Well, it shall be so. But there is 
two hard things ; that is, to bring the moon- 
light into a chamber ; for, you know, Pyramus 
and Thisby meet by moonlight 51 



Snout. Doth the moon shine that night we 
play our play ? 

Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the 
almanac ; find out moonshine, find out moon- 
shine. 

Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 

Bot. Why, then may you leave a casement 
of the great chamber window, where we play, 
open, and the moon may shine in at the case- 
ment. 

Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with 
a bush of thorns and a lanthorn. and say he 
comes to disfigure, or to present, the person 
of Moonshine. Then, there is another thing : 
we must have a wall in the gie<Lt chamber; 
for Pyramus and Thisby, says the story, did 
talk through the chink of a wall. 

Snout. You can never bring in a wall. What 
say vou, Bottom ? 

Bol. Some man or other must present 
Wall : and let him have some plaster, or some 
loam, or some rough -cast about him, to signify 
wall ; and let him hold his fingers thus, and 
through that cranny shall Pyramus and Thisby 
whisper. 

Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, 
sit down, every mother's son, and rehearse 
your parts. Pyramus, you begin: when you 
have spoken 'your speech, enter into that 
brake : and so every one according to his cue. 

Enter Puck behind. 

Buck. What hempen home-spuns have we 
swaggering here, 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ? 80 

What, a play toward ! I'll be an auditor ; 
An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 

Quin. Speak, Pyramus. Thisby, stand 

forth. . 
Bot. Thisby, the flowers of odious savors 

sweet, — 
Quin. Odors, odors. 

Bot. odors savors sweet : 

So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
But hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile, 
And bv and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. 
Buck.' A stranger Pyramus than e'er played 
here. [Exit. <H> 

Flu. Must I speak now ? 
Quirt. Ay, marry, must you ; for you must 
understand he goes but to see a noise that he 
heard, and is to come again. 
Flu. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily- 
white of hue, 
Of color like the red rose on triumphant 
brier, 
Most brisky juvenal and eke most lovely Jew, 
As true as truest horse that yet would never 
tire, 
I'll meet thee, Pvramus, at Ninny's tomb. 

Quin. ' Ninus' tomb.' man : why, you must 
not speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyra- 
mus : you speak all your part at once, cues 
and all. Pyramus enter ■ your cue is past ; 
it is, ' never tire. ' 



142 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S tillJEAM. 



[Act hi. 



Flu. 0, — As true as truest horse, that yet 
would uever tire. 

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an ass's 
head. 

Bot. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only 

thine. 
Quin. O monstrous ! strange ! we are 
haunted. Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! Help ! 
[Exeunt Quince, Snug^ Flute, Sriout, and 

Starveling . 

Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a 

round, 

Through bog, through bush, through brake, 

through brier : 110 

Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and 

burn, 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every 
turn. [Exit. 

Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a 
knavery of them to make me afeard. 

Re-enter Snout . 

Snout. Bottom, thou art changed ! what 
do I see on thee ? 

Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass-head 
of your own, do you ? [Exit Snout. 120 

Re-enter Quince. 

Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou 
art translated. [Exit. 

Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make 
an ass of me ; to fright me, if they could. But 
I will not stir from this place, do what they can : 
I will walk up and down here, and I will sing, 
that they shall hear I am not afraid. [Sings. 
The ousel cock so black of hue, 

With orange-tawny bill, 
The throstle with his note so true, 130 
The wren with little quill, — 
Tita. [Awaking] What angel wakes me 

from my flowery bed ? 
Bot. [Sings] 

The finch, the sparrow and the lark, 
The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
• Whose note full many a man doth mark, 

And dares not answer nay ;— 
for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish 
a bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though 
he cry ' cuckoo ' never so ? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again: 
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note ; 141 
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move 

me 
On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have 
little reason for that : and yet, to say the truth, 
reason and love keep little company together 
now-a-days ; the more the pity that some hon- 
est neighbors will not make them friends. Nay, 
I can gleek upon oco.-ision. 150 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit 



enough to get out of this wood, I have enough 
to serve mine own turn. 

Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go : 
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt 

or no. 
I am a spirit of no common rate ; 
The summer still doth tend upon my state ; 
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee, 160 

And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost 

sleep ; 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so 
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go, 
Peaseblossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard- 
seed ! 

Enter Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth, and 

MUSTARDSEED. 

Peas. Ready. 

Cob. And I. 

Moth. And I. 

Mus. And I. 

All. Where shall we go ? 

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentle- 
man ; 
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes ; 
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulber- 
ries ; 170 
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees, 
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs 
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
To have my love to bed and to arise ; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies 
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes : 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

Peas. Hail, mortal ! 

Cob. Hail ! 

Moth. Hail ! 180 

Mus. Hail ! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily : 
I beseech your worship's name. 

Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaint- 
ance, good Master Cobweb : if I cut my finger, 
I shall make bold with you. Your name, 
honest gentleman ? 

Peas. Peaseblossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to Mistress 
Squash, your mother, and to Master Peascod, 
your father. Good Master Peaseblossom, I 
shall desire you of more acquaintance too. 
Your name, I beseech you, sir ? 

Mus. Mustardseed. 

Bot. Good Master Mustardseed, I know 
your patience well : that same cowardly, giant- 
like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman 
of your house : I promise you your kindred 
hath made my eyes water ere now. I desire 
your more acquaintance, good Master Mus- 
tardseed. 201 

Tita. Come, wait upon him ; lead him to 
my bower. 

The moon methinks looks with a watery eye, 
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 



Scene ii.'J 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



143 



Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Another part of the wood. 

Enter Oberon. 

Obe. I wonder if Titania be awaked ; 
Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 

Here comes my messenger. 

How now, mad spirit ! 
What night-rule now about this haunted grove ? 
Puck. My mistress with a monster is in 
love. 
Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 10 
Were met together to rehearse a play 
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial-day. 
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, 
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
Forsook his scene and enter' d in a brake : 
When I did him at this advantage take, 
An ass's nole I fixed on his head : 
Anon his Thisbe must be answered, 
And forth my mimic comes. When they him 

spy, 

As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 20 
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report, 
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, 
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one 

falls; 
He murder cries and help from Athens calls. 
Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears 

thus strong, 
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong ; 
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ; 
Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all 

things catch. 30 

I led them on in this distracted fear, 
And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
When in that moment, so it came to pass, 
Titania waked and straightway loved an ass. 
Obe. This falls out better than I could 

devise. 
But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ? 
Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd 

too, — 
And the Athenian woman by his side : 
That, when he waked, of force she must be 

eyed. 40 

Enter Hermia and Demetrius. 

Obe. Stand close : this is the same Athe- 
nian. 

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the 
man. 

Vera. O, why rebuke you him that loves 
you so ? 



Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
Her. Now I but chide; but I should use 

thee worse, 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse, 
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day 50 

As he to me : would he have stolen away 
From sleeping Hermia ? I'll believe as soon 
This whole earth may be bored and that the 

moon 
May through the centre creep and so displease 
Her brother's noontide with the Antipodes. 
It cannot be but thou hast murder' d him ; 
So should a murderer look, so dead, so grim. 
Bern. So should the murder' d look, and so 

should I, 
Pierced through the heart with your stern 

cruelty : 50 

Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear, 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
Her. What's this to my Lysander? where 

is he ? 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 
Dem. I had rather give his carcass to my 

hounds. 
Her. Out, dog ! out cur ! thou drivest me 

past the bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him, 

then ? 
Henceforth be never number' d among men ! 
O, once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ! 
Durst thou have look'd upon him being awake, 
And hast thou kill' d him sleeping ? O brave 

touch ! 70 

Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
Bern. You spend your passion on a mis- 
prised mood : 
I am not guilty of Lysander' s blood ; 
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is 

well. 
Bern. An if I could, what should I get 

therefore ? 
Her. A privilege never to see me more. 
And from thy hated presence part I so : < v 
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. 

[Exit. 
Bern. There is no following her in this fierce 

vein : 
Here therefore for a while I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe: 
Which now in some slight measure it will pay. 
If for his tender here I make some stay. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mis- 
taken quite 
And laid the love-juice on some true-Jove's 

sight : 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 90 

Some true love turn' d and not a false turn'd 

true. 



144 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act in. 



Puck. Then fate o'er-rules, that, one man 
holding troth, 
A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
Obe About the wood go swifter than the 
wind, 
And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, 
With sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood 

dear : 
By some illusion see thou bring her here : 
I'll charm his eyes against she do appear. 

Puck. I go, 1 go ; look how I go, 100 

Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. 

[Exit. 
Obe. Flower of this purple dye, 
Hit with Cupid's archery, 
Sink in apple of his eye. 
When his love he doth espy, 
Let her shine as gloriously 
As the Venus of the sky. 
When thou wakest, if she be by, 
Beg of her for remedy. 






Re-enter Puck. 



110 



Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 

Helena is here at hand ; 

And the youth, mistook by me, 

Pleading for a lover's fee. 

Shall we their fond pageant see ? 

Lord, what fools these mortals be ! 
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
Puck. Then will two at once woo one ; 

That must needs be sport alone ; 

And those things do best please me 

That befal preposterously. 121 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 

Lys. Why should you think that I should 

woo in scorn ? 
Scorn and derision never come in tears : 
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 

In their nativity all truth appears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 
Hel. You do advance your cunning more 

and more. 
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray ! 
These vows are Hermia's : will you give her 
o'er ? 130 

Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing 
weigh : 
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales, 
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales. 
Lys. I had no judgment when to her I 

swore. 
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give 

her o'er. 
Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not 

you. 
Dem. [Awaking] Helen, goddess, nymph, 
perfect, divine ! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? 
Crystal is muddy. 0, how ripe in show 
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting 
grow ! 140 



That pure congealed white, high Taurus' 

snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow 
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O, let me 

kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
Hel. O spite ! O hell ! I see you all are 

bent 
To set against me for your merriment : 
If you were civil and knew courtesy, 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
But you must join in souls to mock me too ? 
If you were men, as men you are in show, 151 
You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
When I am sure you hate me with your 

hearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes 
With your derision ! none of noble sort 
Would so offend a virgin, and extort 160 

A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius ; be not 

so ; 
For you love Hermia ; this you know I know : 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
Whom I do love and will do till my death. 
Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle 

breath. 
Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will 

none : 
If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 170 
My heart to her but as guest- wise sojourn' d, 
And now to Helen is it home return' d, 
There to remain. 
Lys. Helen, it is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not 

know, 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy 

dear. 

Re-enter Hermia. 

X Her. Dark night, that from the eye his 

function takes, 
The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
It pays the hearing double recompense. 180 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 
Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth 

press to go ? 
Her. What love could press Lysander from 

my side ? 
Lys. Lysander' s love, that would not let 

him bide, 
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night 
Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
Why seek'st thou me ? could not this make 

thee know, 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



145 






The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so ? 

Her. You speak not as you think : it can- 
not be. 191 

Ilel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin' d all three 
To fashion this false sport, in spite of me. 
Injurious Hermia ! most ungrateful maid ! 
Have you conspired, have you with these con- 
trived 
To bait me with this foul derision ? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have 

spent, 
When Ave have chid the hasty-footed time 200 
For parting us, — 0, is it all forgot ? 
All school-days' friendship, childhood inno- 
cence ? 
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
Have with our needles created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key, 
As if our hands, our sides, voices and minds. 
Had been incorporate. So we grew together, 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, 
But yet an union in partition ; 210 

Twolovely berries moulded on one stem ; 
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
Due but to one and crowned with one crest. 
And will you rent our ancient love asunder, 
To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it, 
Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate 
words. 220 

I scorn you not : it seems that you scorn me. 

Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in 
scorn, 
To follow me and praise my eyes and face ? 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot, 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare, 
Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysan- 
der 
Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
And tender me, forsooth, affection, 230 

But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
What though I be not so in grace as you, 
So hung upon with love, so fortunate, 
But miserable most, to love unloved ? 
This you should pity rather than despise. 

Her. I understand not what you mean by 
this. 

Hel. Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, 
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back ; 
Wink each at other ; hold the sweet jest up : 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 241 
You would not make me such an argument. 
But fare ye well : 'tis partly my own fault ; 
Which death or absence soon shall remedy. 

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse : 
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 

Ud, excellent ! . 



Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Bern. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
Lys. Thou, canst compel no more than she 
entreat : 
Thy threats have no more strength than her 
weak prayers. 250 

Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do : 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
To prove him false that says I love thee not. 
Hem. I say I love thee more than he can 

do. 
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove 

it too. 
Bern. Quick, come ! 

Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 

Lys. Away, you Ethiope ! 
Bon. tNo, no ; he'll. . 

Seem to break loose ; take on as you would 

follow, 
But yet come not : you are a tame man, go ! 
Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr ! vile 
thing, let loose, 260 

Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent ! 
Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what 
change is this ? 
Sweet love, — 

Lys. Thy love ! out, tawny Tartar, out ! 
Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 
Her. Do you not jest ? 
Hel. Yes, sooth : and so do you. 

Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with 

thee. 
Bern. I would I had your boud, for I per- 
ceive 
A weak bond holds you : I'll not trust your 
word. 
Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, 
kiU her dead ? 
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. 270 
Her. What, can you do me greater harm 
than hate ? 
Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my 

love ! 
Am not I Hermia ? are not you Lysander ? 
I am as fair now as I was ere while. 
Since night you loved me ; yet since night you 

left me : 
Why, then you left me — O, the gods forbid ! — 
In earnest, shall I say ? 

Lys. Ay, by my life ; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt; 
Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest 280 

That I do hate thee and love Helena. 
Her. O me ! you juggler ! you canker- 
blossom ! 
You thief of love ! what, have you come by 

night 
And stolen my love's heart from him ? 

Hel. Fine, i' faith ! 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
No touch of bashf ulness ? What, will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ? 
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet, you ! 
Her. Puppet ? why so ? ay, that way goes 
the game. 

10 



146 



A MIDSUMMER NTGHT'S DREAM. 



[A 



CT III. 



Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
Between our statures ; -she hath urged her 
height ; 291 

And with her personage, her tall personage. 
Her height, forsooth, she hath pre vail' d with 

him. 
And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
Because I am so dwarfish and so low ? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
How low am 1 ? I am not yet so low 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, 
gentlemen, 
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; 300 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
I am a right maid for my cowardice : 
Let her not strike me. You perhaps may 

think, 
Because she is something lower than myself, 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower ! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with 
me. 
I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd 

you ; 
Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
*T told him of your stealth unto this wood. 310 
He follow' d you ; for love I follow' d him ; 
But he hath chid me hence and threaten 'd 

me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
And now, so yon will let me qniet go, 
To Athens will I bear my folly back 
And follow you no further : let me go : 
You see bow simple and how fond 1 am. 

Her. Why, get you gone : who is't that 
hinders you ? 

Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here be- 
hind. 

Her. What, with Lysander ? 

Hel. With Demetrius. 320 

Lys. Be not afraid ; she shall not harm 
thee, Helena. 

Dem. No, sir, she shall not, though you 
take her part. 

Hel. 0, when she's angry, she is keen and 
shrewd ! 
She was a vixen when she went to school ; 
And though she be but little, she is fierce. 

Her. ' Little ' again ! nothing but ' low ' 
and ' little ' ! 
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
Let me come to her. 

Lijs. Get you gone, you dwarf ; 

You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made ; 
You bead, you acorn. 

Dem. You are too officious 330 

In her behalf that scorns your services. 
Let her alone : speak not of Helena ; 
Take not her part ; for, if thou dost intend 
Never so little show of love to her, 
Thou shalt aby it. 

Lys. Now she holds me not , 

Now follow, if thou darest, to try whose right, 
Of thine or mine, is most in Helena. 



Dem. Follow ! nay, I'll go with thee, cheek 

by jole. 

[Exeunt Lysander and Demetrius. 
Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of 

you : 
Nay, go not back. 

Hel. I will not trust you, I, 34C 

Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, 
My legs are longer though, to run away. [Exit. 
Her. I am amazed, and know not what to 

say. [Exit. 

Obe. This is thy negligence : still thou mis- 

takest, 
Or else committ'st thy knaveries wilfully. 
Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mis- 
took. 
Did not you tell me I should know the man 
By the Athenian garment he had on ? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 350 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes ; 
And so far am I glad it so did sort 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Obe. Thou see'st these lovers seek a place 

to fight : 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
The starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog as black as Acheron, 
And lead these testy rivals so astray 
As one come not within another's way. 
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong ; 361 
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
And from each other look thou lead them thus, 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
To take from thence all error with his might, 
And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. 
When they next wake, all this derision 370 
Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision, 
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
With league whose date till death shall never 

end. 
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
Til to my queen and beg her Indian boy ; 
And then I will her charmed eye release 
From monster' s view, and all tilings shall be 

peace. 
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done 

with baste, 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full 

fast, 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 380 
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here 

and there, 
Troop home to churchyards : damned spirite 

all, 
That in crossways and floods have burial, 
Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
For fear lest day should look their shames 

upon, 
They wilfully themselves exile from light 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'c 

njyght. 



)CENE I 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



147 



06c. But we are spirits of another sort : 
I with the morning's love have oft made sport, 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 390 
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red, 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
Turns into yellow gold his salt green streams. 
But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
We may effect this business vet ere day. 

[Exit. 
Puck. Up and down, up and down, 

I will lead them up and down : 
1 am fear'd in field and town : 
Goblin, lead them up and down. 
Here comes one. 400 

Re-enter Lysander. 

Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? 

speak thou now. 
Puck. Here, villain ; drawn aud ready. 
Where art thou ? 
Lys. I will be with thee straight. ■ 
Puck. Follow me, then, 

To plainer ground. 

[Exit Lysander, as following the voice. 

Re-enter Demetrius. 

Bern. Lysander ! speak again . 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ? 
Speak ! In some bush ? Where dost thou 
hide thy head ? 
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to 
the stars, 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, 

thou child ; 
I'll whip thee with a rod : he is defiled 410 
That draws a sword on thee. 
Bern. Yea, art thou there ? 

Puck. Follow my voice : we'll try no man- 
hood here. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Lysander. 

Lys. He goes before me and still dares me 
on : 
When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
The villain is much lighter-heel' d than I : 
I follow' d fast, but faster he did fly ; 
That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
And here will rest me. [Lies down.] Come, 

thou gentle day ! 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
find Demetrius and revenge this spite. 

[Sleeps. 

Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 

Puck. Ho, ho, ho ! Coward, why comest 
thou not ? 421 

Bern. Abide me, if thou darest ; for well I 
wot 
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place, 
And darest not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now ? 
Puck. Come hither : I am here. 

Bern. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou 
shalt buy this dear, 



If ever I thy face by daylight see : 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach look to be visited. 430 

[Lies down and sleeps. 

Re-enter Helena. 

Hel. O weary night, long and tedious 

night, 
Abate thy hours ! Shine comforts from the 
east, 
That I may back to Athens by daylight, 

From these that my poor company detest : 
And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's 

eye, 
Steal me awhile from mine own company. 

[Lies down and sleeps. 
Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ■ 
Two of both kinds make up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad : 
Cupid is a knavish lad, 440 

Thus to make poor females mad. 

Re-enter Hermia. 

Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
Bedabbled with the dew and torn with 
briers, 
I can no further crawl, no further go ; 

My legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
[Lies down and sleeps. 
Puck. On the ground 
Sleep sound : 

I'll apply 450 

To your eye, 
Gentle lover, remedy. 
[Squeezing the juice on Lysander' s eyes. 
When thou wakest, 
Thou takest 
True delight 
In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye : 
And the country proverb known, 
That every man should take his own, 
In your waking shall be shown : 460 
Jack shall have Jill ; 
Nought shall go ill ; 
The man shall have his mare again, and all 
shall be well. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. The same. Lysander, Demetrius, 
Helena, and Hermia lying asleep. 

Enter Titania and Bottom ; Peaseblossom, 
Cobweb, Moth, Mustardseed, and other 
Fairies attending ; Oberon behind unseen. 

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery 

bed, 
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth 

head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 



118 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act iv. 



Bot. Where's Peaseblossom ? 
Peas. Ready. 

Bot. Scratch my head Peaseblossom. 
Where's Mounsieur Cobweb ? 
Cob. Ready. 

Bot. Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, 
get you your weapous in your hand, and kill 
me a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a 
thistle ; and, good mounsieur, bring me the 
honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much in 
the action, mounsieur ; and, good mounsieur, 
have a care the honey-bag break not ; I would 
be loath to have you overflown with a honey- 
bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur Mustard- 
seed? 
Mas. Ready. 

Bot. Give me your neaf , Mounsieur Mustard- 
seed. Pray you, leave your courtesy, good 
mounsieur. 
Mas. What's your will ? 
Bot. Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help 
Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the 
barber's, mounsieur ; for methinks I am mar- 
vellous hairy about the face ; and I am such 
a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I 
must scratch. 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, 
my sweet love ? 30 

Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music. 
Let's have the tongs and the bones. 

Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir- 
est to eat. 

Bot. Truly, a peck of provender : I could 
munch your good dry oats. Methinks I have 
a great desire to a bottle of hay : good hay, 
sweet hay, hath no fellow. 

Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall 
seek 39 

The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
Bot. I had rather have a handful or two of 
dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your 
people stir me : I have an exposition of sleep 
come upon me. 

Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in 
my arras. 
Fairies, begone, and be all ways away. 

[Exeunt fairies. 
So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle 
Gently entwist ; the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
0, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee ! 50 

[They sleep. 

Enter Puck. 

Obe. [Advancing] Welcome, good Robin. 

See'st thou this sweet sight ? 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity : 
For, meeting her of late behind the wood, 
Seeking sweet favors from this hateful fool, 
I did upbraid her and fall out with her ; 
For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
With a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
And that same dew, which sometime on the 

buds 
Was wont to swell like round and orient 

pearls, 



Stood now within the pretty floweret.;' eyes 60 
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
When I had at my pleasure taunted her 
And she in mild terms begg'd ray patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy 

sent 
To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
And now I have the boy, I will undo 
This hateful imperfection of her eyes . 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 70 
That, he awaking when the other do, 
May all to Athens back again repair 
Ana think no more of this night's accidents 
But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fairy queen. 
Be as thou wast wont to be ; 
See as thou wast wont to see : 
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath such force and blessed power 
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
Tita. My Oberon! what visions have 1 seen! 
Methought I was enamour' d of an ass. 
Obe. There lies your love. 
Tita. How came these things to pass ? 

O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now ! 
Obe. Silence awhile. Robin, take off this 
head. 
Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep of all these five the sense. 
Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as eharmeth 
sleep ! [Music, still. 

Puck. Now, when thou wakest, with thine 

own fool's eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, music ! Come, my queen, take 
hands w r ith me, 90 

And rock the ground whereon these sleepers 

be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity, 
And will to-morrow midnight solemnly 
Dance in Duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
And bless it to all fair prosperity : 
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark : 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 100 
Trip we after the night's shade : 
We the globe can compass soon 
Swifter than the wondering moon. 
Tita. Come, my lord, and in our flight 
Tell me how it came this night 
That I sleeping here was found 
With these mortals on the ground. 

[Exeunt. 
[Horns winded within. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ; 
For now our observation is perform' d ; 
And since we have the vaward of the day, 110 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 
Uncouple in the western valley ; let them go : 
Dispatch, I say, and find the forester. 

[Exit an Attendant, 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



140 



We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 119 
Such gallant chiding : for, besides the groves, 
The skies, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan 

kind, 
So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian 

bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match 'd in mouth like 

bells, 120 

Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never holla' d to, nor cheer' d with horn, 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
Judge when you hear. But, soft! what nymphs 

are these ? 
JSge. My lord, this is my daughter here 

asleep ; 
And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
I wonder of their being here together. 

The. No doubt they rose up early to observe 
The rite of May, and, hearing our intent, 130 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
But speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ? 
Ege. It is, my lord. 
The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them 

with their horns. 
[Horns and shout within. Lys., Dem. t Hel., 
and Her., wake and start up. 
Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 

past : 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ? 
Lys Pardon, my lord. 
The. I pray you all, stand up. 

I know you two .are rival enemies : 
How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
That hatred is so far from jealousy, 141 

To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 

Lys. My lord, 1 shall reply amazedly, 
Half sleep, half waking: but as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here ; 
But, as I think, — for truly would I speak, 
And now do T bethink me, so it is, — 
I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might. 
Without the peril of the Athenian law. 150 
Eye. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have 

enough : 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
They would have stolen away ; they would, 

Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me, 
You of your wife and me of my consent, 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
Dem. Mv lord, fair Helen told 'me of their 

stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither to this wood . 



And I in fury hither follow'd them, 

Fair Helena in fancy following me. 1G0 

But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, — 

But by some power it is, — my love to Hermia, 

Melted as the snow, seems to me now 

As the remembrance of an idle gaud 

Which in my childhood I did dote upon ; 

And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 

The object and the pleasure of mine eye, 

Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 

Was I betroth' d ere I saw Hermia : 

But, like in sickness, did I loathe this food; 170 

But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 

Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, 

And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met : 
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. 
Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
For in the temple, by and by, with us 
These couples shall eternally be knit : 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purposed hunting shall be set aside. 180 
Away with us to Athens ; three and three, 
We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. 

[Excifot The., Hip., Ege., and train. 

Dem. These things seem small and undis- 
tinguishable, 
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 

Her. Methinks I see these things with 
parted eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So methinks : 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Dem. Are you sure 

That we are awake ? It seems to ine 190 

That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you 

think 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 

Her. Yea ; and my father. 

Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the 
temple. 

Dem. Why, then, we are awake : let's fol- 
low him ; 
And by the way let us recount our dreams. 

[Exeunt. 

Dot. [Awaking] When my cue conies, call 
me, and I will answer: my next is, 'Most fair 
Pyramus.' Heigh-ho ! Peter Quince ! Flute, 
tlie bellows-mender ! Snout, the tinker ! 
Starveling ! God's my life, stolen hence, and 
left me asleep ! I have had a most rare vision. 
I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say 
what dream it was : man is but an ass, if he 
go .about to expound this dream. Methonght 
I was — there is no man can tell what. Me- 
thonght I was, — and methought I had, — but 
man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to 
say what methought I had. The eye of man 
hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, 
man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to 
conceive, nor his heart to report, what my 
dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write 
a ballad of this dream : it {shall be called Bot- 



150 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act v. 



tom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and 
I will sing it in the latter end of a play, before 
the duke : peradventure, to make it the more 
gracious, t 1 shall sing it at her death. [Exit. 

Scene II. Athens. Quince's house. 

Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and 
Starveling. 

Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? 
is he come home yet ? 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt 
he is transported. 

Fht. If he come not, then the play is 
marred : it goes not forward, doth it ? 

Quin. It is not possible : you have not a 
man in all Athens able to discharge Pyramus 
but he. 

Flu. No, he hath simply the best wit of 
any handicraft man in Athens. 10 

Quin. Yea, and the best person too ; and 
he is a very paramour for a sweet voice. 

Flu. You must say ' paragon : ' a paramour 
is, God bless us, a thing of naught. 

Enter Snug. 

Suuij. Masters, the duke is coming from 
the temple, and there is two or three lords and 
ladies more married : if our sport had gone 
forward, we had all been made men. 

Flu. O sweet bully Bottom ! Thus hath 
lie lost sixpence a day during his life ; he 
could not have 'scaped sixpence a day : an the 
duke had not given him sixpence a day for 
playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged ; he would 
have deserved it : sixpence a day in Pyramus, 
or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 

Bot. Where are these lads ? where are 
these hearts ? 

Quin. Bottom ! O most courageous day ! 
most happy hour ! 

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : 
but ask me not what ; for if I tell you, I am 
no true Athenian. I will tell you every thiug, 
right as it fell out. 

Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell 
you is, that the duke hath dined. Get your 
apparel together, good strings to your beards, 
new ribbons to your pumps ; meet presently 
at the palace ; every man look o'er his part"; 
for the short and the long is, our play is pre- 
ferred. In any case, let Thisby have clean 
linen ; and let not him that plays the lion pair 
his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's 
claws. And, most dear actors, eat no onions 
nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath ; 
and I do not doubt but to hear them say, it is 
a sweet comedy. No more words : away! go, 
away ? [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Athens. The palace of Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
Lords and Attendants. 

. Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these 

lovers speak of. 
The. More strange than true : I never may 

believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact : 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, 
That is, the madman : the lover 1 , alias frantic, 
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 11 
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth 

to heaven ; 
And as imagination bodies forth 
The forms of thiugs unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination, 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 20 
Or in the night, imagining some fear, 
How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! 
Hip. But all the story of the night told 

over, 
And all their minds transfigured so together, 
More witnesseth than fancy's images 
And grows to something of great constancy ; 
But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and 

mirth. 

Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
Helena. 

Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love 
Acconrpany your hearts ! 

Lys. More than to us 30 

Wait in your royal walks, your board, your 
bed ! 
The. Come now ; what masques, what 
dances shall we have, 
To wear away this long age of three hours 
Between our after-supper and bed-time ? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play, 
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
Call Philostrate. 
Phil. Here, mighty Theseus. 

The. Say, what abridgement have you for 
this evening ? 
What masque ? what music ? How shall we 
beguile 40 

The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
Phil. There is a brief how many sports are 
ripe : 
Make choice of which your highness will see 
first. [ Givin (/ a paper 

The. [Reads] ' The battle with "the Cen- 
taurs, to be sung 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



151 






By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' 
We'll none of that : that have I told my love, 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
[R^ads] ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.' 
That is an old device ; and it was play'd 50 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
[Reads] 'The thrice three Muses mourning 

for the death 
Of Learning, late deceased in beggary/ 
That is some satire, keen and critical, 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
[Heads] 'A tedious brief scene of young Pyra- 

mus 
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth.' 
Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief ! 
t That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. 
How shall we find the concord of this discord? 
Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten 
words long, 61 

Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, 
Which makes it tedious ; for in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted : 
And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which, when 1 saw rehearsed, I must confess, 
Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 70 
The. What are they that do play it ? 
Phd. Hard-handed men that work in 
Athens here, 
Which never labor'd in their minds till now, 
And now have toil'd their unbreathed memo- 
ries 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 
The. And we will hear it. 
Phil. No, my noble lord ; 

It is not for you : I have heard it over, 
And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; 
Unless you can find sport in their intents, 
Extremely stretch' d and conn'd with cruel 
pain, 80 

To do you service. 

The. I will hear that play; 

For never anything can be amiss, 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Go, bring them in : and take your places, 
ladies. [Exit Philostrate. 

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'er- 
charged 
And duty in his service perishing. 

The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no 

such thing. 
Hip. He says they can do nothing in this 

kind. 
The. The kinder we, to give them thanks 
for nothing. 89 

Our sport shall be to take what they mistake : 
And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect 
t Takes it in might, not merit. 
Where 1 have come, great clerks have pur- 
posed 
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
Make periods m the midst of sentences, 



Throttle their practised accent in their fears 

And in conclusion dumbly have broke off, 

Xue paying me a welcome. Trust me, sweet, 

Out of this silence yet 1 pick'd a welcome; 100 

And in the modesty of fearful duty 

1 read as much as from the rattling tongue 

Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 

Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity 

In least speak most, to my capacity. 

Re-enter Philostrate. 
Phil. So please your grace, the Prologue is 

address' d. 
The. Let him approach. 

[Flourish of trumpets. 
Enter Quince for the Prologue. 

Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will. 

That you should think, we come not to 
offend, 
But with good will. To show our simple skill, 

That is the true beginning of our end. Ill 
Consider then we come but in despite. 

We do not come as minding to content you, 
Our true intent is. All for your delight 
■\Ye are not here. That you should here re- 
pent you, 
The actors are at hand and by their show 
You shall know all that you are like to know. 

The. This fellow doth not stand upon 
points. 

Lys. He hath rid Ins prologue like a rough 
colt ; he knows not the stop. A good moral, 
my lord : it is not enough to speak, but to 
speak true. . 

Hip. Indeed he hath played on his prologue 
like a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in 
government. 

The. His speech, was like a tangled chain ; 
nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is 
next ? 

Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, 
Moonshine, and Lion. 

Pro. Gentles, perchance you wonder at 

this show; 
But wonder on, till truth make all things 
plain. 
This man is Pyramus, if you would know; 130 

This beauteous lady Thisby is certain. 
This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth pre- 
sent 
Wall, that vile Wall which did these lovers 

sunder ; 
And through Wall's chink, poor souls, they 
are content 
To whisper. At the which let no man won- 
der. 
This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of 
thorn, 
Prescntcth Moonshine ; for, if you will 
know, 
By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 
To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
This grisly beast, which Lion bight by name, 
The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 141 
Did scare away, or rather did affright ; 



152 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act r. 



And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall, 
Which Lion vile with bloody month did 
stain. 
Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, 

And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : 
Whereat, with blade, with bloody blameful 
blade, 
He bravely broach 'd his boiling bloody 
breast ; 
And Thisby, tarrying in mulberry shade, 

His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
Let Lion, Moonshine, Wall, and lovers twain 
At large discourse, while here they do remain. 
[Exeunt Prologue, Thisbe, Lion, and 

Moonshine. 
The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 
Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, 
when many asses do. 

Wall. In this same interlude it doth befall 
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall ; 
And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
That had in it a crannied hole or chink, 
Through which the lovers, Pyramus and 
Thisby, 160 

Did whisper often very secretly. 
This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth 

show 
That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
Through which the fearful lovers are to whis- 
per. 
The. Would you desire lime and hair to 
speak better ? 

Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I 
heard discourse, my lord. 

Enter Pyramus. 

The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 

Pyr. O grim-look' d night ! O night with 

hue so black ! 171 

night, which ever art when day is not ! 
O night, O night ! alack, alack, alack, 

1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! 
And thou, O Avail, O sweet, lovely wall, 

That stand' st between her father's ground 
and mine ! 
Thou wall, wall, sweet and lovely wall, 
Show me thy chink, to blink through with 
mine eyne ! [ Wall holds up his fingers. 
Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well 
for this ! 
But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. 180 
O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ! 
Cursed be thy stones for thus deceiving me! 
The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, 
should curse again. 

Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. ' De- 
ceiving me ' is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, 
and I am to spy her through the wall. You shall 
see, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder she 
comes. 

Enter Thisbe. 
Tin's. wall, full often hast thou heard my 
moans, 190 

For parting my fair Pyramus and me ! 
My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, 



Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in 

thee. 
Pyr. I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
Thisby ! 

This. My love thou art, my love I think. 
Pyr. Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
grace ; 
And, like Limander, am I trusty still. 

This. And I like Helen, till the Fates me kill. 
Pyr. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. 
This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. 
Pyr. 0, kiss me through the hole of this 

vile wall ! 
This. I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at 

all. 
Pyr. Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 

straightway ? 
This. 'Tide life, 'tide death, I come without 
delay. [Exeunt Pyramus and Thisbe. 
Wall. Thus have I, Wall, my part dis- 
charged so ; 
And, being done, thus Wall away doth go. 

[Exit. 

The. Now is the mural down between the 

two neighbors. 210 

Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are 

so wilful to hear without warning. 

Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I 

heard. 
The. The best in this kind are but shadows ; 
and the worst are no worse, if imagination 
amend them. 

Hip. It must be your imagination then, and 
not theirs. 

The. If we imagine no worse of them than 
they of themselves, they may pass for excel- 
lent men. Here come two noble beasts in, a 
man and a lion. 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts 
do fear 

The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps 

on floor, [here, 

May now perchance both quake and tremble 

When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
Then know that I, one Snug thejoiner, am 
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam ; 
For, if I should as lion come in strife 
Into this place, 'twere pity on my life. 230 

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good 
conscience. 

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, 
that e'er I saw. 

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor. 

The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 

Dem. Not so, my lord ; for his valor can- 
not carry his discretion ; and the fox carries 
the goose. 

The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry 
hi5 valor ; for the goose carries not the fox. It 
is well : leave it to his discretion, and let us 
listen to the moon 

Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon 
present ; — 



Scene i.] 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



153 



Dem. He should have worn the horns on 
his head. 

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are 
invisible within the circumference. 
Moon. This lanthorn doth the horned moon 
present ; 
Myself the man i' the moon do seem to be. 

The. This is the greatest error of all the 
rest : the man should be put into the lanthorn. 
How is it else the man i' the moon ? 

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle ; 
for, you see, it is already in snuff. 

Hip. I am aweary of this moon : would he 
would change ! 

TJie. It appears, by his small light of dis- 
cretion, that he is in the wane ; but yet, in 
courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time. 
Lys. Proceed, Moon. 260 

Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you 
that the lanthorn is the moon ; I, the man in 
the moon ; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; 
and this dog, my dog. 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lan- 
thorn ; for ail these are in the moon. But, 
silence ! here comes Thisbe. 
Enter Thisbe. 
TJiis. This is old Ninny's tomb. Where is 
my love ? 

Lion. [Roaring] Oh [Thisbe runs off. 

Dem. Well roared, Lion. 270 

The. Well run, Thisbe. 
Hip. Well shone, Moon. Truly, the moon 
shines with a good grace. 
[The Lion shakes Thisbe' s mantle, and exit. 
The. Well moused, Lion. 
Lys. And so the lion vanished. 
Dem. And then came Pyramus. 
Enter Pyramus. 
Pyr. Sweet Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
beams ; 
I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so 
bright ; 
for, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, 
I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. 280 
But stay, O spite ! 
But mark, poor knighc, 
What dreadful dole is here ! 
Eyes, do you see ? 
How can it be ? 
O dainty duck ! O dear ! 
Thy mantle good, 
What, stain' d with blood ! 
Approach, ye Furies fell ! 

O Fates, come, come, 290 

Cut thread and thrum ; 

Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! 

The. This passion, and the death of a dear 

friend, would go near to make a man look sad. 

Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 

Pyr. O wherefore, Nature, didst thou lions 

frame ? 
Since lion vile hath here deflower'd my dear: 
Which is — no, no — which was the fairest dame 
That lived, that loved, that liked, that look'd 
with cheer. 



Come, tears, confound ; 
Out, sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus ; 
Ay, that left pap, 

Where heart doth hop : [Stabs himself. 
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
Now am I dead, 
Now am I fled ; 
My soul is in the sky : 
Tongue, lose thy light ; 
Moon, take thy flight : [Exit Moonshine. 
Now die, die, die, die, die. [Dies. 

Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he 
is but one. 

Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is 
dead ; he is nothing. 

The. With the help of a surgeon he might 
yet recover, and prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance Moonshine is gone be- 
fore Thisbe comes back and finds her lover ? 

The. She will find him by starlight. Here 
she comes ; and her passion ends the play. 321 

Re-enter Thisbe. 

Hip. Methinks she should not use a long 
one for such a Pyramus : I hope she will be 
brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which 

Pyramus, which Thisbe, is the better ; he for 

a man, God warrant us ; she for a woman, 

God bless us. [those sweet eyes. 

Lys. She hath spied him already with 

Dem. And thus she means, videlicet: — 330 

This. Asleep, my love ? 

What, dead, my dove ? 
O Pyramus, arise ! 
Speak, .speak. Quite dumb ? 
Dead, dead ? A tomb 
Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
These lily lips, 
This cherry nose, 
These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
Are gone, are gone : 340 

Lovers, make moan : 
His eyes were green as leeks. 
O Sisters Three, 
Come, come to me, 
With hands as pale as milk ; 
Lay them in gore, 
Since you have shore 
With shears his thread of silk. 
Tongue, not a word : 
Come, trusty sword ; 350 

Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 

[Stabs herself. 
And, farewell, friends ; 
Thus Thisby ends : 
Adieu, adieu, adieu. [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury 
the dead. 
Dem. Ay, and Wall too. 
Dot. [Starting up] No, I assure you ; the 
wall is down that parted their fathers. Will 
it please you to see the epilogue, or to hear a 
Bergomask dance between two of our com- 
pany ? 301 



154 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



[Act v, 



The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your 
play needs no ' excuse. Never excuse ; for 
when the players are all dead, there needs 
none to be blamed. Marry, if he that writ it 
had played Pyramus and hanged himself in 
Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine 
tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very nota- 
bly discharged. But, come, your Bergomask: 
let your epilogue alone. [A dance. 

The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : 
Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 371 
I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
This palpable-gross play hath well beguiled 
The heavy gait of night. Sweet friends, to 

bed. 
A fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
In nightly revels and new jollity. [Exeunt. 
Enter Puck. 
Puck. Now the h ungry lion roars, 
And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 380 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow, 

Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 
Puts the wretch that lies in woe 
In remembrance of a shroud. 
Now it is the time of night 

That the graves all gaping wide, 
Every one lets forth his sprite, 

In the church-way paths to glide : 
And we fairies, that do run 390 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
From the presence of the sun, 

Following darkness like a dream, 
Now are frolic : not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallow' d house : 
I am sent with broom before, 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Enter Oberon and Titania with their train, 
Obe. Through the house give glimmering 
light, 

By the dead and drowsy fire ; 
Every elf and fairy sprite 400 

Hop as light as bird from brier ; 



And this ditty, after me, 

Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
Tita. First, rehearse your song by rote 

To each word a warbling note : 

Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 

Will we sing, and bless this place. 

[Song and dance. 
Obe. Now, until the break of day, 

Through this house each fairy stray. 

To the best bride-bed will we, 410 

Which by us shall blessed be ; 

And the issue there create 

Ever shall be fortunate. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be ; 

And the blots of Nature's hand 

Shall not in their issue stand ; 

Never mole, hare lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in uativity, 420 

Shall upon their children be. 

With this field-dew consecrate, 

Every fairy take his gait ; 

And each several chamber bless, 

Through this palace, with sweet peace ; 

And the owner of it blest 

Ever shall in safety rest. 

Trip away ; make no stay ; 

Meet me all by break of day. 

[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and train. 
Puck. If we shadows have offended, 430 

Think but this, and all is mended, 

That you have but slumber' d here 

While these visions did appear. 

And this weak and idle theme, 

No more yielding but a dream, 

Gentles, do not reprehend : 

If you pardon, we will mend ; 

And, as I am an honest Puck, 

If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 440 

We will make amends ere long ; 

Else the Puck a liar call ; 

So, good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we be friends, 

And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



(written about 1591-92.) 



INTRODUCTION. 






The second and third parts of King Henry VI. are recasts of two older plays— The First Part ofths 
Contention (published 1594) and The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of York, &c. (published 1595). 
About 3,241 lines of these old plays re-appear either in the same or in an altered form in 2 and 3 
Henry VI. ; what remains (2,736 lines) being altogether new. No question in Shakespeare scholar- 
ship is more perplexing and difficult than that of the authorship of these four connected historical 
dramas. Various theories have been propounded, but the two which have superseded all others 
are : (1) that of Mr. Richard Grant White, that Marlowe, Greene, and Shakespeare (and perhaps Peele) 
were the authors of the old plays, and Shakespeare alone the reviser; (2) that of Miss Jane Lee, that 
Marlowe and Greene (and possibly Peele) were the authors of the old plays, and Shakespeare and 
Marlowe (working as collaborateurs) the revisers. The latter is perhaps the most generally accepted 
theory. Marlowe's hand is certainly visible in both the old plays and in t>ome of the passages which 
appear for the first time in Henry VI. (see, for a striking example, 2 Henry VI., Act IV. Sc. L, L, 1-1 1). 
Shakespeare and the " Dead Shepherd " whom he alludes to in As You Like It, were then fellow- 
workers, and if rivals, their rivalry was noble. But in truth, at this time, Marlowe, by virtue of his 
prestige, and because he had found his proper genius while Shakespeare was still feeling after his 
true direction, would be the superior, and the degree of independence of spirit shown in Shakespeare's 
work, although he is under the influence of Marlowe, is interesting and remarkable. It is evident 
that already in variety of imagination and sound judgment Shakespeare surpasses his great contem- 
porary- Miss Lee has made a detailed apportionment of the work among the several writers, but 
her table is too long to be reproduced here. She says : " The Third Part of Henry VI. underwent 
a much less thorough revision than the second. Out of 3,075 lines in Part II. there are 1,715 new 
lines, some 840 altered lines (many but very slightly altered), and some 520 old lines. In Part III., out 
of 2,902 lines, there are about 1,021 new lines, about 871 altered lines, and about 1,010 old lines. Hence 
it is that in Part III. there are fewer resemblances of thought and verbal expression to Shakespeare's 
undoubted writings than in Part II." When the revision of the old plays was made cannot be said 
with certainty— perhaps a short time before Marlowe's death, in 1593, perhaps at a date previous to 
Greene's sneering allusion to Shakespeare in the Groatsworth of Wit, 1592. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. 

Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, 

great-uncle to the King. 
Richard Plant agenet, Duke of York. 
Edward and Richard, his sons. 
Duke of Somerset. 
Duke of Suffolk. 
Duke of Buckingham. 
Lord Clifford. 
Young Clifford, his son. 
Earl of Salisbury. 
Earl of Warwick. 
Lord Scales. 
Lord Say. 
Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William 

Stafford, his brother. 
Sir John Stanley. 
Vaux. 

Matthew Goffe. 
A Sea-captain, Master, and Master' s-Mate, 

and Walter Whitmore. 



Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk. 

John Hume and John Southwell, priests. 

Bolingbroke, a conjurer. [man. ] 

Thomas Horner, an armorer. Peter, his 

Clerk of Chatham. Mayor of Saint Alban's. 

Simpcox, an impostor. 

Alexander Iden, a Kentish gentleman. 

Jack Cade, a rebel. 

George Bevis, John Holland, Dick the 
butcher, Smith the weaver, Michael, 
&c, followers of Cade. 

Two Murderers. 

Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 

Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. 

Margaret Jourdain, a witch. 

Wife to Simpcox. 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants, Petitioners, 
Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and 
Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers, 
Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c. 

A Spirit. 
Scene : England. 

(155) 



156 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act i. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Flourish of trumpets : then hautboys. Enter 
the King, Humphrey, Duke of Glouces- 
ter, Salisbury, Warwick, and Cardinal 
Beaufort, on the one side ; the Queen, Suf- 
folk, York, Somerset, and Buckingham, 
on the other. 

Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
I had in charge at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence, 
To marry Princess Margaret for your grace, 
So, in the famous ancient city, Tours, 
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil, 
The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and 

Alencon, 
Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend 

bishops, 
I have perform' d my task and was espoused : 
And humbly now upon my bended knee, 10 
In sight of England and her lordly peers, 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most gracious hands, that are the sub- 
stance 
Of that great shadow I did represent ; 
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, 
The fairest queen that ever king received. 
King. Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen 

Margaret : 
I can express no kinder sign of love 
Than this kind kiss. Lord, that lends me life, 
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 20 
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face 
A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 

Queen. Great King of England and my 

gracious lord, 
The mutual conference that my mind hath had, 
By day, by night, waking and in my dreams, 
In courtly company or at my beads, 
With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords 30 
And over-joy of heart doth minister. 
King. Her sight did ravish ; but her grace 

in speech, 
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, 
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping 

joys ; 
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my 

love. 
All [kneeling]. Long live Queen Margaret, 

England's happiness ! 
Queen. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Suf. My lord protector, so it please your 

grace, 
Here are the articles of contracted peace 40 
Between our sovereign and the French king 

Charles, 
For eighteen months concluded by consent. 

Glou. [Reads] ' Imprimis, it is agreed be- 
tween the French king Charles, and William de 
la Pole, Marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for 



Henry King of England, that the said Henry 
shall espouse the Lady Margaret, daughter 
unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and Jeru- 
salem, and crown her Queen of England ere 
the thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that 
the duchy of Anjou and the county of Maine 
shall be released and delivered to the king her 
father' — [Lets the paper fall. 

King. Uncle, how now ! 
Glou. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 

Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the 

heart 
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I c«i read no fur- 
ther. 
King. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. 
Car. [Reads] ' Item, It is further agreed be- 
tween them, that the duchies of Anjou and 
Maine shall be released and delivered over to 
the king her father, and she sent over of the 
King of England's own proper cost and charges, 
without having any dowry.' 
King. They please us well. Lord marquess, 
kneel down : 
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of 

York, 
We here discharge your grace from being re- 
gent 
I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen 

months 
Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester, 
Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset, 
Salisbury, and Warwick ; 70 

We thank you all for this great favor done, 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform' d. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Suffolk. 
Glou. Brave peers of England, pillars of the 
state, 
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief, 
Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
His valor, coin and people, in the wars ? 
Did he so often lodge in open field, 80 

In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, 
To conquer France, his true inheritance ? 
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
To keep by policy what Henry got ? 
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious War- 
wick, 
Received deep scars in France and Normandy V 
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, 
With all the learned council of the realm, 
Studied so long, sat in the council-house 90 
Early and late, debating to and fro 
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in 

awe, 
And had his highness in his infancy 
Crowned in Paris in despite of foes ? 
And shall these labors and these honors die ? 
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
Your deeds of war and all our counsel die ? 
O peers of England, shameful is this league 
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame, 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



157 



Blotting your names from books of memory, 
Razing the characters of your renown, 101 
Defacing monuments of conquer' d France, 
Undoing all, as all had never been ! 

Car. Nephew, what means this passionate 
discourse, 
This peroration with such circumstance ? 
For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still. 
Gloa. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ; 
But now it is impossible we should : 
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the 

roast, 
Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine 110 
Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
Sal. Now, by the death of Him that died 
for all, 
These counties were the keys of Normandy. 
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant 
son ? 
War. For grief that they are past recovery : 
For, were there hope to conquer them again, 
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes 

no tears. 
Anjou and Maine ! myself did win them both ; 
Those provinces these arms of mine did con- 
quer : 120 
And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 
Delivered up again with peaceful words ? 
Mort Dieu ! 

York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffo- 
cate, 
That dims the honor of this warlike isle ! 
France should have torn and rent my very 

heart, 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 
[ never read but England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold and dowries with their 

wives : 
And our King Henry gives away his own, 130 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

Glou. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth 
For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
She should have stayed in France and starved 

in France, 
Before — 
Car. My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow 
too hot : 
It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
Glou. My Lord of Winchester, I know your 
mind ; 
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, 140 
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye. 
Rancor will out : proud prelate, in thy face 
I see thy fury : if I longer stay, 
We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 
Lordings, farewell ; and say, when I am gone, 
I prophesied France will be lost ere long. [Exit. 
Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'Tis known to you he is mine enemy, 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all, 
And no great friend. I fear me, to the king. 150 
Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, 
And heir apparent to the English crown : 
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, 



And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, 
There's reason he should be displeased at it. 
Look to it, lords ! let not his smoothing words 
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise and circumspect. 
What though the common people favor him, 
Calling him ' Humphrey $ the good Duke of 

Gloucester,' 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud 
voice, 100 

' Jesu maintain your royal excellence ! ' 
With ' God preserve the good Duke Hum- 
phrey ! ' 
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
He will be found a dangerous protector. 
Buck. Why should he, then, protect our 
sovereign, 
He being of age to govern of himself ? 
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk, 
We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his 
seat. 
Car. This weighty business will not brook 
delay : 170 

I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently. [Exit. 
Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Hum- 
phrey's pride 
And greatness of his place be grief to us, 
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal : 
His insolence is more intolerable 
Than all the princes in the land beside : 
If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector. 
Buck. Or thou or I, Somerset, will be pro- 
tector, 
Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal. 

[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 
Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows 
him. 180 

While these do labor for their own preferment, 
Behoves it us to labor for the realm. 
I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal, 
More like a soldier than a man o' the church, 
As stout and proud as he were lord of all, 
Swear like a ruffian and demean himself 
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. 
Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age, 190 
Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeep- 
ing, 
Hath won the greatest favor of the commons, 
Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey : 
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
In bringing them to civil discipline, 
Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, 
When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 
Have made thee fear'd and honor'd of the peo- 
ple : 
Join we together, for the public good, 
In what we can, to bridle and suppress 200 
The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal, 
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 
And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's 

deeds, 
While they do tend the profit of the land. 
War. So God help Warwick, as he loves 
the land, 



158 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act 



And common profit of his country ! 

York. [Aside] And so says York, for he hath 

greatest cause. 
Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look 

unto the main. 
War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is 

lost ; 
That Maine which by main force Warwick did 

win, 
And would have kept so long as breath did last ! 
Main chance, father, you meant ; but I meant 

Maine, 
Which I will win from France, or else be slain, 
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. 
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the 

French ; 
Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone : 
Suffolk concluded on the articles, 
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased 
To change two dukedoms for. a duke's fair 

daughter. 219 

I cannot blame them all : what is't to them ? 
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their 

pillage 
And purchase friends and give to courtezans, 
Still revelling like lords till all be gone ; 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands 
And shakes his head and trembling stands 

aloof, 
While all is shared and all is borne away, 
Ready to starve and dare not touch his own : 
So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue, 
While his own lands are bargain'd for and 

sold. 231 

Methinks the realms of England, France and 

Ireland 
Bear that proportion to ray flesh and blood 
As did the fatal brand Althsea burn'd 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
Anjou and Maine both given unto the French ! 
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
A day will come when York shall claim his 

own ; 
And therefore T will take the Nevils' parts 240 
And make a show of love to proud Duke Hum- 
phrey, 
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, 
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist, 
Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
Whose church-like humors fits not for a crown. 
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
Watch thou and wake when others be asleep, 
To pry into the secrets of the state ; 250 

Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, 
With his new bride and England's dear-bought 

queen, [jars : 

And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at 
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
With whose sweet smell the air shall be per- 
fumed : 



And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the 

crown, 
Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England 

down. [Exit. 

Scene II. The Duke of Gloucester's 

house. 

Enter Duke Humphrey and his wife El- 
eanor. 

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over- 
ripen' d corn, 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ? 
Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his 

brows, 
As frowning at the favors of the world ? 
Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth, 
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight f 
What seest thou there ? King Henry's diadem, 
Enchased with all the honors of the world ? 
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
Until thy head be circled with the same. 10 
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold. 
What, is't too short ? I'll lengthen it with 

mine ; 
And, having both together heaved it up, 
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven, 
And never more abase our sight so low 
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
Glou. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love 
thy lord, 
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
' Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 21 
My troublous dream this night doth make me 
sad. 
Duch. What dream'd my lord ? tell me, 
and I'll requite it 
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
Glou. Methought this staff, mine office- 
badge in court, 
Was broke in twain ; by whom I have forgot, 
But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
And on the pieces of the broken wand 
Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of 

Somerset, 
And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk. 
This was my dream : what it doth bode, God 
knows. 31 

Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argu- 
ment 
That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's 

grove 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: 
Methought I sat in seat of majesty 
In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
And in that chair where kings and queens are 

crown' d ; 
Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel' d to 

me 
And on my head did set the diadem. 40 

Glou. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide out> 
right : 



Scene in.) 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



15a 



Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor, 
Art thou not second woman in the realm, 
And the protector's wife, beloved of him ? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought ? 
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, 
To tumble down thy husband and thyself 
From top of honor to disgrace's feet ? 
Away from me, and let me hear no more ! 50 

Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so 
choleric 
With Eleanor, for telling but her dream ? 
Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself, 
And not be check' d. 

Glou. Nay, be not angry ; I am pleased 
again . 

Enter Messenger. 
Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' 
pleasure 
You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's, 
Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk. 
Glou. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride 

with us ? 
Buck. Yes, my good lord, I'll follow pres- 
ently. 60 
' {.Exeunt Gloucester and Messenger. 
Follow I must ; I cannot go before, 
While Gloucester bears this base and humble 

mind. 
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling- 
blocks [necks ; 
And sinootli my way upon their headless 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in Fortune's pageant. 
Wheie are you there ? Sir John ! nay, fear 

not, man, 
We are alone ; here's none but thee and I. 

Enter Hume. 
Hume. Jesus preserve your royal majesty ! 
Duch. What say'st thou ? majesty ! I am 
* but grace. 71 

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and 
Hume's advice, 
Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 
Duch. What say'st thou, man ? hast thou 
as yet conferr'd 
With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch, 
With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
And will they undertake to do me good ? 
Hume. This they have promised, to show 
your highness 
A spirit raised from depth of under-ground, 
That shall make answer to such questions 80 
As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
Duch. It is enough ; I'll think upon the 
questions : 
When from St. Alban's we do make return, 
We'll see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, 

man, 
With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 

[Exit. 
Hume. Hume must make merry with the 
duchess' gold ; 



Marry, and shall. But, how now, Sir John 

Hume ! 
Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum: 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 
Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch : 
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
Yet have I gold flies from another coast ; 
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal 
And from the great and new-made Duke of 

Suffolk, 
Yet I do find it so ; for, to be plain, [mor, 
They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring hu- 
Have hired me to undermine the duchess 
And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
They say ' A crafty knave does need no bro- 
ker ; ' 100 
Yet ami Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
Well, so it stands ; and thus, I fear, at last 
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck, 
1 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. 

[Exit 
Scene III. The palace. 

Enter three or four Petitioners, Peter, the 
Armorer' s man, being one. 

First Petit. My masters, let's stand close :: 
my lord protector will come this way by and 
by, and then we may deliver ovr supplications. 
in the quill. 

Sec. Petit. Marry, the Lord protect him^ 
for he's a good man ! Jesu bless him ! 
Enter Suffolk and Queen. 

Peter. Here a' comes, methinks, and the 
queen with him. I'll be the first, sure. 

Sec. Petit. Come back, fool ; this is the 
Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 10 

Suf. How now, fellow ! would' st anything 
with me ? 

First Petit. I pray, my lord, pardon me ; I 
took ye for my lord protector. 

Queen. [Reading] ' To my Lord Protector!' 
Are your supplications to his lordship ? Let 
me see them : what is thine ? 

First Petit. Mine is, an't please your grace, 
against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's 
man, for keeping my house, and lands, and 
wife and all, from me. 21 

Suf. Thy wife, too ! that's some wrong, 
indeed. What's yours? What's here ! [Reads] 
1 Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing 
the commons of Melford.' How now, sir 
knave ! 

Sec. Petit. Alas, sir, I am but a poor peti- 
tioner of our whole township. 

Peter. [Giving his petition] Against my 
master, Thomas Horner, for saying that the 
Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. 

Queen. What sayst thou ? did the Duke of 
York say he was rightful heir to the crown ? 

Peter. That my master was ? no, forsooth : 
my master said that he was, and that the king 
was an usurper . 
. Suf. Who is there ? lEnter Servant.] Take 



160 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act i. 



this fellow in, and send for his master with a 
pursuivant presently : we'll hear more of your 
matter before the king. 

[Exit Servant ivith Peter. 
Queen. And as for you, that love to be 
protected 40 

Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 

[Tears the supplication. 
Away, base cullions ! Suffolk, let them go. 
All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt. 

Queen. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the 
guise, 
Is this the fashion in the court of England ? 
Is this tiie government of Britain's isle, 
And this the royalty of Albion's king ? 
What, shall King Henry be a pupil still 
Under the surly Gloucester's governance ? 
Am I a queen in title and in style, 
And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours 
Thou ran'st a tilt in honor of my love 
And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, 
I thought King Henry had resembled thee 
In courage, courtship and proportion : 
But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
To number Ave-Maries on his beads ; 
His champions are the prophets and apostles, 
His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, 61 

His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
Are brazen images of canonized saints. 
I would the college of the cardinals 
Would choose him pope, and carry him to 

Rome, 
And set the triple crown upon his head : 
That were a state fit for his holiness. 

Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. 70 
Queen. Beside the haughty protector, have 
we Beaufort, 
The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buck- 
ingham, [these 
And grumbling York : and not the least of 
But can do more in England than the king. 
Suf. And he of these that can do most of 
all 
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 
Queen. Not all these lords do vex me half 
so much 
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
She sweeps it through the court with troops of 
ladies, 80 
More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's 

wife : 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 
She bears a duke's revenues on her back, 
And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
Shall I not live to be avenged on her ? 
Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, 
She vaunted 'mongsther minions t'other day, 
The very train of her worst wearing gown 
Was better worth than all my father's lands, 
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daugh- 
ter. 90 



Suf. Madam, myself have limed a bush for 
her, 
And placed a quire of such enticing birds, 
That she will light to listen to the lays, 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest : and, madam, list to me ; 
For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
Although we fancy not the cardinal, 
Yet must we join with him and with the lords, 
Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in dis- 
grace. 
As for the Duke of York, this late com- 
plaint 100 
Will make but little for his benefit. 
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm, 

Sound a sennet. Enter the King, Duke Hum- 
phrey of Gloucester, Cardinal Beau- 
fort, Buckingham, York, Somerset, 
Salisbury, Warwick, and the Duchess 
of Gloucester. 

King. For my part, noble lords, I care not 
which ; 
Or Somerset or York, all's one to me. 

York. If York have ill demean'd himself 
in France, 
Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 
Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the 
place, 
Let York be regent ; I will yield to him. 
War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea 
or no, 
Dispute not that : York is the worthier. 110 
Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters 

speak. 
War. The cardinal's not my better in the 

field. 
Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, 

Warwick. 
War. Warwick may live to be the best of 

all. 
Sal. Peace, son ! and show some reason, 
Buckingham, 
Why Somerset should be preferred in this. 
Queen. Because the king, forsooth, will 

have it so. 
Glou. Madam, the king is old enough 
himself 
To give his censure: these are no women's 
matters. 120 

Queen. If he be old enough, what needs 
your grace 
To be protector of his excellence Z 

Glou. Madam, I am protector of the realm; 
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
Svf. Resign it then and leave thine inso- 
lence. 
Since thou wert king — as who is king but 

thou ?— 
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck ; 
The Dauphin hath prevail' d beyond the seas ; 
And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 130 
Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the 
clergy's bags 



Scene iv/| 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



161 



Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 
Som. Thy sumptuous buildings and thy 
wife's attire 
Have cost a mass of public treasury. 

Buck. Thy cruelty in execution 
Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Queen. Thy sale of offices and towns in 
France, 
If they were known, as the suspect is great, 
"Would make thee quickly hop without thy 
head. 140 

[Exit Gloucester. The Queen drops her fan. 
Give me my fan : what, minion ! can ye not ? 
[She gives the Duchess a box on the ear. 
I cry you mercy, madam ; was it you ? 
Duch. Was't I ! yea, I it was, proud French- 
woman : 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I'd set my ten commandments in your face. 
King. Sweet aunt, be quiet ; 'twas against 

her will. 

Duch. Against her will ! good king, look 

to 't in time ; [baby : 

She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a 

Though in this place most master wear no 

breeches, 
She shall not strike Dame Eleanor nnre- 
venged. [Exit. 

Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how he pro- 
ceeds : 
She's tickled now ; her fume needs no spurs, 
She'll gallop far enough to her destruction. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Gloucester. 
Glou. Now, lords, my choler being over- 
blown 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections, 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law : 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 160 
As I in duty love my king and country ! 
But, to the matter that we have in hand : 
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 
Suf. Before we make election, give me 
leave 
To show some reason, of no little force, 
That York is most unmeet of any man. 

York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am un- 
meet : 
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride ; 
Next, if I be appointed for the place, 170 

My Lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands : 
Last time, I danced attendance on his will 
Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost. 
War. That can I witness ; and a fouler 
fact 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 
Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick ! 
War. Image of pride, why should I hold 
my peace ? 



Enter Horner, the Armorer, and his man 
Peter, guarded. 

Suf. Because here is a man accused of 
treason : 180 

Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself ! 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a 
traitor ? 

King. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ; tell 
me, what are these ? [man 

Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the 
That doth accuse his master of high treason ; 
His words were these ; that Richard, Duke of 

York, 
Was rightful heir unto the English crown 
And that your majesty was a usurper. 

King. Say, man, were these thy words ? 

Hor. An't shall please your "majesty, I 
never said nor thought any such matter : God 
is my witness, I am falsely accused by the 
villain. 

Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, he did 
speak them to me in the garret one night, as 
we were scouring my Lord of York's armor. 

York. Base dunghill villain and mechan- 
ical, 
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech. 
I do beseech your royal majesty, 
Let him have all the rigor of the law. 199 

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I 
spake the words. My accuser~is ray 'prentice ; 
and when I did correct him for his fault the 
other day, he did vow upon his knees he 
would be even with me : I have good witness 
of this : therefore I beseech your majesty, do 
not cast away an honest man for a villain's 
accusation. 

King. Uncle, what shall we say to this in 
'law ? 

Glou. This doom, my lord, if I may judge: 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion : 210 
And let these have a day appointed them 
For single combat in convenient place, 
For he hath witness of his servant's malice ; 
This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's 
doom. 

Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 

Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for 
God's sake, pity my case. The spite of man 
pre vail eth against me. O Lord, have mercy 
upon me ! I shall never be able to fight ;i 
blow. O Lord, my heart ! 221 

Glou. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be 
hang'd, 

King. Away with them to prison ; and the 

day of combat shall be the last of the next 

month. Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent 

away. [Elourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Gloucester's garden. 

Enter Margery Jourdain, Hume, South- 
well, and BOIiTNGBROKB. 

Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, 1 
tell you, expects performance of your prom- 
ises. 

11 



1G2 



KING HENRY VI. PART It. 



[Act ii 



Holing. Master Hume, we are therefore 
provided ; will her ladyship behold and hear 
our exorcisms ? 

Hume. Ay, what else? fear you not her 
courage. 

Boling. I have heard her reported to be a 
woman of an invincible spirit : but it shall be 
convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her 
aloft, while we be busy below ; and so, I pray 
you, go, in God's name, and leave us. [Exit 
Hume.'] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate 
and grovel on the earth ; John Southwell, 
read you ; and let us to our work. 

Enter Duchess aloft, Hume following. 
Duch. Well said, my masters ; and wel- 
come all. To this gear the sooner the better. 
Boling. Patience, good lady ; wizards 
know their times : 
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire ; 
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs 

howl, 
And spirits walk and ghosts break up their 

graves, 
That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
Madam, sit you and fear not : whom we raise, 
We will make fast within a hallow' d verge. 

[Here they do the ceremonies belonging, 
and make the circle ; Bolingbroke or 
Southwell reads, Conjuro te, &c. It 
thunders and lightens terribly ; then 
the Spirit riseth. 
Spir. Adsum. 
M. Jourd. Asmath, 
By the eternal God, whose name and power 
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ; 
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from 
hence. 30 

Spir. Ask what thou wilt. That I had said 

and done ! 
doling. ' First of the king : what shall of him 
become ? ' [Reading out of a paper. 

Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall 
depose ; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death. 

[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell 

writes the ansvier. 

Boling. l What fates await the Duke of 

Suffolk?' 
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his 

end. 
Boling. ' What shall befall the Duke of 

Somerset ? ' 
Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
Safer shall lie be upon the sandy plains 
Than where castles mounted stand. 40 

Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 
Boling. Descend to darkness and the burn- 
ing lake ! 
False fiend, avoid ! 

[Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit. 
Enter the Duke of York and the Duke of 
Buckingham with their Guard and break in. 

York. Lay hands upon these traitors and 
their trash. 



Beldam, I think we watch' d you at an inch. 
What, madam, are you there ? the king and 

commonweal 
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains : 
My lord protector will, I doubt it not, 
See you well guerdon' d for these good deserts. 
Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's 

king, 50 

Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause. 

Buck. True, madam, none at all : what call 

you this ? 
Away with them ! let them be clapp'd up close. 
And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with 

us. 
Stafford, take her to thee. 

[Exeunt above Duchess and Hume, guarded. 
We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. 
All, away ! 

[Exeunt guard with Jourdain, Southwell, &c. 
York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you 

watch'd her well : 
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
What have we here ? [Reads. 61 

' The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death.' 
Why, this is just 

' Aio te, iEacida, Romanos vincere posse.' 
Well, to the rest : 

' Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk ? 
By water shall he die, and take his end. 
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? 
Let him shun castles ; 70 

Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains 
Than where castles mounted stand.' 
Come, come, my lords ; 
These oracles are hardly attain' d, 
And hardly understood. 
The king is now in progress towards Saint 

Alban's, 
With him the husband of this lovely lady : 
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can 

carry them : 
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my 

Lord of York, 80 

To be the post, in hope of his reward. 

York. At your pleasure, my good lord. 

Who's within there, ho ! 

Enter a Servingman. 

Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick 
To sup with me to-morrow night. Away ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT n. 

Scene I. Saint Alban's. 

Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, Car- 
dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hal- 
loing. 

Queen. Believe me, lords, for flying at the 
brook, 
I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high j 



Scenes i.J 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



168 



And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
King. But what a point, my lord, your fal- 
con made, 
And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! 
To see how God in all his creatures works ! 
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 

Sit/. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 10 
They know their master loves to be aloft, 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's 
pitch. 
Glou. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 
Car. I thought as much ; he would be above 

the clouds. 
Glou. Ay, my lord cardinal ? how think 
you by that ? 
Were it not good your grace could fly to 
heaven ? 
King. The treasury of everlasting joy. 
Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes 
and thoughts 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ; 20 
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, 
That smooth' st it so with king and common- 
weal ! 
Glou. What, cardinal, is your priesthood 
grown peremptory ? 
Tantame animis ccelestibus irge ? 
Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such mal- 
ice ; 
With such holiness can you do it ? 
Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well be- 
comes 
So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. 
Glou. As who, my lord ? 
Suf. Why, as you, my lord, 

An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 30 
Glou. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine 

insolence. 
Queen. And thy ambition, Gloucester. 
King. I prithee, peace, good queen, 
And whet not on these furious peers ; 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 
Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I 
make, 
Against this proud protector, with my sword ! 
Glou. [Aside to Car.] Faith, holy uncle, 

would 'twere come to that ! 
Car. [Aside to Glou.] Marry, when thou 

darest. 
Glou. [Aside to Car. ] Make up no factious 
numbers for the matter ; 40 

In thine own person answer thy abuse. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] Ay, where thou 
darest not peep : an if thou darest, 
This evening, on the east side of the grove. 
King. How now, my lords ! 
Car. Believe me, cousin Gloucester, 

Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
We had had more sport. [Aside to Glou.] Come 
with thy two-hand sword. 
Glou. True, uncle. 

Car. [Aside to Glou.] Are ye advised ? the 
east side of the grove ? [you. 

Glou. [Aside to Car.'] Cardinal, I am with 



King. Why, how now, uncle Gloucester ! 

Gloit. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, 

my lord. 50 

[Aside to Car.] Now, by God's mother, priest, 

I'll shave your crown for this, 
Or all my fence shall fail. 

Car. [ Aside to Glou.] Medice, teipsum — 
Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. 
King. The winds grow high ; so do your 
stomachs, lords. 
How irksome is this music to my heart ! 
When such strings jar, what hope of har- 
mony ? 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 

Enter a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying 
' A miracle ! ' 
Glou: What means this noise ? 
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 60 
Towns. A miracle ! a miracle ! 
Suf. Come to the king and tell him what 

miracle. 
Towns. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Al- 
ban's shrine, 
Within this half-hour, hath received his sight; 
A man that ne'er saw in his life before. 
King. Now, God be praised, that to believ- 
ing souls 
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 

Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his 
brethren, bearing Simpcox, between two in a 
chair, Simpcox' s Wife following. 
Car. Here comes the townsmen on proces- 
sion, 
To present your highness with the man. 
King. Great is his comfort in this earthly 
vale, • 70 

Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
Glou. Stand by, my masters : bring him 
near the king ; 
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 
King. Good fellow, tell us here the circum- 
stance, 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What, hast thou been long blind and now re- 
stored ? 
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 
Suf. What woman is this ? 
Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. 80 
Glou. Hadst thou been his mother, thou 

couldst have better told. 
King. Where wert thou born ? 
Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like 

your grace. 
King. Poor soul, God's goodness hath been 
great to thee : 
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
Queen. Tell me, good fellow, earnest thou 
here by chance, 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? [call'd 
Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being 
A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep, 90 
By good Saint Alban ; who said, ' Simpcox, 
come, 



164 



KING HENRY VL PART II. 



[Act ii. 



Coins, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.' 

Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time 
and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 

Car. What, art thou lame ? 

Simp . Ay, God Almighty help me ! 

Suf. How earnest thou so ? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

Wife. A plum-tree, master. 

Glou. How long hast thou been blind ? 

Simp, 0, horn so, master. 

Glou. What, and wouldst climb a tree ? 

Simp. But that in all my life, when I was 
a youth. 

Wife. Too true ; and bought his climbing 
very dear. 100 

Glou. Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that 
wouldst venture so. 

Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desired 
some damsons, 
And made me climb, with danger of my life. 

Glou. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not 
serve. [them : 

Let me see thine eyes : wink now : now open 
In my opinion yet thou see'st not well. 

Simp. Yes, master, clear as day, I thank 
God and Saint Alban. 

Glou. Say'st thou me so ? What color is 
this cloak of ? 

Simp. Red, master ; red as blood. 110 

Glou. Why, that's well said. What color 
is my gown of ? 

Simp. Black, forsooth : coal-black as jet. 

King. Whv, then, thou know'st what color 
"jet is of ? 

Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 

Glou. But cloaks and .gowns, before this 
day, a many. 

Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 

Glou. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name? 

Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 

Glou. What's his name ? 

Simp. I know not 120 

Glou. Nor his ? 

Simp. No, indeed, master. 

Glou. What's thine own name ? 

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please 
you, master 

Glou. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest 
knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been 
bom blind, thou mightest as well have known 
all our names as thus to name the several 
colors we do wear. Sight may distinguish of 
colors, but suddenly to nominate them all, it 
is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here 
hath done a miracle ; and would ye not think 
his cunning to be great, that could restore 
this cripple to his legs again ? 

Simp. O master, that you could ! 

Glou. My masters of Saint Alban's, have 
you not beadles in your town, and things 
called whips? 

May. Yes, ray lord, if it please your grace. 

Glou. Then send for one presently. 140 

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither 
straight. [Exit an Attendant. 



Glou. Now fetch me a stool hither by and 
by. Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself 
from whipping, leap me over this stool and 
run away. 

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand 
alone : 
You go about to torture me in vain. 

Enter a Beadle with ivhips. 

Glou. Well, sir, we must have you find 

your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he 

leap over that same stool. 15C 

Bead. I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah ; 

off with your doublet quickly. 

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I 
am not able to stand. 

[After the Beadle hath hit him once, 

he leaps over the stool and ruyis 

away ; and they follow and cry, 

' A miracle ! ' 

King. O God, seest Thou this, and bearest 

so long ? 
Queen. It made me laugh to see the villain 

run. 
Glou. Follow the knave ; and take this drab 

away. 

Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 

Glou. Let them be whipped through every 

market-town, till they come to Berwick, from 

whence they came. 160 

[Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor. &c. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle 

to-day. 
Suf. True ; made the lame to leap and fly 

away. 
Glou. But you have done more miracles 
than I ; 
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to 

fly- 

Enter Buckingham. 

King. What tidings with our cousin Buck- 
ingham ? 
Buck. Such a9 my heart doth tremble to 
unfold. 
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, 
Under the countenance and confederacy 
Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
The ringleader and head of all this rout, 170 
Have practised dangerously against your state, 
Dealing with witches and with conjurers . 
Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground. 
Demanding of King Henry's life and death, 
And other of your highness' privy-council ; 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 
Car. [Aside to Glou.'] And so, my lord pro- 
tector, by this means 
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's 
edge ; 180 

'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
Glou. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict 
my heart : 
Sorrow and grief have vanquish' d all my pow- 
ers ; 
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, 



SCBNE II.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



165 



Or to the meanest groom. 
King. God, what mischiefs work the 

wicked ones, 
Heaping confusion on their own heads there- 
by ! 
Queen. Gloucester, see here the tainture of 

thy nest, 
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
Glou. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do 

appeal, 190 

How I have loved my king and commonweal : 
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard : 
Noble she is, but if she have forgot 
Honor and virtue and conversed with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banish her my bed and company 
And give her as a prey to law and shame, 
That hath dishonor'd Gloucester's honest 

name. 
King. Well, for this night we will repose us 

"here : 200 

To-morrow toward London back again, 
To look into this business thoroughly 
And call these foul offenders to their answers 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause 

prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The Duke of York's 

garden. 

Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 

York. Now, my good Lords of Salisbury 

and Warwick, 
Our simple supper ended, give me leave 
In this close walk to satisfy myself, 
In craving your opinion of my title, 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 
Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 
War. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim 

be good, 
The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 

York. Then thus : 
Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons : 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of 

Wales ; 11 

The second, William of Hatfield, and the third, 
Lionel Duke of Clarence : next to whom 
Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster ; 
The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York; 
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of 

Gloucester ; 
William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
Edward the Black Prince died before his father 
And left behind him Richard, his only son, 
Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd 

as king ; 20 

Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king, 
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence 

she came, 
And him to Pomfret ; where, as all you know, 
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 
War, Father, the duke hath told the truth} 



Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
York. Which now they hold by force and 

not by right ; 30 

For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, 
The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
Sal. But William of Hatfield died without 

an heir. 
York. The third son, Duke of Clarence, 

from whose line 
I claim the crown, had issue, Philippe, a 

daughter, 
Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of 

March : 
Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March ; 
Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor. 
Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Boling- 
broke, 
As I have read, kftd claim unto the crown ; 40 
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
But to the rest. 

York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
Married Richard Earl of Cambridge ; who was 

son 
To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth 

son. 
By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir 
To Roger Earl of March, who was the son 
Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe, 
Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence : 
So, if the issue of the elder son 51 

Succeed before the younger, I am king. 

War. What plain proceeding is more plain 

than this ? 
Henry doth claim the crown from John of 

Gaunt, 
The fourth son ; York claims it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee 
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together ; 
And in this private plot be we the first 60 

That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
With honor of his birthright to the crown. 
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, 

England's king ! 
York. We thank you, lords. But I am not 

your king 
Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd 
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd, 
But with advice and silent secrecy. 
Do you as I do in these dangerous days : 
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence, 70 
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
At Buckingham and all the crew of them, 
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock, 
Tiiat virtuous prince, the good Duke Hum- 
phrey : 
'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 
Sal. My lord, break we off ; we know your 

mind at full. 
War. My heart assures me that the Earl of 

Warwick 



166 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act ii. 



Shall one day make the Duke of York a king. 
York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself : 
Richard shall live to make the Earl of War- 
wick 
The greatest man in England but the king. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A hall of justice. 

Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, 
Gloucester, York, Suffolk, and Salis- 
bury ; the Duchess of Gloucester, Mar- 
gery Jourdain, Scuthwell, Hume, and 
Bolingbroke, under guard. 

King. Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, 
Gloucester's wife : 
In sight of God and us, your guilt is great : 
Receive the sentence of the law for sins 
Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. 
You four, from hence to prison back again ; 
From thence unto the place of execution : 
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to 

ashes, 
And you three shall be strangled on the gal- 
lows. 
You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 
Despoiled of your honor in your life, 10 

Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
Live in your country here in banishment, 
With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 
Duch. Welcome is banishment ; welcome 

were my death. 
Glou. Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath 
judged thee : 
I cannot justify whom the law condemns. 
[Exeunt Duchess and other prisoners, guarded. 
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
All, Humphrey, this dishonor in thine age 
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! 
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease. 
King. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester : 
ere thou go # - 
Give up thy staff : Henrv will to himself 
Protector be ; and God shall be my hope, 
My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet : 
And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved 
Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 

Queen. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be to be protected like a child. 29 

God and King Henry govern England's realm. 
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
Glou. My staff ? here, noble Henry, is my 
staff : 
As willingly do I the same resign 
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine ; 
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it 
As others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king : when I am dead and 

gone, 
May honorable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit. 
Queen Why, now is Henry king, and Mar- 
garet queen ; 
And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce 
himself, 40 

That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at 
once ; 



His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off. 
This staff of honor raught, there let it stand 
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 

Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs 
his sprays ; 
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 

York. Lords, let him go. Please it your 
majesty, 
This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
The armorer and his man, to enter the lists, 50 
So please your highness to behold the fight. 

Queen. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely 
therefore 
Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 

King. O God's name, see the lists and all 

things fit : [right ! 

Here let them end it ; and God defend the 

York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, 
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
The servant of this armorer, my lards. 

Enter at one door, Horner, the Armorer, and 
his Neighbors, drinking to him so much that 
he is drunk ; and he enters with a drum be- 
fore him and his staff with a sand-bag fas- 
tened to it ; and at the other door Peter, his 
man, ivith a drum and sand-bag, and 'Pren- 
tices drinking to him. 

First Neigh. Here, neighbor Horner, I 
drink to you in a cup of sack : and fear not, 
neighbor, you shall do well enough. 61 

Sec. Neigh. And here, neighbor, here's a 
cup of charneco. 

Third Neigh. And here's a pot of good 
double beer, neighbor : drink, and fear not 
your man. 

Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge 
you all ; and a fig for Peter ! 

First *Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee : 
and be not afraid. 

Sec. 'Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not 
thy master : fight for credit of the 'prentices. 

Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for 
me, I pray you ; for I think I have taken my 
last draught in this world. Here, Robin, an if 
I die, I give thee my apron : and, Will, thou 
shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take 
all the money that I have. Lord bless me ! 
I pray God ! for I am never able to deal with 
my master, he hath learnt so much fence 
already. 

Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to 
blows. Sirrah, what's thy name ? 81 

Peter. Peter, forsooth. 

Sal. Peter ! what more ? 

Peter. Thump. 

Sal. Thump ! then see thou thump thy 
master well. 

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, 
upon my man's instigation, to prove him a 
knave and myself an honest man : and touch- 
ing the Duke of York, I will take my death, I 
never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the 
queen : and therefore, Peter, have at thee with 
a downright blow 1 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



167 



York. Dispatch : this knave's tongue be- 
gins to double. 
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants 

[Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes 

him down. 
Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
treason. [Dies. 

York. Take away his weapon. Fellow, 
thank God, and the good wine in thy master's 
way. 99 

Peter. God, have I overcome mine enemy 
in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed 
in right ! 
King. Go, take hence that traitor from our 
sight ; 
For by his death we do perceive his guilt : 
And God in justice hath revealed to us 
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, 
Which he had thought to have murder'd 

wrongfully. 
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. 

[Sound a flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A street. 

Enter Gloucester and his Semingmen, in 
mourning cloaks. 

Glou. Thus sometimes hath the brightest 

day a cloud ; 
And after summer evermore succeeds 
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: 
So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
Sirs, what's o'clock ? 
Serv. Ten, my lord. 

Glou. Ten is the hour that was appointed 

me 
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: 
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, 
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 10 
The abject people gazing on thy face, 
With envious looks, laughing at thy shame, 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels 
When thou didst ride in triumph through the 

streets. 
But, soft ! I think she comes ; and I'll prepare 
My tear-stain' d eyes to see her miseries. 

Enter the Duchess of Gloucester in a white 
shet t, and a taper hunting in her hand; toith 
Sir John Stanley, the Sheriff, and Officers. 

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her 

from the sheriff. 
Glou. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her 

pass by. 

Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open 

shame ? [gaze! 

Now thou dost penance too. Look how they 

See how the giddy multitude do point, 21 

And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on 

thee ! 
Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful 

looks, 
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, 
rtiul ban thine enemies, both mine and thine ! 
Glou. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget this 
grief, 



Duch. Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget 

myself ! 
For whilst I think I am thy married wife 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
Methinks I should not thus be led along, 30 
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back, 
And followed with a rabble that rejoice 
To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans. 
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet, 
And when I start, the envious people laugh 
And bid me be advised how I tread. 
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? 
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world, 
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun ? 
No ; dark shall be my light and night my day; 
To think upon my pomp shall be my heii. 41 
Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's 

wife, 
And he a prince and ruler of the land : 
Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was 
As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock 
To every idle rascal follower. 
But be thou mild and blush not at my shame, 
Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death 
Han.u over thee, as, sure, it shortly will ; 50 
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all 
With her that hateth thee and hates us all. 
And York and impious Beaufort, that false 

priest, 
Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, 
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle 

thee : 
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, 
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 

Glou. Ah, Nell, forbear ! thou aimest all 

awry ; 
I must offend before I be attainted ; 
And had I twenty times so many foes, 60 

And each of them had twenty times their 

power, 
All these could not procure me any scathe, 
So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless. 
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this re- 
proach ? 
Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away 
But I in danger for the breach of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience : 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 

Enter a Herald. 

Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's 
parliament, 70 

Holden at Bury the first of this next month. 
Glou. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein 
before ! 
This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. 

[Exit Herald. 
My Nell, I take my leave : and, master sheriff, 
Let not her penance exceed the king's com- 
mission. 
Sher. An't please your grace, here my com- 
mission stays, 
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now 
To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 



108 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act hi. 



Glou. Must you, Sir John, protect my lady 

here ? 
Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please 
your grace. 80 

Glou. Entreat her not the worse in that I 
pray 
You use her well : the world may laugh again ; 
And I may live to do you kindness if 
You do it her : and so, Sir John, farewell ! 
Duck. What, gone, my lord, and bid me not 

farewell ! 
Glou. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to 
speak. 

[Exeunt Gloucester and Servingmen. 
DiLch. Art thou gone too ? all comfort go 
with thee ! 
For none abides with me : my joy is death ; 
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, 
Because I wish'd this world's eternity. 90 

Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence ; 
I care not whither, for I beg no favor, 
Only convey me where thou art commanded. 
Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of 
Man ; 
There to be used according to your state. 
Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but re- 
proach : 
And shall I then be used reproachfully ? 
Stan. Like to a duchess, and Duke Hum- 
phrey's lady ; 
According to that state you shall be used. 
Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I 
fare, 100 

Although thou hast been conduct of my shame. 
Sher. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon 

me. 
Duch. Ay, ay, farewell ; thy office is dis- 
charged. 
Come, Stanley, shall we go ? 
• Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off 

this sheet, 
Aud go we to attire you for our journey. 
Duch. My shame will not be shifted with 
my sheet : 
No, it will hang upon my richest robes 
And show itself, attire me how I can. 
Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. 110 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. The Abbey at Bury St. Edmund's. 

Sound a sennet. Enter the King, the Queen, 
Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, 
Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick to 
the Parliament. 

King. I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not 
come : 
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
Queen. Can you not see ? or will ye not ob- 
serve 
The strangeness of his alter' d countenance ? 
With what a majesty he bears himself, 



How insolent of late he is become, 
How proud, how peremptory, and unlike him- 
self? 
We know the time since he was mild and af- 
fable, 
And if we did but glance a far-off look, 10 
Immediately he was upon his knee, 
That all the court admired him for submis- 
sion : 
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, 
When every one will give the time of day, 
He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, 
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
Small curs are not regarded when they grin ; 
But great men tremble when the lion roars ; 
And Humphrey is no little man in England. 20 
First note that he is near you in descent, 
And should you fall, he as the next will mount. 
Me seemeth then it is no policy, 
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears 
And his advantage following your decease, 
That he should come about your royal person 
Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts, 
And when he please to make commotion, 
'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. 30 
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow- 
rooted ; 
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the gar- 
den 
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
The reverent care I bear unto my lord 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear ; 
Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 
I will subscribe and say I wrong' d the duke. 
My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, 
Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 40 

Or else conclude my words effectual. 
Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this 
duke ; 
And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think I should have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess, by his subornation, 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices : 
Or, if he were not privy to those faults, 
Yet, by reputing of his high descent, 
As next the king he was successive heir, 
And such high vaunts of his nobility, 50 

Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess 
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's 

fall. 
Smooth runs the water where the brook is 

deep ; 
And in his simple show he harbors treason. 
The fox barks not when he would steal the 

lamb. 
No, no, my sovereign ; Gloucester is a man 
Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit. 

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done? 
York. And did he not, in his protector- 
ship, 60 
Levy great sums of money through the realm 
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



169 



By means whereof the towns each dav revolt- 
ed. 
Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults 
unknown, 
"Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke 
Humphrey. 
King. My lords, at once : the care you have 
of us, 
To mow down thorns that would annoy our 

foot, 
Is worthy praise : but, shall I speak my con- 
science, 
Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent 
From meaning treason to our royal person 70 
As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove : 
The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given 
To dream on evil or to work my downfall. 
Queen. Ah, what's more dangerous than 
this fond affiance ! 
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but bor- 
rowed, 
For he's disposed as the hateful raven : 
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, 
For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf. 
Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit ? 
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 80 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 

Enter Somerset. 

Som. All health unto my gracious sover- 
eign ! 
King. Welcome, Lord Somerset. What 

news from France ? 
Som. That all your interest in those terri- 
tories 
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
King. Cold news, Lord Somerset : but God's 

will be done ! 
York. [Aside] Cold news for me ; for I had 
hope of France 
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud 
And caterpillars eat my leaves away ; 90 

But I will remedy this gear ere long, 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. 

Enter Gloucester. 
* Glou. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long. 
Suf. Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art 
come too soon, 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art : 
I do arrest thee of high treason here. 

Glou. Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me 
blush 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest : 
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 100 
The purest spring is not so free from mud 
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ? 
York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took 
bribes of France, 
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay ; 
By means whereof his highness hath lost 
France. 
Glou. Is it but thought so ? what are they 
that think it? 



I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, 
Ay, night by night, in studying good for Eng- 
land, 111 
That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
Be brought against me at my trial-day ! 
No ; many a pound of mine own proper store, 
Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
Have I disbursed to the garrisons, 
And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so 
much. 

Glou. I say no more than truth, so help me 
God ! ' 120 

York. In your protectorship you did devise 
Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, 
That England was defamed by tyranny. 

Glou. Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I 
was protector, 
Pity was all the fault that was in me ; 
For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor pas- 
sengers, 
I never gave them condign punishment : 130 
Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured 
Above the felon or what trespass else. 

Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly 
answered : 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
To keep, until your further time of trial. 

King. My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my spe- 
cial hope 
That you will clear yourself from all suspect : 
My conscience tells me you are innocent. 141 

Glou. Ah, gracious lord, these days are 
dangerous : 
Virtue is choked with foul ambition 
And charity chased hence by rancor's hand ; 
Foul subornation is predominant 
And equity exiled your highness' land. 
I know their complot is to have my life, 
And if my death might make this island happy, 
And prove the period of their tyranny, 
I would expend it with all willingness : 150 
But mine is made the prologue to their play ; 
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, 
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's 

malice, 
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his 

tongue 
The envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 
By false accuse doth level at my life : 160 

And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, 
And with your best endeavor have stirr'd up 



170 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act hi. 



My liefest liege to be mine enemy : 
Ay, all you have laid your heads together — 
Myself had notice of your conventicles — 
And all to make away my guiltless life. 
I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
The ancient proverb will be well effected : 170 
'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.' 

Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable : 
If those that care to keep your royal person 
From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage 
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, 
And the offender granted scope of speech, 
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady 

here 
With ignominious words, though clerkly 

couch' d, 
As if she had suborned some to swear 180 

False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? 
Queen. But I can give the loser leave to 

chide. 
Glou. Far truer spoke than meant : I lose, 

indeed ; 
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false! 
And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
Buck. He'll wrest the sense and hold us 

here all day : 
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 

Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard 

him sure. 
Glou. Ah ! thus King Henry throws away 

his crutch 
Before his legs be firm to bear his body. 190 
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, 
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee 

first. 
Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were! 
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. 

[Exit, guarded. 
Kind. My lords, what to your wisdoms 

seemeth best, 
Do or undo, as if ourself were here. 
Queen. What, will your highness leave the 

parliament ? 
King. Ay, Margaret ; my heart is drown'd 

with grief, 
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes, 
My body round engirt with misery, 200 

For what's more miserable than discontent ? 
Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see 
The map of honor, truth and loyalty : 
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come 
That e'erl proved thee false or fear'd thy faith. 
What louring star now envies thy estate, 
That these great lords and Margaret our queen 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? 
Thou n«ver didst them wrong, nor no man 

wrong ; 
And as the butcher takes away the calf 210 
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it 

m strays, 
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, 
Even so remorseless have they borne him 

hence ; 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down. 



Looking the way her harmless young one 

went, 
And can do nought but wail her darling's 

loss, 
Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case 
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd 

eyes 

Look after him and cannot do him good, 

So' mighty are his vowed enemies. 220 

His fortunes I will weep; and,' tvvixt each groan, 

Say ' Who's a traitor ? Gloucester he is none.' 

[Exeunt all b ut Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, 

Suffolk, and York ; Somerset remains apart. 

Queen. Free lords, cold snow melts with 

the sun's hot beams. 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show 
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile 
With sorrow snares relenting passengers, 
Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank, 
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a 

child 
That for the beauty thinks it excellent. 230 
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than 

I— 
And yet herein I judge mine own wit good— 
This Gloucester should be quickly rid the 

world, 
To rid us of the fear we have of him. 

Car. That he should die is worthy policy, 
But yet we want a color for his death : 
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 

Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy: 
The king will labor still to save his life, 
The commons haply rise, to save his life ; 240 
And yet we have but trivial argument, 
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy 

death. 
York. So that, by this, you would not have 

him die. 
Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I ! 
York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for 

his death. 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of 

Suffolk, 
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, 
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
As place Duke Humphrey for the king's pro- 
tector ? 250 
Queen. So the poor chicken should be sure 

of death. 
Suf. Madam, 'tis true ; and were't not 

madness, then, 
To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? 
Who being accused a crafty murderer, 
His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
Because his purpose is not executed. 
No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
By nature proved an enemy to the flock, 
Before his chaps be stain' d with crimson blood, 
As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege. 
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him: 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, 
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, 
So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



171 



"Which mates him first that first intends deceit. 
Queen. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely 

spoke. 
Suf. Not resolute, except so much were 
done ; 
For things are often spoke and seldom meant : 
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, 
Seeing the deed is meritorious, 270 

And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, 
Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 
Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord 
of Suffolk, 
Ere you can take due orders for a priest : 
Say you consent and censure well the deed, 
And I'll provide his executioner, 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 
Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy 

doing. 
Queen. And so say I. 

York. And I : and now we three have spoke 
it, 280 

It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 

Enter a Post. 

Post. Great lords, from Ireland am I come 
amain, 
To signify that rebels there are up 
And put the Englishmen unto the sword : 
Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
Before the wound do grow uncurable ; 
For, being green, there is great hope of help. 
Car. A breach that craves a quick expedi- 
ent stop ! 
What counsel give you in this weighty cause ? 
York. That Somerset be sent as regent 
thither : * 2 ( J0 

'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd ; 
"Witness the fortune he hath had in France 
Som. If York, with all his far-let policy, 
Had been the regent there instead of me, 
He never would have stay'd in France so long. 
York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast 
done : 
1 rather would have lost my life betimes 
Than bring a burthen of dishonor home 
By staying there so long till all were lost. 
Show me one scar character' d on thy skin : 300 
Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win. 
Queen. Nay, then, this spark will prove a 
raging fire, 
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : 
No more, good York ; sweet Somerset, be still : 
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent 

there, 
Might happily have proved far worse than his. 
York. What, worse than nought ? nay, then, 

a shame take all ! 
Som. And, in the number, thee that wish- 

est shame ! 
Car. My Lord of York, try what your for- 
tune is. 
The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms 310 
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
Collected choicely, from each county some, 
And try your hap against the Irishmen ? 



York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
Suf. Why, our authority is his consent, 
And what we do establish he confirms : 
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 
York. I am content : provide me soldiers, 
lords, 
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 320 
Suf A charge, Lord York, that I will see 
perform'd. 
But now return we to the false Duke Hum- 
phrey. 
Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with 
him 
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. 
And so break off ; the day is almost spent : 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 
York. My Lord" of Suffolk, within fourteen 
days 
At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 
Suf. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York. 
[Exeunt all but York. 
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fear- 
ful thoughts, 331 
And change misdoubt to resolution : 
Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art 
Resign to death ; it is not worth the enjoying : 
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born 

man, 
And find no harbor in a royal heart. 
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought 

on thought, 
And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
My brain more busy than the laboring spider 
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, 
To send me packing with an host of men : 
I fear me you but warm the starved snake, 
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 

hearts. 
'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me: 
I take it kindly; and yet be well assured 
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
I will stir up in England some black storm 
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or 

hell ; 
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
Until the golden circuit on my head, 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduced a headstrong Kentish man, 
John Cade of Ashford, 
To make commotion, as full well he can, 
Under the title of John Mortimer. 
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 360 
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, 
And fought so long, till that his thighs with 

darts 
Were almost like a sharp-quhTd porpentine ; 
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen 
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, 
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. 
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern, 
Hath he conversed with the enemy, 



172 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act hi. 



And undiscover'd come to me again 
And given me notice of their villanies. 370 
This devil here shall be my substitute ; 
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, 
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
How they affect the house and claim of York. 
Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured, 
I know no pain they can inflict upon him 
Will make him say I moved him to those arms. 
Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will, 
Why, then from Ireland come I with my 

strength 
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; 
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. 

Scene II. Bury St. Edmund' 's. A room of 
state. 

Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 

First Mar. Run to my Lord of Suffolk ; let 
him know 
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he com- 
manded. 
Sec. Mur. O that it were to do ! What have 
we done ? 
Didst ever hear a man so penitent ? 

Enter Suffolk. 

First Mur. Here comes my lord. 

Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this 

thing ? 
First Mur: Ay, my good lord, he's dead. 
Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you 
to my house ; 
1 will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand. 10 
Have you laid lair the bed ? Is all things 

well, 
According as I gave directions ? 
First Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. 
Suf. Away ! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. 

Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, 
Cardinal, Beaufort, Somerset, with At- 
tendants. 

King. Go, call our uncle to our presence 
straight ; 
Say we intend to try his grace to-day, 
If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 
Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. 

[Exit. 
King. Lords, take your places ; and, I pray 
you all, 
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Glouces- 
ter 20 
Than from true evidence of good esteem 
He be approved in practice culpable. [vail, 
Queen. God forbid any malice should pre- 
That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion ! 
King. I thank thee, Meg ; these words con- 
tent me much. 

Re-enter Suffolk. 

How now ! why look' at thou pale ? whytrem- 
blest thou? 



Where is our uncle ? what's the matter, Suf- 
folk ? 
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloucester 

is dead. 

Queen. Marry, God forfend ! 30 

Car. God's secret judgment : I did dream 

to-night 

The duke was dumb and could not speak a 

word. [The King swoons. 

Queen. How fares my lord ? Help, lords ! 

the king is dead. 
Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the 

nose. 
Queen. Run, go, help, help ! Henry, ope 

thine eyes ! 
Suf. Ho doth revive again : madam, be 

patient. 
King. heavenly God ! 
Queen. How fares my gracious lord ? 

Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious 

Henry, comfort ! 
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk com- 
fort me ? 
Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 40 
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ; 
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, 
By crying comfort from a hollow breast, 
Can chase away the first-conceived sound ? 
Hide uot thy poison with such sugar'd words ; 
Lay uot thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ; 
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight I 
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 50 
Look not upon me, lor thine eyes are wound- 
ing : 
Yet do not go away : come, basilisk, 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight ; 
For in the shade of death I shall find joy ; 
In life but double death, now Gloucester'! 
dead. 
Queen. Why do j^ou rate my Lord of Suf. 
folk thus ? 
Although the duke was enemy to him, 
Yet he most Christian-like laments his death : 
And for my myself, foe as he was to me, 
Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 61 
I would be blind with weeping, sick with 

groans, 
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking 

sighs, 
And all to have the noble duke alive. 
What know I how the world may deem of me ? 
For it is known we were but hollow friends : 
It may be judged I made the duke away ; 
So shall my name with slander's tongue be 

wounded, 
And princes' courts be fHl'd with my reproach. 
This get I by his death : ay me, unhappy ! 70 
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
King. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, 

wretched man ! 
Queen. Be woe for me, more wretched than 
he is. 
"What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face ? 



Scene 11.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



1-0 

1 1 ■> 



I am no loathsome leper ; look on me. 
What ! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf ? 
Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen. 
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb? 
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. 
Erect his statue and worship it, 80 

And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
Was 1 for this nigh wreck' d upon the sea 
And twice by awkward wind from England's 

bank 
Drove back again unto my native clime? 
What boded this, but well forewarning wind 
Did seem to say ' Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore' ? 
What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts 
And he that loosed them forth their brazen 

caves : 
And bid them blow towards England's blessed 

shore, 90 

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ? 
Yet iEolus would not be a murderer, 
But left that hateful office unto thee : 
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me, 
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown' d 

on shore, 
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkind- 

ness : 
The splitting rocks cower' d in the sinking 

sands 
And would not dash me with their ragged 

sides, 
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 100 

As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs, 
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, 
I stood upon the hatches in the storm, 
And when the dusky sky began to rob 
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
I took a costly jewel from my neck, 
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, 
And threw it towards thy land : the sea re- 
ceived it, 
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart : 
And even with this I lost fair England's view 
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart 
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue, 
The agent of thy foul inconstancy, 
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did 
When he to madding Dido would unfold 
His father's acts commenced in burning Troy ! 
Am I not witch' d like her ? or thou not faise 

like him ? 
Ay me, I can no more ! die, Margaret ! 120 
for Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 

Noise within. Enter Warwick, Salisbury, 
and many Commons. 



War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, 
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is 

murder' d 
By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees 
That want their leader, scatter up and down 
And care not who they sting in his revenge. 



Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, 
Until they hear the order of his death. 
King. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis 

too true ; 
But how he died God knows, not Henry : 
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
And comment then upon his sudden death. 
War. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, 

Salisbury, 
With the rude multitude till I return. [Ev.it. 
King. O Thou that judgest all things, stay 

my thoughts, 
My thoughts, that labor to persuade my soul 
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's 

life ! 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God, 
For judgment only doth belong to Thee. 140 
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears, 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk, 
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling : 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
And to survey his dead and earthly image, 
What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? 

Re-enter Warwick and others, bearing Glou- 
cester's body on a bed. 

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view 

this body. 
King. That is to see how deep my grave is 
made ; 150 

For with his soul fled all my worldly solace, 
For seeing him I see my life in death. 

War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
With that dread King that took our state upon 

him 
To free us from his father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn 
tongue ! 
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his 
vow ? 
War. See how the blood is settled in his 
face. 100 

Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and blood- 
less, 
Being all descended to the laboring heart ; 
Who. in the conflict that it holds with death, 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the 

enemy ; 
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er re- 

turneth 
To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
But see, his face is black and full of blood, 
His eye-balls further out than when he lived, 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ; 17(1 
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with 

struggling ; 
His hands abroad display'd, as one thatgrasp'd 
And tugg'd for life and was by strength sub- 
dued : 
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is stick- 
ing; 



174 



KING HENRY VI. PART It. 



[ Act nt. 



His well-proportion 'd beard made rough and 

rugged, 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged. 
It cannot be but he was murder' d here ; 
The least of all these signs were probable. 
Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the 
duke to death ? 
Myself and Beaufort had him in protection ; 
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 181 
War. But both of you were vow'd Duke 
Humphrey's foes, 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 
'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend ; 
And 'tis well seen lie found an enemy. 

Queen. Then you, belike, suspect these 
noblemen 
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
War. Who finds the heifer dead and bleed- 
ing fresh 
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaugh- 
ter ? 190 
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, 
But may imagine how the bird was dead, 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 

Queen. Are you the butcher, Suffolk ? 
Where's your knife ? 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his 
talons ? 
Suf. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping 
men ; 
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, 
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart 
That slanders me with murder's crimson 

badge. 
Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick- 
shire, 
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. 
[Exeunt Cardinal. Somerset, and others. 
War. What dares not Warwick, if false 

Suffolk dare him ? 
Queen. He dares not calm his contumelious 
spirit 
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand 
times. 
War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may 
I say ; 
For every word you speak in his behalf 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 
Suf. Blunt- witted lord, ignoble in demean- 
or ! 210 
If ever lady Avrong'd her lord so much, 
Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit 

thou art, 
And never of the Nevils' noble race. 

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers 
thee 
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me 
mild, 219 

I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 



Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, 
And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st. 
That thou thyself was born in bastardy ; 
And after all this fearful homage done, 
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell, 
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men 1 
Suf. Thou shall be waking while I shed thy 
blood, 
If from this presence thou darest go with me. 
War. Away even now, or I will drag thee 
hence : 229 

Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee 
And do some service to Duke Humphrey's 
ghost. [Exewlt Suffolk and Warwick. 
Kinxi. What stronger* breastplate than a 
heart untainted ! 
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

[A noise within. 
Queen. What noise is this ? 

Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 
weapons drawn. 

King. Why, how now, lords ! your wrath- 
ful weapons drawn 
Here in our presence ! dare you be so bold ? 
Why, what tumultuous clamor have we here ? 
Suf. The traitorous Warwick with the men 

of Bury 240 

Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 
Sal. [To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand 

apart ; the king shall know your mind. 
Dread lord, the commons send you word by 

me, 
Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death, 
Or banished fair England's territories, 
They will by violence tear him from your 

palace 
And torture him with grievous lingering death. 
They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey 

died ; 
They say, in him they fear your highness' 

death ; 
And mere instinct of love and loyalty, 250 

Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
As being thought to contradict your liking, 
Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
They say, in care of your most royal person, 
That if your highness should intend to sleep 
And charge that no man should disturb your 

rest 
In pain of your dislike or pain of death, 
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 
That slily glided towards your majesty, 200 
It were but necessary you were waked, 
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber, 
The mortal worm might make the sleep eteniul ; 
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid. 
That they will guard you, whether you will or 

no, 
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is, 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting, 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. . 



SCEtfE H. J 



KING &ENRY VT. PART 1L 



175 



Commons. [Within] An answer from the 
king, my Lord of Salisbury ! 270 

Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd 
hinds, 
Could send such message to their sovereign : 
Hut you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
To si io\v how quaint an orator you are : 
But all the honor Salisbury hath won 
Is, that lie was the lord ambassador 
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 
Commons. [ Within] An answer from the 
king, or we will all break in ! [me, 

King. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from 
I thank them for their tender loving care ; 280 
And had I not been cited so by them, 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ; 
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means : 
And therefore, by His majesty I swear, 
Whose far unworthy deputy I am, 
He shall not breathe infection in tins air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. 

[Exit Salisbury. 
Queen. Henry, let me plead for gentle 

Suffolk ! 
King. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle 
'Suffolk ! 290 

No more, I say : if thou dost plead for him, 
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
Had I but said, I would have kept my word, 
But when I swear, it is irrevocable. 
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st 

found 
On any ground that I am ruler of, 
The world shall not be ransom for thy life. 
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with 

me ; 
I have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt all but Queen and Suffolk. 
Queen. Mischance and sorrow go along 
with you ! 300 

Heart's discontent and sour affliction 
Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
There's two of you ; the devil make a third ! 
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps ! 
Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 
Que en. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted 
wretch ! 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy ? 
Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should 
I curse them ? 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's 
groan, 310 

I would invent as bitter-searching term*, 
As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signs of deadly hate, 
As 1 an-faced Envy in her loathsome cave : 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest 

words ; 
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ; 
Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract ; 
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban : 
And even now my burthen'd heart would 
break 320 



Should I not curse them. Poison be their 
drink ! [taste ! 

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they 
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees ! 
Their chief est prospect murdering basilisks ! 
Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings ! 
Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss, 
And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 
Queen. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou tor- 
ment'st thyself ; 
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst 
glass, 330 

Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, 
And turn the force of them upon thyself. 
Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me 
leave ? 
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
Queen. O, let me entreat thee cease. Give 
me thy hand, 
That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; 
Nov let the rain of heaven wet this place, 341 
To wash away my woful monuments. 
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, 
That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, 
Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed 

for thee ! 
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief ; 
'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by, 
As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, 
Adventure to be banished myself: 350 

And banished 1 am, if but from thee. 
Go ; speak not to me ; even now be gone. 
O, go not yet ! Even thus two friends con- 
demn' d 
Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves, 
Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! 
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished ; 
Once by the king, and three times thrice by 

thee. 
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence ; 
A wilderness is populous enough, 360 

So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : 
For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
With every several pleasure in the world, 
And where thou art not, desolation. 
I can no more : live thou to joy thy life ; 
Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest 

Enter Vaux. 

Queen. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what 

news, I prithee ? 
Vaux. To signify unto his majesty 
That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death ; 
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 370 
That makes him gasp and stare and catch the 

air, 
Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth. 
Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's 
ghost 



>76 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act iv. 



"Were by his side ; sometime he calls the king, 
And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
The secrets of his overcharged soul ; 
And I am sent to tell his majesty 
That even now he cries aloud for him. 

Queen. Go tell this heavy message to the 

king. [Exit Vaux. 

Ay me I what is this world! what news are 

these ! 380 

But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ? 
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 
And with the southern clouds contend in tears, 
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my 

sorrows ? 
Now get thee hence : the king, thou know'st, 

is coming ; 
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live ; 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else 
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 390 
Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe 
Dying with mother's dug between its lips : 
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, 
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul, 
Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
And then it lived in sweet Elysium. 
To die by thee were but to die in jest ; 400 
From thee to die were torture more than death : 
O, let me stay, befall what may befall ! 

Queen. Away 1 though parting be a fretful 

corrosive, 
It is applied to a deathful wound. 
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from 

thee ; 
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, 
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 
Suf. I go. 

Queen. And take my heart with thee. 
Suf A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 410 
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we : 
This way fall I to death. 

Queen. This way for me. 

{Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. A bedchamber . 

Enter the King, Salisbury, W yrwick, to the 
Cardinal in bed. 

King. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, 

to thy sovereign. 
Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee Eng- 
land's treasure, 
Enough to purchase such another island, 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
King. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks 

to thee. 
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
Can I make men live, whether they will or no? 
Q, torture me no more I i will confess. 



Alive again ? then show me where he is : 

I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. 

He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. 

Comb down his hair ; look, look ! it stands up- 
right, 

Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul. 

Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 

Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 
King. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 

Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 20 

O, beat away the busy meddling fiend 

That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 

And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 
War. See, how the pangs of death do make 

him grin ! 
Sal. Disturb him not ; let him pass peace- 
ably. 
King. Peace to his soul, if God' s good pleas- 
ure be ! 

Lord cardinal, if thou think' st on heaven's 
bliss, 

Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 

He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive 

him ! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous 

life. 30 

King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners 

'all. 

Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close ; 

And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. The coast of Kent. 

Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. 
Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master' s-Mate, 
Walter Whitmore, and others ; ivith them 
Suffolk, and others, prisoners. 

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful 

day 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the 

jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night : 
Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging 

wings, 
Clip dead men's graves and from their misty 

jaws 
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; 
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs. 
Here shall they make their ransom on the 

sand, 10 

Or with their blood stain this discolor' d shore. 
Master, this prisoner freely give 1 thee ; 
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; 
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. 
First Gent. What is my ransom, master ? 

let me know. 
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down 

your head. 
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off 

goes yours. 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



177 



Cap. What, think you much to pay two 

thousand crowns, 

And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? 

Cut both the villains' throats ; for die you 

shall : 20 

The lives of those which we have lost in 

fight 
Be counterpoised with such a petty sum ! 
First Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore 

spare my life. 
Sec. Gent. And so will I and write home for 

it straight. 
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize 
aboard, 
And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 

[To Suf. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 
Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him 

live. 
Suf. Look on my George ; I am a gentle- 
man : 
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be 
paid. 30 

Whit. And so am T ; my name is Walter 
Whitmore. 
How now! why start' st thou? what, doth 
death affright ? 
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound 
is death. 
A cunning man did calculate my birth 
And told me that by water I should die : 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ; 
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. 
Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care 
not : 
Never yet did base dishonor blur our name, 
But with our sword we wiped away the blot ; 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, 
And I proclaim' d a coward through the world ! 
Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a 
prince, 
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. 
Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in 

rags ! 
Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the 
duke : 
Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not 

Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt 

be. 
Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, King 

Henry's blood, 50 

The honorable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my 

stirrup ? 
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule 
And thought thee happy when I shook my 

head ? 
How often hast thou waited at my cup. 
Fed from my trencher, kneel' d down at the 

board, 
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret ? 
Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n, 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride j 60 



How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood 
And duly waited for my coming forth ? 
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, 
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous 
tongue. 
Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the 

forlorn swain ? 
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he 

hath me. 
Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt and 

so art thou. 
Cap. Convey him hence and >n our long- 
boat's side 
Strike off his head. 
Suf. Thou darest not, for thy own- 

Cap. Yes, Pole, 
Suf. Pole ! 

Cap. Pool ! Sir Pool ! lord ! 70 

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and 
dirt [drinks. 

Troubles the silver spring where England 
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the 

ground ; 
And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humph- 
rey's death, 
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again : 
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
For daring to affy a mighty lord 80 

Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged 
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart 
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France 
The false revolting Normans thorough thee 
Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy 
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, 90 
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in 

vain, 
As hating thee, are rising up in arms : 
And now the house of York, thrust from the 

crown 
By shameful murder of a guiltless king 
And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, 
Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful 

colors 
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, 
Under the which is writ ' Invitis nubibus.' 
The commons here in Kent are up inarms : 100 
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
Is crept into the palace of our king. 
And all by thee. Away ! convey him hence. 
Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth 
thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! 
Small things make base men proud : this vil- 
lain here, 
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob bee- 
hives ; 

12 



178 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act 



IV. 



It is impossible that I should die 110 

By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me : 
I go of message from the queen to France ; 
I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel. 

Whit. Come' Suffolk, I must waft thee to 

thy death. 
jSuf. Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee 

I fear. 
Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before 
I leave thee. 
What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop ? 
First Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, 
speak him fair. 120 

Siif. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and 
rough, 
Used to command, untaught to plead for 

favor. 
Far be it we should honor such as these 
With humble suit : no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any 
Save to the God of heaven and to my king ; 
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole 
Thau stand uncover' d to the vulgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear : 
More can 1 bear than you dare execute. 130 
Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no 

more* 
Sitf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye 
can, 
That this my death may never be forgot ! 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians : 
A Roman sworder and banditto slave 
Murder'd sweet Tally ; Brutus' bastard hand 
Stabb'd Julius Caesar ; savage islanders 
Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
[Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk. 
Cap. And as for these whose ransom we 
have set, 
It is our pleasure one of them depart ; 140 

Therefore come you with us aud let him go. 
[Exeunt all but the First Gentleman. 

Re-enter Whitmore icith Suffolk's body. 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body 
lie, 
Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 
First Gent. O barbarous and bloody spec- 
tacle ! 
His body will I bear unto the king : 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

[Exit with the body. 
Scene II. Blackheath. 
Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 

Bevis. Come, and get thee a sword, though 
made of a lath ; they have been up these two 
days. 

Holl. They have the more need to sleep 
now, then. 

Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier 
means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, 
and set a new nap upon it. 

Holl. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. 



Well, I say it was never merry world in Eng- 
land since gentlemen came up. 10 

Bevis. O miserable age ! virtue is not regard- 
ed in handicrafts-men. 

Holl. The nobility think scorn to go in 
leather aprons. 

Bevis. Nay, more, the king's council are 
no good workmen. 

Holl. True ; and yet it is said, labor in thy 
vocation ; which is as much to say as, let the 
magistrates be laboring- men ; and therefore 
should we be magistrates. 20 

Bevis. Thou hast hit it ; for there's no better 
sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. 

I foil. I see them ! I see them ! there's Best's 
son, the tanner of Wingham, — 

Bevis. He shall have the skin of our ene- 
mies, to make dog's-leather of. 

Holl. And Dick the Butcher — 

J!<ris. Then is sin struck down like an ox, 
and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 

Holl. And Smith the weaver, — 30 

Bevis. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 

Holl. Come, come, let's fall in with them. 

Drum. Enter Cade, Dick Butcher, Smith the 
Weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers. 

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our 
supposed father, — 

Dick. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade 
of herrings. 

Cade. For our enemies shall fall before us, 
inspired with the spirit of putting down kings 
and princes, — Command silence. 

Dick. Silence ! 40 

Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — 

Dick. [Aside] He was an honest man, and 
a good bricklayer. 

Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — 

Dick. [Aside] I knew her well ; she was a 
midwife. 

Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, — 

Dick. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedler's 
daughter, and sold many laces. 49' 

Smith. [Aside] But now of late, notable to' 
travel witli her furred pack, she washes bucks 
here at home. 

Cade. Therefore am I of an honorable 
house. 

Dick. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is 
honorable ; and there was he borne, under a 
hedge, for his father had never a house but 
the cage. 

Cade. Valiant I am. 

Smith. [Aside] A' must needs ; for beggary 
is valiant. 

Cade. I am able to endure much. 60 

Dick. [Aside] No question of that ; for I 
have seen him whipped three market-days to- 
gether. 

Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 

Smith. [Aside] He need not fear the sword ; 
for his coat is of proof. 

Dick. [Aside] But methinks he should 
stand in fear of fire, being burnt i' the hand 
for stealing of sheep. 



Scene ii.) 



KING IlENRV Vt. PART II. 



170 



Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is 
brave, and vows reformation. There shall be 
in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a 
penny :• the three-hooped pot shall have ten 
hoops ; and I will make it felony to drink 
small beer : all the realm shall be in common; 
and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass: 
and when I am king, as king I Avill be, — 

All. God save your majesty ! 

( 'ade. I thank you, good people : there shall 
be no money ; all shall oat and drink on my 
score ; and J will upparel them all in one liv- 
ery, that they may agree like brothers and 
worship me their lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the 
lawyers. 

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this 
a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an in- 
nocent lamb should be made parchment ? that 
parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo 
a man ? Some say the bee stings : but I say, 
'tis the bee's wax ; for I did but seal once to a 
thing, and I was never mine own man since. 
How now ! who's there ? 91 

Enter some, bringing forward the Clerk of 
Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write 
and read and cast accompt. 

Cade. O monstrous ! 

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 

Cade. Here's a villain ! 

Smith. Has a book in his pocket with red 
letters in't. 

Cade. Nay, then, he is a conjurer. 100 

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and 
write court-hand. 

Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper 
man, of mine honor ; unless I find him guilty, 
he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must 
examine thee : what is thy name ? 

Clerk. Emmanuel. 

Dick. They use to write it on the top of let- 
ters : 'twill go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone. Dost thou use to 
write thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thy- 
self, like an honest plain-dealing man ? Ill 

Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so 
well brought up that I can write my name. 

All. He hath confessed : away with him ! 
he's a villain and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with him, I say ! hang him with 
his pen and ink-horn about his neck. 

[Exit one with the Clerk. 

Enter Michael. * 

Mich. Where's our general ? 

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 119 

Mich. Ely, fly, fly ! Sir Humphrey Stafford 
and his brother are hard by, with the king's 
forces. 

Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee 
down. He shall be encountered with a man as 
good as himself : he is but a knight, is a' ? 

Mich. No. 

Qade. To equal him, I will make mvfi eHL a 



knight presently. [Kneels] Rise up Sir John 
Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him ! 

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and his Bro- 
ther, with dram and soldiers. 

Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum 

of Kent, 130 

Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons 

down ; 
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom : 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 
Bro. But angry, wrathful, and inclined to 
blood, 
If you go forward ; therefore yield, or die. 
Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I 
pass not : 
It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
Over whom, in time to come, 1 hope to reign ; 
For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 139 

Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; 
And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not ? 
Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
Bro. And what of that ? 
Cade. Marry, this : Edmund Mortimer, Earl 
of March, 
Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did 
he not ? 
Staf. Ay, sir. 
Cade. By her he had two children at one 

birth. 
Bro. That's false. 

Cade. Ay, there's the question ; but I say, 
'tis true : 
The elder of them, being put to nurse, 150 
Was by a beggar-woman stolen away ; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
Became a bricklayer when he came to age : 
His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 
Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall 

be king. 
Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my 
father's house, and the bricks are alive at this 
day to testify it ; therefore deny it not. 
Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's 
words, 
That speaks he knows not what ? 100 

All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye 

gone. 
Bro. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath 

taught you this. 
Cade. [Aside] He lies, fori invented it my- 
self. 
Go to, sirrah, tell the king from me, that, for 
his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose 
time boys went to span-counter for French 
crowns, I am content he shall reign ; but I'll 
be protector over him. 

Dick. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord 
Say's head for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is 
England mained, and fain to go with a staff, 
but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow 
kings, I tell you that that Lord Say hath geld- 
ed the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch: 
and more than that, he can speak French ; and 
therefore he is s. traitor. 



180 



KING BENUY VI. PART II. 



[Act iv 



Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
Cade. Nay, answer, if you can : the French- 
men are our enemies ; go to, then, I ask but 
this : can he that speaks with the tongue of an 
enemy be a good counsellor, or no ? 
All. No, no ; and therefore we'll have his 

head. 
Bro. Well, seeing gentle words will not pre- 
vail, 
Assail them with the army of the king. 
Staf. Herald, away ; and throughout every 
town 
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; 
That those which fly before the battle ends 
May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
Be hang'd up for example at their doors : 190 
And you that be the king's friends, follow me. 
[Exeunt the two Stafford's, and soldiers. 
Cade. And you that love the commons, fol- 
low me. 
Now show yourselves men ; 'tis for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon ; 
For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
As would, but that they dare not, take our 
parts. 
Dick. They are all in order and inarch to- 
ward us. 
Cade. But then are we in order when we 
are most out of order. Come, march for- 
ward. [Exeunt. 200 

Scene III. Another part of Blackheath. 

Alarums to the fight, wherein both the Staf- 
fords are slain. Enter Cade and the rest. 

Cade. Where' & Dick, the butcher of Ash- 
ford ? 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and 
oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou 
hadst been in thine own slaughter-house : 
therefore thus will I reward thee, the Lent 
shall be as long again as it is ; and thou shalt 
have a license to kill for a hundred lacking 
one. 

Dick. I desire no more. 10 

Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest 
no less. This monument of the victory will I 
bear [putting on Sir Humphrey's brigandine] ; 
and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' 
heels till I do come to London, where we will 
have the mayor's sword borne before us. 

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, 
break open the gaols and let out the prison- 
ers. 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, 
let's march towards London. [Exeunt, 20 

Scene IV. London. The palace. 
Enter the King with a supplication, and the 

Queen with Suffolk's head, the Duke of 

Buckingham and the Lord Say. 

Queen. Oft have I heard that grief softens 
the mind, 
And makes it fearful and degenerate ; 
Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. 



But who can cease to weep and look on this ? 
Here may his head lie on my throbbing 

breast : 
But where's the body that I should embrace 1 
Buck. What answer makes your grace tc 
the rebels' supplication ? 

King. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; 
For God forbid so many simple souls 10 

Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, 
Will parley with Jack Cade their general : 
But stay, I'll read it over once again. 

Queen. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this 
lovely face 
Ruled, like a wandering planet, over me, 
And could it not enforce them to relent, 
That were unworthy to behold the same ? 
King. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to 

have thy head. 
Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall 
have his. 20 

King. How now, madam ! 
Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's 

death ? 
I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, 
Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for 
me. 
Queen. No, my love, I should uot mourn, 
but die for thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

King. How now ! what news ? why comest 

thou in such haste ? 
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; fly, my 
lord ! 
Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, 
Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house, 
And calls your grace usurper openly 30 

And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
His army is a ragged multitude 
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's 

death 
Hath given them heart and courage to pro- 
ceed : 
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, 
They call false caterpillars, and intend their 
death. 
King. O graceless men ! they know not 

what they do. 
Buck. My gracious lord, return to Killing- 
worth, 
Until a power be raised to put them down. 40 
Queen. Ah, were the Duke of Suffolk now 
alive, 
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeased 

King. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee ; 
Therefore away with us to Killingworth. 
Say. So might your grace's person be in 
danger. 
The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; 
And therefore in this city will I stay 
And live alone as secret as I may. 
Enter another Messenger. 
Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge- 
The citizens fly and forsake their houses : 5C 



Scene vi.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



181 



The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
Join with the traitor, and they jointly swear 
To spoil the city and your royal court. 
Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take 

horse. 
King. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, 

will succor us. 
Queen. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is 

deceased. 
King. Farewell, my lord : trust not the 

Kentish rebels. 
Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be be- 

tray'd. 
Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, 
And therefore am I bold and resolute. 60 

[Exeunt. 
Scene V. London. The Tower. 
Enter Lord Scales upon the Tower, walking. 
Then enter two or three Citizens below. 
Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain ? 
First Cit. No, ray lord, nor likely to be 
slain ; for they have won the bridge, killing 
all those that withstand them : the lord mayor 
craves aid of your honor from the Tower, to 
defend the city from the rebels. 
Scales. Such aid as I can spare you shall 
command ; 
But I am troubled here with them myself ; 
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, 10 
And thither I will send you Matthew Goffe ; 
Fight for your king, your country and your 

lives ; 
And so, farewell, for I must hence again. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene VI. London. Cannon Street. 

Enter Jack Cade and the rest, and strikes 
his staff on London-stone. 

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. 
And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge 
and command that, of the city's cost, the 
pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine 
this first year of our reign. And now hence- 
forward it shall be treason for any that calls 
me other than Lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier, running. 

Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 

Cade. Knock him down there. 

[They kill him. 

Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never 
call ye Jack Cade more : I think he hath a 
very fair warning. 

Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered 
together in Smithfield. 

Cade. Come, then, let's go fight with them ; 
but first, go and set London bridge on fire ; 
and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. 
Come, let's away. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. London. Smithfield. 
Alarums. Matthew Goffe is slain, and all 

the rest. Then enter Jack Cade, with his 

company. 

dade. rio. sirs : now go some auu pull down 



the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down 
with them all. 

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it 
for that word. 

Dick. Only that the laws of England may 
come out of your mouth, 

Holl. [Aside] Mass, 'twill be sore law, 
then ; for he was thrust in the mouth with a 
spear, and 'tis not whole yet. 11 

Smith. [Aside] Nay, John, it will be stink- 
ing law ; for his breath stinks with eating 
toasted cheese. 

Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. 
Away, burn all the records of the realm : my 
mouth shall be the parliament of England. 

Holl. [Aside] Then we are like to hava 
biting statutes, unless his teeth be pulled out. 

Cade. And henceforward all things shall 
be in common. 21 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the 
Lord Say, which sold the towns in France ; he 
that made us pay one and twenty filteens, and 
one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. 

Enter George Be vis, with the Lord Say. 

Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten 
times. Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou 
buckram lord ! now art thou within point- 
blank of our jurisdiction regal. What canst 
thou answer to my majesty "lor eiving up of 
Normandy unto Mounsieur Lasimecu, the 
dauphin of France ? Be it known unto thee 
by these presence, even the presence of Lord 
Mortimer, that I am the besom that must 
sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. 
Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the 
youth of the realm in erecting a grammar 
school ; and whereas, before, our forefathers 
had no other books but the score and the tally, 
thou hast caused printing to be used, and, 
contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, 
thou hast built a paper-mill. It will be pro\ ed 
to thy face that thou hast men about thee that 
usually talk of a noun and a verb, and such 
abominable words as no Christian ear can 
endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices 
of peace, to call poor men before them about 
matters they were not able to answer. More- 
over, thou hast put them in prison ; and be- 
cause they could not read, thou hast hanged 
them ; when, indeed, only for that cause they 
have been most worthy to live. Thou dost 
ride in a foot-cloth, dost thou not ? 

Say. What of that? 

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy 
horse wear a cloak, when honester men than 
thou go in their hose and doublets. 

Dick. And work in their shirt too ; as my- 
self, for example, that am a butcher. 

Say. You men of Kent, — 

Dick. What say you of Kent ? GG 

•Say. Nothing but this ; 'tis ' bona terra, 
mala gens.' 



18* 



KING HENRY VI. PART 77. 



|Act IV. 



Cade. Away with him, away. with him! 
he speaks Latin. 

Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me 
where you will. 
Kent, in the Commentaries Csesar writ, 
Is term'd the civil' st place of all this isle : 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ; 
Which makes me hope you are not void of 

pity. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, 70 

Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
Justice with favor have I always done ; 
Prayers and tears have moved me, gifts could 

never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
But to maintain the king, the realm and you ? 
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd me to the king, 
And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to 

heaven, 
Unless you be possess' d with devilish spirits, 
You cannot but forbear to murder me : 81 
This tongue hath parley' d unto foreign kings 
For your behoof, — 

Cade. Tut, when struck' st thou one blow 
in the field ? 

Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft 
have I struck 
Those that I never saw and struck them dead. 

Geo. monstrous coward ! what, to come 
behind folks ? 

Say. These cheeks are pale for watching 
for your good. 90 

Cade. Give him a box o' the ear and that 
will make 'em red again. 

Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's 
causes 
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle, then, 
and the help of hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ? 

Say. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. 

Cade. Nay, he nods at us, as who should 
say, I'll be even with you : I'll see if his head 
will stand steadier on a pole, or no. Take 
him away, and behead him. 

Say. Tell me wherein have I offended most ? 
Have I affected wealth or honor ? speak. 
Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold ? 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? 
Whom have I injured, that ye seek my death ? 
These hands are free from guiltless blood- 
shedding, 
This breast from harboring foul deceitful 

thoughts. 
O, let me live ! 110 

Cade. [ Aside] I feel remorse in myself with 
his words ; but I'll bridle it : he shall die, an 
it be but for pleading so well for his life. 
Away with him ! he has a familiar uuder his 
tongue ; he speaks not o' God's name. Go, 
take him away, I say, and strike off his head 

Eresently ; and then break into his son-in- 
iw's house, Sir James Cromer, and strike off I 



hs Lead, and bring them both upon two polee 
hither. 

All. It shall be done. 120 

Say. Ah, cour.trymen I if when you make 
your prayers, 
God should be so obdurate as yourselves,' 
How would it fare with your departed souls ? 
Aiul therefore yet relent, an save my life. 

Cade. Away with him ! aud do as I com- 
mand ye. [Exeunt some with Lord Say. 
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear 
a head on his shoulders, unless he pay me 
tribute ; there shall not a maid be married, 
but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere 
they have it : men shall hold of me in capite ; 
and we charge and command that their wives 
be as free as heart can wish or tongue can tell. 

Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheap- 
side and take up commodities upon our bills ? 

Cade. Marry, presently. 

All. 0, brave ! 

Re-enter one with the heads. 

Cade. But is not this braver ? Let them 
kiss one another, for they loved well when 
they were alive. Now part them again, lest 
they consult about the giving up of some more 
towns in France. Soldiers, defer the spoil of 
the city until night : for with these borne be- 
fore us, instead of maces, will we ride through 
the streets, and at every corner have them kiss. 
Away ! [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. Southwark. 

Alarum and retreat. Enter Cade and all his 
rabblement. 
Cade. Up Fish Street ! down Saint Magnus" 
Corner ! kill and knock down ! throw them 
into Thames ! [Sound a parley.] What noise 
is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold to sound 
retreat or parley, when I command them kill ? 

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford, at' 
tended. 

Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will 

disturb thee : 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the 

king 
Unto the commons whom thou hast misled ; 
And here pronounce free pardon to them all 
That will forsake thee and go home in peace. 
Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye 

relent, 11 

And yield to mercy whilst 'tis offer'd you ; 
Or let a rebel lead you to your deaths ? 
Who loves the king and will embrace Ms 

pardon, 
Fling up his cap, and say ' God save his ma- 
jesty ! ' 
Who hateth him and honors not his father, 
Henry the Fifth, that made all France to 

quake, 
Shake he his weapon at us and pass by. 
All. God save the king ! God save the 

king ! 
Cade. What, Buckingham and Clifford, are 
ye so brave ? And you, base peasants, do ye 



Scene ix.] 



KING HENRY VT. PART II. 



183 



believe him ? will you needs be hanged with 
your pardons about your necks ? Hath my 
sword therefore broke through London gates, 
that you should leave me at the White Hart 
in South wark? I thought ye wuld never 
have given out these arms till you bad re- 
covered your ancient freedom : but you are 
all recreants and dastards, and delight to live 
in slavery to the nobility. Let them break 
your backs with burthens, take your houses 
over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh- 
ters before your faces : for me, I will make 
shift for one ; and so, God's curse light upon 
you all ! 

All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade ! 
Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fift 1 ., 
That thus you do excla-m y >u'L go with him ? 
Will he conduct you through the heart of 

France, 
And make ti e meanest of you earls and dukes? 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ; 40 
N-r knows he j.ow to live but by the spoil, 
Unless ] robbi"5 of your friends and us. 
Were't not a hame, that whilst you live at 

jar, [ed, 

The fearful French, whom you late vanquish- 
Should makj 'ist.it o'er seas and vanquish 

you 
Methinks already in tnis civil broil 
I see them lording it in London streets, 
Crying ' " illiago ! ' unto all they meet. 
Better t;n the us base-born Cades miscarry 
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's 

mery. 50 

To France, to France, and get what you have 

lost , 
Spare England, for it is your native coast ; 
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly ; 
God on our side, doubt not of victory. 
All. A .liffor: ! a Clifford ! we'll follow 

the king and Clifford. 
Cade. Was ever leather so lightly blown 
to and fro as this multitude ? The name of 
Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred 
mischiefs, and makes 'hem leave me desolate. 
I see them lay their heads together to sur- 
prise me. My sword make way for me, for 
here is no staying. In despite of the devils 
and hell, have through the very middest of 
you? and heavens and honor be witness, that no 
want of resolution in me, but only my follow- 
ers' base and ignominious treasons, makes me 
betake me to my heels. [Exit. 

Buck. What', is he fled ? Go some, and 

follow him ; 
And he that brings his head unto the king 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. 
[Exeunt some of them. 
Follow me, soldiers : we'll devise a mean 71 
To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX. Kenilworth Castle. 

Sound Trumpets. Enter Kino, Queen, and 

Somerset, on the terrace. 

King. Was ever king that jov'd an earthly 
throne, 



And could command no more content than I? 
No sooner was I crept out of my cradle 
But I was made a king, at nine months old. 
Was never subject long'd to be a king 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and old Clifford. 
Buck. Health and glad tidings to your ma- 
jesty ! 
King. Why. Buckingham, is the traitor 
Cade surprised ? 
Oi is h j but retired to make him strong ? 

Enter beloio, multitudes, with halters about 
their necks. 

Clif He is fled, my lord, and all his 

j owers do yield ; 10 

And humbly h is, with halters on their necks, 

Expect your highness' doom, of life or death. 

Kin;/. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlast' 

ingga, s, 

To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! 

Soldiers, this day have you redeemed youf 

lives, 
And show'd how well you love your prince 

and country : 
Continue still in this so good a mind, 
And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind : 
And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 20 
I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
All. God save the king ! God save the 
king ! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Please it your grace to be adver- 
tised 
The Duke of York is newly come from Ire- 
land, 
And with a puissant and a mighty power 
Of gallowglasses and stout kerns 
Is marching hitherward in proud array, 
And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 
His arms are only to remove from thee 
The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms 

traitor. 30 

King. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade 
and York distress'd'. 
Like to a ship that, having 'scaped a tempest, 
Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pi- 
rate : 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dis- 
persed ; 
And now is York in arms to second him. 
I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him, 
And ask him what's the reason of these arms. 
Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower ; 
And, Somerset, we'll commit thee thither, 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 40 

Som. My lord, 
I'll yield myself to prison willingly, 
Or unto death, to do my country good. 
King. In any case, be not too rough in 
terms ; 
For he is fierce and cannot brook hard lan- 
guage. 
Buck. I will, my lord ■ and doubt not so 
to deal 



184 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act iv. 



As all things shall redound unto your good. 
King. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to 

govern better ; 
For yet may England curse my wretched 

reign. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene X. Kent. Iden's garden. 

Enter Cade. 

Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself, that 
have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! 
These five days have I hid me in these woods 
and durst not peep out, for all the country is 
laid for me ; but now am I so hungry that if 
I might have a lease of my life for a thousand 
years T could stay no longer. Wherefore, on 
a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to 
see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another 
while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stom- 
ach this hot weather. And I think this word 
1 sallet ' was born to do me good : for many a 
time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been 
cleft with a brown bill ; and many a time, 
when I have been dry and bravely marching, 
it hath served me instead of a quart pot to 
drink in ; and now the word ' sallet ' must 
serve me to feed on. 

Enter Iden. 

Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in 

the court, 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
This small inheritance my father left me 20 
Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy. 
I seek not to wax great by others' waning, 
Or gather wealth, I care not, with what envy: 
Sufficeth that I have maintains my state 
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 
Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to 
seize me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple 
without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray 
me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by 
carrying my head to him : but I'll make thee 
eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword 
like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 
Men. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er 

thou be, 
I know thee not ; why, then, should I betray 

thee ? 
Is't not enough to break into my garden, 
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, 
Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy 

terms ? 
Cade. Brave thee ! ay, by the best blood 
that ever was broached, and beard thee too. 
Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five 
days ; yet, come thou and thy five men, and 
if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, 
I pray God I may never eat grass more. 
Men. Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while 

England stands, 
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks 
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; 50 



Thy hand is but a finger to my fist, 

Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ; 

My foot shall fight with all the strength thou 

hast ; 
And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
As for words, whose greatness answers words, 
Let this my sword report what speech for- 
bears. 

Cade. By my valor, the most complete 
champion that ever I heard ! Steel, if thou 
turn the edge, or cut not out the burly-boned 
clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy 
sheath, I beseech God on my knees thou mayst 
be turned to hobnails. 

[Here they fight. Cade falls. 

0, 1 am slain! famine and no other hath slain 
me : let ten thousand devils come against me, 
and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and 
I'll defy them all. Wither, garden : and be 
henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell 
in this house, because the unconquered soul 
of Cade is fled. 70 

Men. Is't Cade that I have slain, that mon- 
strous traitor ? 
Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead . 
Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; 
But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, 
To emblaze the honor that thy master got. 

Cade. Iden, farewell, and be proud of thy 
victory. Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her 
best man, and exhort all the world to be cow- 
ards ; for I, that never feared any, am van- 
quished by famine, not by valor. [Dies. 81 

Men. How much thou wrong'st me, hea- 
ven be my judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that 

bare thee ; 
And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
Unto a dunghill which shall be thy grave, 
And there cut off thy most ungracious head ; 
Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 90 

[Exit- 



ACT V. 



Scene I. Fields betiveen Dartford and Black- 
heath. 

EnterYoRK, and his army of Irish, ivith drum 
and colors. 

York. From Ireland thus comes York to 

claim his right, 
And x>hick the crown from feeble Henry's 

head : 
Ring, bells, aloud ; burn, bonfires, clear and 

bright, 
To entertain great England's lawful king. 
Ah ! sancta majestas, who would not buy thee 

dear ? 
Let them obey that know not how to rule-' 



Scene i.] 



KING IIEJSRY VI. PART II 



183 



This hand was made to handle naught but 

gold. 
I cannot give due action to my words, 
Except a sword or sceptre balance it : 
Asceptre shall it have, have 1 a soul, 10 

On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 
Enter Buckingham. 

Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to dis- 
turb me ? 
The king hath sent him, sure : I must dissemble. 
Back. York, if thou meanest well, I greet 

thee well. 
York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept 
thy greeting. 
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? 
Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread 
liege, 
To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
Or why thou, being a subject as I am, 
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 20 
Should raise so great a power without his 

leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 
York. [Aside] Scarce can I speak, myclioler 
is so great : 
O, I could hew up rocks and right with flint, 
I am so angry at these abiect terms ; 
And now, like Ajax Telamonius. 
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. 
I am far better born than is the king, 
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts : 
But I must make fair weather yet a while, 30 
Till Henry be more weak and 1 more strong, — 
Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, 
That I have given no answer all this while ; 
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
The cause why I have brought this army 

hither 
Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, 
Seditious to his grace and to the state. 
Buck. That is too much presumption on 
thy part : 
But if thy arms be to no other end, 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand : 40 
The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 
York. Upon thine honor, is he prisoner ? 
Buck. Upon mine honor, he is prisoner. 
York. Then, Buckingham, 1 do dismiss my 
powers. 
Soldiers, 1 thank you all ; disperse yourselves ; 
Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field, 
You shall have pay and every thing you wish. 
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, 
As pledges of my fealty and love ; * 50 

I'll send them all as willing as I live : 
Lands, goods, horse, armor, any thing I have, 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 
Buck. York, I commend this kind submis- 
sion : 
We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
Enter King and Attendants. 
King. Buckingham, doth York intend no 
harm to us, 
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ? 



York. In all submission and humility 
York doth present himself unto your highness. 
King. Then what intends these forces thou 
dost bring ? 6C 

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from 
hence, 
And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, 
Who since 1 heard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, with Cade's head. 

Iden. If one so rude and of so mean condi- 
tion 
May pass into the presence of a king, 
Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, 
The head of Cade, whom 1 in combat slew. 
King. The head of Cade ! Great God, how 
just ail Thou! 
O, let me view his visage, being dead, 
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, mv friend, art thou the man that slew 
him ? 71 

Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 
King. How art thou call'd ? and what is 

thy degree ? 
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ; 
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not 
amiss 
He were created knight for his good service. 
King. Iden, kneel down. [He kneels.] Rise 
up a knight. 
We give thee for reward a thousand marks, 
And will that thou henceforth attend on us. 80 
Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
And never live but true unto his liege ! [Rises. 

Enter Queen and Somerset. 

King. See, Buckingham, Somerset comes 
with the queen : 
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
Queen. For thousand Yorks he shall not 
hide his head, 
But boldly stand and front him to his face. 

York. How now ! is Somerset at liberty ? 
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd 

thoughts, 
And let thy tongue be equal with thv heart. 
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset? 90 

False king ! why hast thou broken faith with 

me, 
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ? 
King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king, 
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
Which darest not, no, nor canst not rule a trai- 
tor. 
That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
That gold must round engirt these brows of 

mine, 
AVhose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
Is able with the change to kill and cure. 101 
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up 
And with the same to act controlling laws. 
( live place : by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 



186 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act 



Som. O monstrous traitor ! I arrest thee, 
York, 
Of jcapital treason 'gainst the king and crown ; 
Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace. 
York. Wouldst have me kneel ? first let 
me ask of these, 
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. 110 
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail ; 

[Exit Attendant. 
I know, ere they will have me go to ward. 
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchise- 
ment. 
Queen. Call hither Clifford ! bid him come 
amain, 
To say if that the bastard boys of York 
Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 

[Exit Buckingham. 
York. blood-besotted Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
That for my surety will refuse the boys ! 121 

Enter Edward and Richard. 
See where they come : I'll warrant they'll 
make it good. 

Enter old Clifford and his Son. 

Queen. And here comes Clifford to deny 

their bail. 
Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord 
the king ! [Kneels. 

York. I thank thee, Clifford : say, what 
news with thee ? 
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look ; 
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 

Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mis- 
take ; 
But thou mistakest me much to think I do : 130 
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad ? 
King. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambi- 
tious humor 
Makes him oppose himself against his king. 

Clif. He is a traitor ; let hi in to the Tower, 
And chop away that factious pate of his. 

Queen. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
His sons, he says, shall give their words for 
him. 
York. Will you not, sons ? 
Edio. Ay, noble father, if our words will 

serve. 
Rich. And if words will not, then our 
weapons shall. 140 

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have 
we here ! [so : 

York. Look in a glass, and call thy image 
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. 
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
That with the very shaking of their chains 
They may astonish these fell-lurking curs : 
,Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. 

Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salis- 
bury. 

Clif. Are these thy bears ? we'll bait thy 
bears to death. 



And manacle the bear-ward in their chai?is, 
If thou darest bring them to the baiting place, 
Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening 
cur 151 

Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
Who, being suffer' d with the bear's fell paw, 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs and 

cried : 
And such a piece of service will you do, 
If you oppose yourselves to match Lord War- 
wick. 
Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested 
lump, 
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 
York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly 

anon. 
Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn 
yourselves. 160 

King. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot 
to bow ? 
Old Salisbury, shame to thy silver hair, 
Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son 1 
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the 

ruffian, 
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
O, where is faith ? O, where is loyalty ? 
If it be banish' d from the frosty head, 
Where shall it find a harbor in the earth ? 
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
And shame thine honorable age with blood ? 
Why art thou old, and want'st experience? 170 
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it ? 
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me 
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
Sal. My lord, I have consider' d with my 
self' 
The title of this most renowned duke ; 
And in my conscience do repute his grace 
The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 
King. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto 

me ? 
Sal. I have. 180 

King. Canst thou dispense with heaven for 

such an oath ? 
Sal. It is great sin to swear unto a sin, 
But greater sin to keep a sinful oath. 
Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
To reave the orphan of his patrimony, 
To wring the widow from her custom'd right, 
And have no other reason for this wrong 
But that he was bound by a solemn oath ? V.M) 
Queen. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 
King. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm 

himself. 
York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends 
thou hast, 
I am resolved for death or dignity. 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams 
prove true. [again, 

War You were best to go to bed and dream 
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 

Clif. I am resolved to bear a greater storm 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
And that I'll writje upon thy burgonet. 200 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



187 



Might I but know thee by thy household 
badge. 
War. Now, by my father's badge, old 
Nevil's crest, 
The rampant bear chain' d to the ragged staff, 
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
As on a mountain top the cedar shows 
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 
Clif. And" from thy burgonet I'll rend thy 
bear 
And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 
Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father, 
To quell the rebels and their complices. 

Rich. Fie ! charity, for shame ! speak not 
in spite, 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 
Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, that's more than 

thou canst tell. 
Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in 
hell. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene II. Saint Alban's. 
Alarums to the battle. Enter Warwick. 
War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick 
calls : 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum 
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, 
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me : 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 

Enter York. 

How now, my noble lord ! what, all afoot ? 
York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my 
steed, 
But match to match I have encounter'd him 10 
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of the bonny beast he loved so well. 

Enter old Clifford. 

War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some 
other chase, 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 
War. Then, nobly, York ; 'tis for a crown 
thou fight' st. 
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, 
It grieves my soul to leave thee uuassail'd. 

[Exit. 
Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why 

dost thou pause ? 
York. With thy brave bearing should I be 
in love, 20 

But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise 
and esteem, 
But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason. 
York. So let it help me now against thy 
sword 
As I in justice and true right express it. 

Clif. My soul and body on the action both! 
York. A dreadful lay ! Address thee in- 
stantly. \Tlvy fight, and Clifford fall*. 
Clif. La fin comonne les cauyres, [Dies. 



York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for 
thou art still. 
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! 

[Exit. 30 

Enter young Clifford. 

Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the 

rout ; 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of 

hell, 
Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance ! Let no soldier fly. 
He that is truly dedicate to war 
Hath no self-love, nor he that loves himself 
Hath not essentially but b} r circumstance 
The name of valor. [Seeing his dead father. 

0, let the vile world end, '40 

And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together ! 
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
Particularities and petty sounds 
To cease ! AVast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
The silver livery of advised age, 
And, in thy reverence and thy chair-days, thus 
To die in ruffian battle ? Even at this sight 
My heart is turn'd to stone : and while 'tis 

mine, 50 

It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
No more will I their babes : tears virginal 
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire, 
And beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims 
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity : 
Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
Into as many gobbets will 1 cut it 
As wild Medea young Absyitus did : 
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 60 

Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house : 
As did iEneas old Anchises bear, 
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
But then JEneas bare a living load, 
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. 

[Exit, bearing off his father. 
Enter Richard and Somerset tojighi. 
Somerset is killed. 

Rich. So, lie thou there ; 
For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard ianiousin his death. 
Sword, hold thy temper ; heart, be wrathful 
still : 70 

Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit. 

Eight: excursions. Enter King, Queen, and 
others. 

Queen. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for 

shame, away ! 
King. Can Ave outrun the heavens ? good 

Margaret, stay. 
(Queen. What are you made of ? you'll nor 
fight nor fly : 
Now is it manhood, wisdom and defence, 
To give the enemy way, and to secure us 



188 



KING HENRY VI. PART II. 



[Act v. 



By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alarum afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes : but if we haply scape, 
As well we may, if not through your neglect, 80 
We shall to London get, where you are loved 
And where this breach now in our fortunes 

made 
iVlry ieadily be stopp'd. 

Re-enter young Clifford. 

Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mis- 
chief set, 
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly : 
But fly you must ; uncurable discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
Away, for your relief ! and we will live 
To see their day and them our fortune give : 
Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt, 

Scene III. Fields near St. Alban's. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter York, Richard, 
Warwick, and Soldiers, with drum and colors. 

Yoik. Of Salisbury, who can report of him, 
That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
Aged contusions and all brush of time, 
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, 
Repairs him with occasion ? This happy day 
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father, 

Three times to-day I holp him to his horse 



Three times bestrid him ; thrice I led him off, 
Persuaded him from any further act : 10 

But still, where danger was, still there I met 

him ; 
And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
So was his will in his old feeble body. 
But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou 
fought to-day ; 
By the mass, so did we all. I thank you, Rich- 
ard : 
God knows how long it is I have to live ; 
And it hath pleased him that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. 
Well, lords, we have not got that which we 
have : 20 

'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know our safety is to follow them; 
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of parliament. 
Let us pursue him ere the writs go forth. 
What says Lord Warwick ? shall we after 
them ? [can. 

War. After tliem ! nay, before them, if we 
Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
Saint Alban's battle won by famous York 30 
Shall be eternized in all age to come. 
Sound drums and trumpets, and to London rJ.l: 
An* more such days as these to us befall ! 

[Exeunt 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



(WRITTEN ABOUT 159 1-92. ) 



INTRODUCTION. 

[See Introduction to Part II.] 

DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King Henry the Sixth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, his son. 

Lewis XI. King of France. 

Duke of Somerset. 

Duke of Exeter. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Earl of Northumberland. 

Earl of Westmoreland. 

Lord Clifford. 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York 

Edward, Earl of March, afterwards 

King Edward IV., 
Edmund, Earl of Rutland, 
George, afterwards Duke of Clar 

ence, 
Richard, afterwards Duke of Glou 

cester, 
Duke of Norfolk. 
Marquess of Montague. 
Earl of Warwick. 
Earl of Pembroke. 
Lord Hastings. 



his 
sons. 



Lord Stafford. 

Sir John Mortimer, ) uncles to the Duke 

Sir Hugh Mortimer, J of York. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, a youth. 

Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. 

Sir William Stanley. 

Sir John Montgomery. 

Sir John Somerville. 

Tutor to Rutland. Mayor of York. 

Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman. 

Two Keepers. A Huntsman. 

A Sou that lias killed his father. 

A Father that has killed his son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward 

IV. 
Bona, sister to the French Queen. 

Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, 
&c. 

Scene : England and France. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The Parliament-house. 

Alarum. Enter the Duke of York, Edward, 
Richard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, 
and Soldiers. 

War. I wonder how the king escaped our 

hands. 
York. While we pursued the horsemen of 
the north, 
He slily stole away and left his men : 
Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, 
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat. 
Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself 



Lord Clifford and Lord Staff oV&, all abreast, 
Charged our main battle's front, ard breaking 

in 
Were by the swords of common soidie^s slain. 
Edw. Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Fnek- 
iugham, 10 

Is either slain or wounded dangerously ;, 
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow • 
That this is true, father, behold his bloo/ ; 
Mont. And, brother, here's the Earl of Wilt 
shire's blood, 
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
Rich. Speak thou for me and tell then? 
what I did. 
[Throioing down the Duke of Somerset's head 

U89) 



i90 



KING HENRY VI. PART III 



fACT I. 



York. Richard hath best deserved of all my 
sons. 
But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset ? 
Norf. Such hope have all the line of John 

of Gaunt ! 
Rich. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's 
head. 20 

War. And so do I. Victorious Prince of 
York, 
Before I see thee seated in that throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. 
This is the palace of the fearful king, 
And this the regal seat : possess it, York ; 
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'. 
York. Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and 
I will ; 
Tor hither we have broken in by force. 

Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that flies 

shall die. 30 

York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk : stay by me, 

my lords ; 

And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. 

[They go up. 
War. And when the king comes, offer him 
no violence, 
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. 
York. The queen this day here holds her 
parliament, 
But little thinks we shall be of her council : 
By words or blows here let us "win our right. 
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within 

this house. 
War. The bloody parliament shall this be 
call'd, 
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, 40 
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 

York. Then leave me not, my lords ; be 
resolute ; 
I mean to take possession of my right. 

War. Neither the king, nor he that loves 
him best, 
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares : 
Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English 
crown. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, 
Northumberland, Westmoreland, Exe- 
ter, and the rest. 

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy 
rebel sits, 50 

Even in the chair of state : belike he means, 
Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false 

peer, 
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. 
And thine, Lord Clifford ; and you both have 

vow'd revenge 
On him, his sons, his favorites and his friends. 
North. If I be not. heavens be revenged on 

me ! 
Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford 
mourn in steel. 



West. What, shall we suffer this ? let'* 
pluck him down : 
My heart for anger burns ; I cannot brook it. 
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle Earl of West- 
moreland. 61 
Clif. Patience is for poltroons, such as he : 
He durst not sit there, had your father lived. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let us assail the family of York. 
North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin : be 

it so. 
K. Hen. Ah, know you not the city favors 
them, 
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?' 
Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll 

quickly fly. 
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from' 
Henry's heart, 70 1 

To make a shambles of the parliament-house !! 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats 
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. 
Thou factious Duke of York, descend mj 

throne, 
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ; 
I am thy sovereign. 

York. I am thine. 

Exe. For shame, come down : he made thee 

Duke of York. 
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom 

was. 
Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown 
In following this usurping Henry. 81. 

Clif. Whom should he follow but his natural. 

king ? 
War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard; 

Duke of York. 
K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit m\ 

my throne ? 
York. It must and shall be so : content thyself. 
War. Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. 
West. He is both king and Duke of Lan- 
caster ; 
And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall' 
maintain. 
War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You; 
forget 
That we are those which chased you from the- 
field 90 

And slew your fathers, and with colors spread! 
March'd through the city to the palace gates. 
North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my 
grief ; 
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue 
it. 
West. Plantagenet, of thee and these thy 
sons, 
Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more 

lives 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead, 
of words, 
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger 
As shall revenge his death before I stir. 100 
War. Poor Clifford 1 how I scorn his worth- 
less threats 1 



Scene i.j 



KING HENRY VI. PART HI. 



191 



York. Will you we show our title to the 
crown ? 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
crown ? 
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York ; 
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of 

"March : 
I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
Who made the Dauphin and the French to 

stoop 
And seized upon their towns and provinces. 
War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast 
lost it all. 110 

K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not 1: 
When I was crown'd 1 was but nine months 
old. 
Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, 
methinks, you lose. 
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
Kaw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your 

head. 
Mont. Good brother, as thou lovest and 
honorest arms, 
Let's light it out and not stand cavilling thus. 
Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the 

king will fiy. 
York. Sons, peace! 

K. Hen. Peace, thou ! and give King Henry 
leave to speak. 120 

War. Plantagenet shall speak first : hear 
him, lords ; 
And be you silent and attentive too, 
For he that interrupts him shall not live. 
K. Hen. Think' st thou that I will leave my 
kingly throne, 
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat ? 
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
Ay, and their colors, often borne in France, 
And now in England to our heart's great 

sorrow, 
Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, 

lords ? 
My title's good, and better far than his. 130 
War. Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be 

king. 
K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got 

the crown. 
York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. 
K. Hen. [Aside] I know not what to say ; my 
title's weak. — 
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir ? 
York. What then ? 

K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful 
king ; 
For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
Resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth, 
Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 140 
York. He rose against him, being his sove- 
reign, 
And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
War. Suppose, my lords, he did it uncon- 
strain'd, 
Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 
Exe. No ; for he could not so resign his 
srown » 



But that the next heir should succeed and 
reign. 
K. Hen. Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? 
Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon 

me. 
York. Why whisper you, my lords, and an- 
swer not ? 
Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful 
king. 150 

K. Hen. [Aside'] All will revolt from me, and 
turn to him. [lay'st 

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou 
Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. 
War. Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. 
North. Thou art deceived : 'tis not thy 
southern power, 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, 
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and 

proud, 
(Jan set the duke np in despite of me. 

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or 
wrong, 
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defeuce : 1G0 
May that ground gape aud swallow me alive, 
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my fa- 
ther ! 
K. Hen. Clifford, how thy words revive 

my heart ! 
York. Henry of Lancaster, resigu thy crown. 
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
War. Do right unto this princely Duke of 
York, 
Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
And over the chair of state, where now he sits, 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

[He stamps ivith his foot and the soldiers 
shov) themselves. 
K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, hear me but 
one word : 170 

Let me for this my life-time reign as king. 
York. Confirm the crown to me and to mine 
heirs, 
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. 
King. I am content : Richard Plantagenet, 
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince 

your son ! 
War. What good is this to England and him- 
self! 
West. Base, fearful and despairing Henry ! 
Clif. How hast thou injured both thyself 

and us ! 
West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
North. Nor I. 181 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen 

these news. 
West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degene- 
rate king, 
In whose cold blood no spark of honor bides. 
North. Be thou a prey unto the house of 
York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 
Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be over- 
come, 
Or live in peace abandon' d and despised ! 

[Exeum Horth., Cliff., and West, 



192 



KING HENRY VI. PART III 



[Act 



War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard 

them not. 
Exe. They seek revenge and therefore will 
not yield. 190 

K. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 

War. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 

K. Hen. Not for myself, Lord Warwick, hut 
my son, 
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
But be it as it may : I here entail 
The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
To honor me as thy king and sovereign, 
And neither by treason nor hostility 
To seek to put me down and reign thyself ^00 
York. This oath I willingly take and will 

perforin. 
War. Long live King Henry ! Plantagenet 

embrace him. 
K. Hen. And long live thou and these thy 

forward sons ! 
York. Now York and Lancaster are recon- 
ciled. 
Exe. Accursed be he that seeks to make 
them foes ! [Sennet. Here they come 
down. 
York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to 

my castle. 
War. And I'll keep London with my soldiers. 
Norf. And I to Norfolk with my followers. 
Mont. And I unto the sea from whence I 

came. 
[Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, Nor- 
folk, Montague, their Soldiers, and At- 
tendants. 
K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to 
the court. 210 

Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of 
Wales. 

Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks 
bewray her anger : 
I'll steal away. 
K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. 
Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me , I will fol- 
low thee. 
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I 

will stay. 
Q Mar. Who can be patient in such ex- 
tremes I 
Ah, wretched man ! would I had died a maid 
And never seen thee, never borne thee son, 
Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father ! 
Hatli he deserved to lose his birthright thus ? 
Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, 220 
Or felt that pain which I did for him once, 
Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, 
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood 

there, 
Rather than have that savage duke thine heir 
And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
If you be king, why should not I succeed ? 
K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; pardon me, 
sweet son 



The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced 
me. 
Q. Mar. Enforced thee ! art thou king, and 
wilt be forced ? 
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous 

wretch ! 
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me ; 
And given unto the house of York such head 
As thou shalt reign but by their suff erance. 
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, 
What is it, but to make tliy sepulchre 
And creep into it far before thy time ? 
Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais 
Stern Falcoubridge commands the narrow seas 
The duke is made protector of the realm ; 240 
And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety rinds 
The trembling lamb environed with wolves. 
Had I been there, which am a silly woman, 
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their 

pikes 
Before I would have granted to that act. 
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine hon- 
or : 
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself 
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
Until that act of parliament be repeal' d 
Whereby my son is disinherited. 250 

The northern lords that have forsworn thy 

colors 
Will follow mine, if once they see them .spread ; 
And spread they shall be, to thy foul dis- 
grace 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away ; 
Our army is ready ; come, we'll after them. 
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear 

me speak. 
Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already : 
get thee gone. [with me ? 

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay 
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his ene- 
mies. 260 
Prince. When I return with victory from 
the field 
I'll see your grace : till then I'll follow her. 
Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not 
linger thus. 
[Exeunt Queen Margaret and the Prince. 
K. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me and 
to her son 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage 
Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, 
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle 
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son ! 
The loss of those three lords torments my 
heart : 270 
I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. 
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Sandal Castle. 
Enter Richard, Edward, and Montague. 
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give 
me leave. 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART III 



193 



Edw. No, I cau better play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and for- 
cible. 

Enter the Duke of York. 

York. Why, how now, sons and brother ! at 
a strife ? • 
What is your quarrel ? how began it first ? 
Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 
York. About what? 

Rich. About that which concerns your grace 

and us ; 

The crown of England, father, which is yours. 

York. Mine, boy ? not till King Henry be 

dead. 10 

Rich. Your right depends not on his life or 

death. 
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it 
now : 
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to 

breathe, 
It will outrun you, father, in the end. 

York. I took an oath that he should quietly 

reign. 

Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be 

broken : [year. 

I would break a thousand oaths to reign one 

Rich. No ; God forbid your grace should be 

forsworn. 
York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. 
Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear 
me speak. 20 

York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossi- 
ble. 
Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not 
took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
That hath authority over him that swears : 
Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to de- 
pose, 
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
Therefore, to arms ! And, father, do but 

think 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
Within whose circuit is Elysium 30 

And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest 
Until the white rose that I wear be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 
York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or 
die. 
Brother, thou shalt to London presently, 
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. 
Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him prvily of our intent. 

I You, Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, 40 
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly 
rise : 
In them I trust ; for they are soldiers, 
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. 
While you are thus employ'd, what resteth 
more, 
But that I seek occasion how to rise, 
And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster ? 



Enter a Messenger. 

But, stay : what news ? Why comest thou in 
such post ? 
Gabr. The'queen with all the northern earls 
and lords 
intend here to besiege you in your castle : 50 
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 
York. Ay, with my sword. What ! think'st 
thou that we fear them ? 
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; 
My brother Montague shall post to London : 
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. 
Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it 
not : 60 

And thus most humbly I do take my leave. 

[Exit. 
Enter Sir John Mortimer and Sir Hugh 
Mortimer. 

Ytirk. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer 
mine uncles, 
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
Sir John. She shall not need ; we'll meet 

her in the field. 
York. What, with five thousand men ? 
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a 
need : 
A woman's general ; what should we fear ? 

[A march afar off. 
Edio. I hear their drums : let's set our men 
in order, 70 

And issue forth and bid them battle straight. 
York. Five men to twenty ! though the 
odds be great, 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
Many a battle have I won in France, 
When as the enemy hath been ten to one : 
Why should I not now have the like success ? 

[Alarum. Exeunt. 

Scene III. Field of battle betioixt Sandal 

Castle and Wakefield. 
Alarums. Enter Rutland and his Tutor. 

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their 
hands ? 
Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes ! 

Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 
Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves 
thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him com- 
pany. 
Clif. Soldiers, away with him ! 
Tut. Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent 
child, 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man ! 

[Exit, dragged off by Soldiers. 

Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? or is 

it fear 10 



13 






m 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act i. 



That makes him close his eyes ? I'll open 
them. 

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the 
wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws ; 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, 
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 
And not with such a cruel threatening look. 
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. 
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath : 
Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. 20 

Glif. In vain thou speak' st, poor boy ; my 
father's blood 
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words 
should enter. 

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it 
again : 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Clif- Had I thy brethren here, their lives 
and thine 
Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
"No, if I digg'd up thy fore lathers' graves 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 30 

Is as a fury to torment ray soul ; 
And till I root out their accursed line 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Therefore— [Lifting his hand. 

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death ! 
To thee I pray ; sweet Clifford, pity rue ! 

Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 

Rut. I never did thee harm : why wilt thou 
slav me ? 

Clif. thy father hath. 

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born. 

Thou hast one son ; for his sake pity me, 40 
Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
And when I give occasion of offence, 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

Clif. No cause ! 
Thy father slew ray father ; therefore, die. 

[Stabs him. 

Rut. Di faciant laudis sumraa sit ista tuse ! 

[Dies. 

Clif. Plantagenet ! I come. Plantagenet ! 

And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade 

Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 51 

Congeil'd with this, do make me wipe off 

both. [Exit. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 
Alarum. Enter Richard, Duke of York. 

York. The army of the queen hath got the 
field: 
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind 
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
My sons, God knows what hath bechanced 

them : 
But this I know, they have demean'd them- 
selves 



Like men born to renown by life or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me, 
And thrice cried ' Courage, father ! fight it 

out ! * 10 

And full as oft came Edward to my side, 
With purple falchion, painted to the hilt 
In blood of those that had encounter'd him 
And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
Richard cried ' Charge ! and give no foot of 

ground ! ' 
And cried k A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre ! ' 
With this, we charged again : but, out, alas 1 
We bodged again ; as I have seen a swan 
With bootless labor swim against the tide 20 
And spend her strength with over-matching 

waves. [A short alarum within'. 

Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
And I am faint and cannot fly their fury : 
And were I strong, I would not shun their fury : 
The sands are number'dthat make up my life; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 

Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, North- 
umberland, the young Prince, and Soldiers. 

Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumber- 
land, 

I dare your quenchless fury to more rage : 

I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Planta- 
genet. 30 
Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm 

With downright payment, show'd unto my 
father. 

Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car 

And made an evening at the noontide prick. 
York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring 
forth 

A bird that will revenge upon you all : 

And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, 

Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 

Why come you not? what! multitudes, and 
fear?* 
Clif. So cowards fight when they can fly 
no further ; , 40 

So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ; 

So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their 
lives, 

Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once 
again, 

And in thy thought o'er-run my former time ; 

And, if thou canst for blushing, view this 
face, 

And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with 
cowardice 

Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly 
ere this! 
Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for 
word, 

But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thou- 
sand causes 51 

I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. 

Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou,Northum- 
berland. 



Scene iv.J 



KING HENRY T7. PART III. 



195 



North. Hold, Clifford ! do not honor him so 
much 
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, 
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, 
When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
It is war's prize to take all vantages ; 
And ten to one is no impeach of valor. 60 

[They lay hands on York, who struggles. 
Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with 

the gin. 
North. So doth the cony struggle in the net. 
York. So triumph thieves upon their con- 
quer' d booty ; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. 
North. What would your grace have done 

unto him now ? 
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and North- 
•*** umberland, 
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, 
That raught at mountains with outstretched 

arms, 
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. 
What ! was it you that would be England's 
king ? 70 

Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, 
And made a preachment of your high de- 
scent ? 
Where are your mess of sons to back you now ? 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ? 
And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice 
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rut- 
land ? 
Look, York : I stain' d this napkin with the 

blood 
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 80 
Made issue from the bosom of the boy ; 
And if thine eyes can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withaL 
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
I should lament thy miserable state. 
I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. 
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine 

entrails 
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ? 
Why art thou patient, man ? thou shouldst be 

mad ; 
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and 
dance. 91 

Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport .• 
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. 
A crown for York ! and, lords, bow low to 

him : 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. 

[Putting a paper crown on his head. 
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, 
And this is he was his adopted heir. 
But how is it that great Plantagenet 
Is crown 'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath ? 
As I bethink me, you should not be king 101 
Till our King Henry had shook hands with 
death. 



And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 

And rob his temples of the diadem, 

Now in his life, against your holy oath ? 

O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable ! 

Oif with the crown ; and, with the crown, his 

head ; 
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him 

dead. 
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; lets hear the orisons 

he makes. 110 

York. She- wolf of France, but worse than 

wolves of France, 
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's 

tooth ! 
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex 
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, 
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates ! 
But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, 
Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
1 would assay, proud queen, to make tliee 

blush. 
To tell thee whence thou earnest, of whom 

derived, 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou 

not shameless. 120 

Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught tliee to insult? 
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, 
Unless the adage must be verified, 
That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ; 
But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small : 
'Tis virtue that cloth make them most admired ; 
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at : 
'Tis government that makes them seem divine; 
The want thereof manes thee abominable 
Thou art as opposite to every good 
As the Antipodes are unto us, 
Or as the south to the septentrion. 
O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide ! 
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the 

child, 
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ? 140 
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible ; 
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse- 
less. 
Bids't thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy 

wish : 
Wouldst have me weep ? why, now thou hast 

thy will : 
For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
And when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies : 
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false 

Frenchwoman. 
North. Beshrew me, but his passion moves 

me so 150 

That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 

York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 

Would not have touch'd, would not have 

stain' d with blood : 



196 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act n 



But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, 
O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. 
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears : 
This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet 

boy, 
And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : 
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, 160 
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ; 
Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, 
And say ' Alas, it was a piteous deed ! ' 
There, take the crown, and, witli the crown, 

my ciu'se ; 
And in thy need such comfort come to thee 
As now [reap at thy too cruel hand ! 
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world : 
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my 

kin, 
I should not for my life but weep with him. 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 171 
Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my Lord 

Northumberland ? 
Think but upon the wrong he did us all, 
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
CI if. Here's for "ray oath, here's for my 

father's death. [Stabbing him. 

Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle- 
hearted king. [Stabbing him. 
York. Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious 

God ! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out 

Thee. [Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on 

York gates ; 
So York may overlook the town of York. 180 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Scene I. A plain near Mortimer's Cross in 
Herefordshire. 

A march. Enter Edward, Richard, and 
their power. 

Edw. I wonder how our princely father 
'scaped, 

Or whether he be 'scaped away or no 

From Clifford's and Northumberland's pur- 
suit : 

Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the 
news ; 

Had he been slain, we should have heard the 
news ; 

Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have 
heard 

The happy tidings of his good escape. 

How fares my brother ? why is he so sad ? 
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolved 

Where our right valiant father is become. 10 

I saw him in the battle range about ; 

And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 

Methought he bore him in the thickest troop 

As loth a lion in a herd of neat ; 
)v as a bear, encompass' d round with dogs, 



Who having pinch' d a few and made them 

cry, 
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
So fared our father with his enemies ; 
So fled his enemies my warlike father : 
Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 20 
See how the morning opes her golden gates, 
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
How well resembles it the prime of youth / 
Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love ! 
Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three 
suns ? [l'ect sun ; 

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a per- 
Not separated with the racking clouds, 
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to 

kiss, 
As if they vow'd some league inviolable : 30 
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
In this the heaven figures some event. 
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet 
never heard of. 
I think it cites us, brother, to the field, 
That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
Each one already blazing by our meeds, 
Should notwithstanding join our lights to- 
gether 
And over-shine the earth as this the world. 
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
Upon my target three fair-shining suns. 40 
Rich. Nay, bear three daughters : by your 
leave I speak it, 
You love the breeder better than the male. 

Enter a Messenger. 

But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ? 

Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker-on 
When as the noble Duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father and my loving lord ! 

Edw. O, speak no more, for I have heard too 
much. 

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 

Mess. Environed he was with many foes, 50 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks that would have enter' d 

Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
By many hands your father wus subdued ; 
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, 
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, 
Laugh' d in his face ; and when with grief he 
wept, GO 

The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks 
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford 

slain : 
And after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
They took his head, and on the gates of York 
They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 

Edw. Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean 
upon, 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART 111. 



197 






Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. 
O Clifford, boisterous Clifford ! thou hast slain 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 71 

And treacherously hast thou vanquish' d him, 
For hand to hand he would have vanquish' d 

thee. 
Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
Ah, would she break from hence, that this my 

body 
Might in the ground be closed up in rest ! 
For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
Never, O never, shall I see more joy ! 
Rich. I cannot weep ; for all my body's 

moisture 
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning 

heart : 80 

Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great 

burthen ; 
For selfsame wind that I should speak withal 
Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, 
And burns me up with flames that tears would 

quench. 
To weep is to make less the depth of grief : 
Tears then for babes ; blows and revenge for 

me [death, 

Richard, I bear thy name ; I'll venge thy 
Or die renowned by attempting it. 
Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left 

with thee ; 
His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 90 
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's 

bird , 
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom 

say; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 

March. Enter Warwick, Marquess of 
Montague, and their arm,//. 

War. How now, fair lords ! What fare ? 

what news abroad ? 
Rich. Great Lord of Warwick, if we should 
recount 
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliver- 
ance 
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 
The words would add more anguish than the 
wounds. 

valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain ! 100 
Edw. O Warwick, Warwick ! that Planta- 

genet, 

Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemp- 
tion, 

Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. 
War. Ten days ago 1 drown' d these news 
in tears ; 

And now, to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell you things sith then befall'n. 
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
Where your brave father breathed his latest 

n,- ,- gasp ' 

Tidings, as swiftly as the posts oonla run, 

Were brought me of your loss and his depart 

L then in London, keeper of the king, 111 

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of 

friends, 



And very well appointed, as I thought, 
March' d toward Saint Alban's to intercept the 

queen, 
Bearing the king in my behalf along ; 
For by my scouts I was advertised 
That she was coming with a full intent 
To dash our late decree in parliament 
Touching King Henry's oath and your succes- 
sion. 
Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met, 
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely 

fought : 121 

But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; 
Or whether 'twas report of her success ; 
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigor, 
Who thunders to his captives blood and death, 
I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth, 
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ; 
Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, 
Or like an idle thresher with a flail, 131 

Fell gently down, as if they struck their 

friends. 
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
With promise of high pay and great rewards : 
But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, 
And we in them no hope to win the day; 
So that w« fled ; the king unto the queen ; 
Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, 
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: 
For in the marches here we heard you were, 
Making another head to fight again. 141 

Edw. Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle 

Warwick ? 
And when came George from Burgundy to 

England ? 
War. Some six miles off the duke is with 

the soldiers ; 
And for your brotLer, he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 

Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant 

Warwick fled : 
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, 
But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. 150 
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost 

thou hear ; 
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of 

mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, 
Were he as famous and as bold in war 
As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
Rich. I know it well, Lord Warwick ; blame 

me not : 
'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. 
But in this troublous time what's to be done ? 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 160 
And wrap our bodies ill black mourning gowns. 
Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads ? 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms ? 
If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. 

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to 

seek you out ; 



198 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act ii. 



And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, 
With Clifford and the haught Northumber- 
land, 169 
And of their feather many more proud birds, 
Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession, 
His oath enrolled in the parliament ; 
And now to London all the crew are gone, 
To frustrate both his oath and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster. 
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: 
Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, 
With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of 
March, 179 
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, 
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
Why, Via ! to London will we march amain, 
xVnd once again bestride our foaming steeds, 
And once again cry ' Charge upon our foes ! ' 
But never once again turn back and fly. 
Rich. Ay, now methinks I hear great War- 
wick speak : 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, 
That cries ' Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. 
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will 
I lean ; 
And when thou fail'st — as God forbid the 
hour !— 190 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend ! 
War. No longer Earl of March, bat Duke 
of York : 
The next degree is England's royal throne ; 
For King of England shalt thou be proclaim 'd 
Iu every borough as we pass along ; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy 
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, 
Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 
Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard 
as steel, 201 
As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, 
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 
Edw. Then strike up drums : God and Saint 
George for us ! 

Enter a Messenger. 

War. How now ! what news ? 
Mess. The Duke of Norfolk sends you word 
by me, 
The queen is coming with a puissant host ; 
And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
War. Why then it sorts, brave warriors, 
let's away. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Before York. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar- 
garet, the Prince of Wales, Clifford, 
and Northumberland, ivith drum and 
trumpets. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave 
town of York, 
bonder's the head of that arch-enemy 
That sought to be encompass' d with your 
crown ; 



D*oth not the object cheer your heart, my 

lord ? 
K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that 

fear their wreck : 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my 

fault, 
Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much 

lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 10 

To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ? 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? 
Not his that spoils her young before her face 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal 

sting ? 
Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on. 
And doves will peck in safeguard of their 

brood. 
Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, 19 
Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows : 
He, but a duke, would have his soiia king, 
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; 
And though man's face be fearful to their 

eyes, 
Yet, iu protection of their tender ones, 
Who hath not seen them, even with those 

wings. 
Which sometime they have used with fearful 

flight, 30 

Make war with him that climb'd unto their 

nest, 
Offering their own lives in their young's de- 
fence ? 
For shame, my liege, make them your prece- 
dent ! 
Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, 
And long hereafter say unto his child, 
' What my great-grandfather and grandsire 

got 
My careless father fondly gave away ' ? 
Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the 

boy ; 
And let his manly face, which promiseth 40 
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart 
To hold thine own and leave thine own with 

him. 
K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd 

the orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
That things ill-got had ever bad success ? 
And happy always was it for that son 
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
And would my father had left me no more! 50 
For all the rest is held at such a rate 
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep 
Than in possession any jot of pleasure, 



Scene ii. 1 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



199 



Ah, cousin York ! would thy best friends did 

know 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 
Q. Mar. Sly lord, cheer up your spirits : 
our foes are nigh. 
And this soft courage makes your followers 

faint. 
You promised knighthood to our forward son : 
Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. 
Edward, kneel down. 60 

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a 
knight ; 
And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. 
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly 
leave, 
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, 
And iu that quarrel use it to the death. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward 
prince. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
For with a band of thirty thousand men 
Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; 
And in the towns, as they do march along, 70 
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him : 
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 
Clif. I would your highness would depart 
the field : 
The queen hath best success when you are 
absent. 
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to 

our fortune. 
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; 

therefore I'll stay. 
North. Be it with resolution then to fight. 
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble 
lords 
And hearten those that fight in your defence: 
Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry ' Saint 
George ! ' 80 

March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, 
Warwick, Norfolk, Montague, and 
Soldiers. 

Edw. Now, perjured Henry ! wilt thou 
kneel for grace, 
And set thy diadem upon my head ; 
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 

Q. Mar, Go, rate thy minions, proud in- 
su 1-L :^g boy ! 
Become** it thee to be thus bold in terms 
Before thj sovereign and thy lawful king ? 
Ediv. I am his king, and he should bow his 
knee ; 
I was adopted heir by his consent : 
Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear, 
You, that are king, though he do wear the 
crown, 90 

Have caused him, by new act of parliament, 
To blot out me, and put his own son in. 

Clif. And reason too : 
Who should succeed the father but the son ? 
Rich. Are you there, butcher ? O, I can- 
not speak I 
Clif. Ay. crook-back, here I. stand to answer 
thee, 



Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, 

was it not ? 

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 

Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to 

the fight. 100 

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou 

yield the crown ? 
Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued War- 
wick ! dare you speak ? 
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, 
Your legs did better service than your hands. 
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 

'tis thine. 
Clif You said so much before, and yet you 

fled. 
War. 'Twas not your valor, Clifford, drove 

me thence. 
North. No, nor your manhood that durst 

make you stay. 
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee rever- 
ently. 
Break off the parley ; for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 111 

Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 
Clif I slew thy father, call'st thou him a 

child ? 
Rich. Ay. like a dastard and a treacherous 
coward, 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ; 
But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. 
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, 

and hear me speak. 
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close 

thy lips. 
K. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my 
tongue : 
I am a king, and privileged to speak. 120 

Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this 
meeting here 
Cannot be cured by words ; therefore be still. 
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy 
sword : 
By him that made us all, I am resolved 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, 
or no ? 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the 
crown. 
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy 
head ; 
For York in justice puts his armor on. 130 
Prince. If that be right which Warwick says 
is right, 
There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother 
stands ; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire 
nor dam ; 
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, 
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples hid with English gilt. 
Whose father bears the title of a king,— M0 



200 



KING HENRY VI. PART III 



[Act ii. 



As if a channel should he call'd the sea, — 
Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art 

extraught, 
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 
Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thou- 
sand crowns, 
To make this shameless callet know herself. 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong' d 
By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
His father revell'd in the heart of France, 150 
And tamed the king, and made the dauphin 

stoop ; 
And had he match' d according to his state, 
He might have kept that glory to this day ; 
But when he took a beggar to his bed, 
And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for 

him, 
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of 

France, 
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy 

pride ? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; 
And we, in pity of the gentle king, 161 

Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 
Geo. But when we'saw our sunshine made 
thy spring, 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
We set the axe to thy usurping root ; 
And though the edge hath something hit our- 
selves, 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, 
Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. 
Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee ; 
Not willing any longer conference, 171 

Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. 
Sound trumpets ! let our bloody colors wave! 
And either victory, or else a grave. 
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 
Edw. No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer 
stay : 
These words will cost ten thousand lives this 
day. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. A field of battle between Towton 
and Saxton, in Yorkshire. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with 

a race, 
I lay me down a little while to breathe ; 
For strokes received, and many blows repaid, 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their 

strength, 
And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. 

Enter Edward, running. 

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, un- 
gentle death ! 
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is 
clouded. 
War. How now, my lord ! what hap ? what 
hope of good ? 



Enter George. 

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad de- 
spair ; 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 10 
What counsel give you ? whither shall we fly? 
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with 
wings ; 
And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. 

Enter Richard. 

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou with- 
drawn thyself ? 
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath 

drunk, 
Broach'd with the steel y point of Clifford's 

lance ; 
And in the very pangs of death he cried, 
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, 
' Warwick, revenge ! brother, revenge my 

death ! ' 
So, underneath the belly of their steeds, 20 
That stain' d their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 

War. Then let the earth be drunken with 

our blood : 
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; 
And look upon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? 
Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
I'll never pause again, never stand still, 30 
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with 

thine ; 
And in this vow do chain my soul to thine ! 
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold 

face,. 
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, 
Beseeching thee, if with thy will it stands 
That to my foes this body must be prey, 
Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 40 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! 
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again. 
Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. 
Rich. Brother, give me thy hand ; and, 

gentle Warwick, 
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 
War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet 

lords, farewell. 
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
And give them leave to fly that will not stay; 
And call them pillars that will stand to us ; 
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
As victors wear at the Olympian games : 
This may plant courage in their quailing 

breasts ; 
For yet is hope of life and victory. 
Forsiow no longer, make we hence amain. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene I V. Another part of the field. 

Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 



Scene v.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



201 






Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee 
alone : 
Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, 
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here 
alone : 
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; 
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rut- 
land ; 
And here's the heart that triumphs in their 

death 
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and 

brother 
To execute the like upon thyself ; 10 

And so, have at thee ! 

[They fight. Warwick comes ; Clifford flies. 
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other 
chase ; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry alone. 

King. This battle fares like to the morn- 
ing's war, 
When dying clouds contend with growing 

light, 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ; 
Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea 
Forced to retire by fury of the wind : 
Sometime the flood prevails, and then the 

wind ; 
Now one the better, then another best ; 10 
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered : 
So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
Have chid me from the'battle ; swearing both 
They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so; 
For what is in this world but grief and woe? 20 
O God ! methinks it were a happy life, 
To be no better than a homely swain ; 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 
How many make the hour full complete ; 
How many hours bring about the day ; 
How many days will finish up the year ; 
How many years a mortal man may live. 
When this is known, then to divide the times : 30 
So many hours must I tend my flock ; 
So many hours must I take my rest ; 
So many hours must I contemplate ; 
So many hours must I sport myself ; 
So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean ; 
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created, 



Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 40 
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how 

lovely ! 
Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade 
To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
Than doth a rich embroider' d canopy 
To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
O, yes, it doth ; a thousand-fold it doth. 
And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, 
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 50 
Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
His body couched in a curious bed, 
When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. 

Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his 
father, dragging in the dead body. 

Son. Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, 
May be possessed with some store of crowns ; 
And I, that haply take them from him now, 
May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 00 
Who's this? O God ! it is my father's face, 
Whom in this conflict I un wares have kill'd. 
O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
From London by the king was I press' d forth; 
My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, 
Came on the part of York, press' d by his mas- 
ter ; 
And I, who at his hands received my life, 
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. 
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! 70 
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; 
And no more words till they have flow'd their 
fill. 
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody 
times ! 
Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, 
Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. 
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for 

tear ; 
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged 
with grief. 

Enter a Father that has killed his son, bringing 
in the body. 
Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted 

me, 
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 80 
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. 
But let me see : is this our foemau's face ? 
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son !. 
Ah, bey, if any life be left in thee, 
Throw up thine eye ! see, see what showers 

arise, 
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and 

heart ! 
O, pity, God, this miserable age ! 
What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, 90 

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget J 



202 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act ii. 



boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 
K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than 
common grief ! [deeds ! 

O that my death would stay these ruthful 
O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! 
The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal colors of our striving houses : 
The one his purple blood right well resembles; 
The other his pale cheeks, methinks, present- 
ed : 100 
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ; 
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
Son. How will my mother for a father's 
death 
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied ! 
Fath. How will my wife for slaughter of my 
son 
Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied ! 
K. Hen. How will the country for these wo- 
f ul chances 
Misthink the king and not be satisfied ! 
Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death? 
Fath. Was ever father so bemoan' d his 
son ? 110 
K. Hen. Was ever king so grieved for sub- 
jects' woe ? 
Much is your sorrow ; mine ten times so much. 
Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may 
weep my fill. [Exit with the body. 
Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy 
winding-sheet ; 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, 
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; 
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
And so obsequious will thy father be, 
tEven for the loss of thee, having no more, 
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 120 
I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight that 

will, 
For I have murdered where I should not kill. 

[Exit with the body. 
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone 
with care, 
Here sits a king more woful than you are. 

Alarums : excursions. Enter Queen Marga- 
ret, the Prince, and Exeter. 

Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends 
are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord ; towards Ber- 
wick post amain : 
Edward and Richard, like a brace of grey- 
hounds 
Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 130 
With fiery eyes sparkling for "very wrath, 
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 
Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with 
them : 
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
Or else come after : I'll away before. 
K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good 
sweet Exeter : * 



Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away; 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Another part of the field. 
A loud alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 

Clif. Here burns my candle out ; ay, here 

it dies, 
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. 
O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow 
More than my body's parting with my soul ! 
My love and fear glued many friends to thee , 
And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. 
Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud 

York, 
The common people swarm like summer flies ; 
And whither fly the gnats but to the sun ? 
And who shines now but Henry's enemies? 10 

Phoebus, hacTst thou never given consent 
That Phaethon should check thy fiery steeds, 
Thy burning car never had scorch'dthe earth! 
And, Henry, hadstthou sway'd as kings should 

do, 
Or as thy father and his father did, 
Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
They never then had sprung like summer flies; 

1 and ten thousand in this luckless realm 
Had left no mourning widows for our death ; 
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in 

peace. 20 

For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ? 
And what makes robbers bold but too much 

lenity ? 
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my 

wounds ; 
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight : 
The foe is merciless, and will not pity ; 
For at their hands I have deserved no pity. 
The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. 
Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the 

rest ; 
I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

[He faints. 

Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, 
Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Sol- 
diers. 

Edw. Now breathe we, lords : good fortune 

bids us pause, 31 

And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful 

looks. 
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, 
That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with 
them ? 
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape, 
For, though before his face I speak the words, 
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the 
grave : 4C 

And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 

[Clifford, yroans, and dies 
Ediv. Whose soul is that which takes hej 
heavy leave ? 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



20J5 



Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's 

departing. 
Edw. See who it is : and, now the hattle's 
ended, 
ff friend or foe, let him he gently used. 
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis 
Clifford ; 
Who not contented that he lopp'd the hranch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
(Jut set his murdering knife unto the root 
From whence that tender spray did sweetly 
spring, 50 

I mean our princely father, Duke of York. 
War: From off the gates of York fetch down 
the head, 
Your father's head, which Clifford placed 

there ; 
Instead whereof let this supply the room : 
Measure for measure must be answered. 
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to 
our house, 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
Now death shall ^stop his dismal threatening 

sound, 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

War. I think his understanding is bereft. 
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to 
thee ? 01 

Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of 

life, 
And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. 
Rich. 0, would he did ! and so perhaps he 
doth : 
'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father. 
Geo. If so thou think' st, vex him with eager 

words, 
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no 

grace. 
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy 

faults. 
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son 

to York. 
Edw Thou pitied' st Rutland ; I will pity 

thee. 
Geo. Where's Captain Margaret, to fence 

you now ? 
War. They mock thee, Clifford : swear as 

thou wast wont. 
Rich. What, not an oath ? nay, then the 
world goes hard 
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. 
1 know by that he's dead ; and, by my soul, 
Tf this right hand would buy two hour's life, 
That I in all despite might rail at him, 81 

This hand should chop it off, and with the is- 
suing blood 
Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst 
fork and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
War. Ay. but he's dead : off with the trai- 
tor's head, 
A.nd rear it in the place your father's stands. 
A.ud now to London with triumphant march, 



There to be crowned England's royal king : 
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to 

France, 
And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen : 90 
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; 
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not 

dread 
The scatter' d foe that hopes to rise again ; 
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine 

ears. 
First will I see the coronation ; 
And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, 
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, 

let it be ; 
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, 100 
And never will I undertake the thing 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. 
Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, 
And George, of Clarence : Warwick, as our- 

self, 
Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. 
Rich. Let me be Duke of Clarence, George 

of Gloucester ; 
For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. 
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation : 
Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to Lon- 
don, 
To see these honors in possession. 110 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. A forest in the north of England. 

Enter two Keepers, with cross-bows in their 
hands. 
First Keep. Under this thick-grown brake 
we'll shroud ourselves ; 
For through this laund anon the deer will 

come ; 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 
Sec. Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both 

may shoot. 
First. Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of 
thy cross-bow 
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : 
And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day 1C 

In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
Sec. Keep. Here comes a man ; let's stay 
till he be past. 

Enter King Henry, disc/vised, with aprayer- 
book. 

K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of 

pure love 
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
No, Harry, Han»v, 'tis no land of thine ; 
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from 

thee, 
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast an ■ 

oiuted : 



204 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act ir 



No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, 
No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
No, not a man comes for redress of thee ; 20 
For how can I help them, and not myself ? 
First Keep, Ay, here's a deer whose skin's 

a keeper's fee : 
This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon 

him. 
K Hen. Let me embrace thee, sour ad- 
versity, 
For wise men say it is the wisest course. 
■Sec. Keep. Why linger we ? let us lay 

hands upon him. 
First Keep. Forbear awhile ; we'll hear a 

little more. 
K. Hen. My queen and son are gone to 

France for aid ; 
And, as I hear, the great commanding War- 
wick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's 

sister 30 

To wife for Edward : if this news be true, 
Poor q ueen and son, your labor is but lost ; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator, 
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving 

words. 
By this account then Margaret may win him ; 
For she's a woman to be pitied much : 
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast ; 
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn ; 
And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 40 
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. 
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick, to give ; 
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, 
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed ; 
He smiles, and says his Edward is install' d ; 
That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no 

more ; 
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the 

wrong, 
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, 
And in conclusion wins the king from her, 50 
With promise of his sister, and what else, 
To strengthen and support King Edward's 

place. 
O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor 

soul, 
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn : 
Sec. Keep. Say, what art thou that talk'st 

of kings and queens ? 
K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I 

was born to : 
A man at least, for less I should not be ; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
Sec. Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou 

wert a king. 
K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that's 

enough. 60 

Sec. Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is 

thy crown ? 
K. Hen. Mv crown is in my heart, not on 

my head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen : my crown is called content : 



A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 
Sec. Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd 
with content, 
Your crown content and you must be con- 
tented 
To go along with us ; for, as we think, 
You are the king King Edward hath deposed ; 
And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance 70 
Will apprehend you as his enemy. 
K. Hen. But did you never swear, and 

break an oath ? 
Sec. Keep. No, never such an oath ; nor 

will not now. 
K Hen. Where did you dwell when I was 

King of England ? 
Sec. Keep. Here in this country, where we 
now remain. [old ; 

K Hen. I was anointed king at nine months 
My father and my grandfather were kings, 
And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
And tell me, then, have you not broke youi 
oaths ? 
First Keep. No ; 8C 

For we were subjects but while you were king 
K Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe 
a man ? 
Ah, simple men, you know not what you 

swear ! 
Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
And as the air blows it to me again, 
Obeying with my wind when 1 do blow, 
And yielding to another when it blows, 
Commanded always by the greater gust ; 
Such is the lightness of you common men. 
But do not break your oaths ; for of that sin 90 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall be com- 
manded ; 
And be you kings, command, and Til obey. 
First. Keep. We are true subjects to the 

king, King Edward. 
K Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
If he were seated as King Edward is. 
First Keep. We charge you, in God's name, 
and the king's, 
To go with us unto the officers. 
K. Hen. In God's name, lead ; your king's 
name be obey'd : 
And what God will, that let your king perform ; 
And what he will, I humbly yield unto. 101 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. London. The palace. 

Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clar- 
ence, and Lady Grey. 

K Edio. Brother of Gloucester, at Saint 

Al ban's field 
This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was 

slain, 
His lands then seized on by the conqueror : 
Her suit is now to repossess those lands ; 
Which we in justice cannot well deny, 
Because in quarrel of the house of York 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life 

Glon. Your highness shall do well to grant 

her suit ; 



J?CEtfE II.] 



KING HENRY VT. PART ITT. 



205 



It were dishonor to deny it her. 
K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make 

a pause. 10 

Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Yea, is it so? 
I see the lady hath a thing to grant, 
Before the king will grant her humble suit. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] He knows the game : 

how true he keeps the wind ! 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Silence! 
K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your 

suit ; 
And come some other time to know our mind. 
I. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot 

brook delay: 
May it please your highness to resolve me 

now ; 
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 20 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.) Ay, widow? then 

I'll warrant you all your lands, 
And if what pleases him shall pleasure you. 
Fight closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a 

blow. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I fear her not, un- 
less she chance to fall. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] God forbid that! for 

Iih'H take advantages. 
K. Edw. How many children hast thou, 

widow ? tell me. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] I think he means to 

beg a child of her. 
Glov. [Aside to Clar.] Nay, whip me then : 

he'll rather give her two. 
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] You shall have four, 

if you'll be ruled by him. 30 

K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their 

father's lands. 
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it 

then. 
K. Edw. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this 

widow's wit. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] Ay, good leave have 

you ; for you will have leave, 
Till youth take leave and leave you to the 

crutch. [Glou and Clar. retire. 

K. Edio. Now tell me, madam, do you love 

your children ? 
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love 

myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much to do 

them good ? 
L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain 

some harm. 
K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to 

do them good. 40 

L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your 

majesty. 
K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to 

be got. 
L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your high- 
ness' service. 
K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I 

give them ? 
L. Grey. What you command, that rests in 

me to do. [boon. 

K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my 



L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot 

do it. 
K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean 

to ask. 
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your 

grace commands. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] He plies her hard ; 

and much rain wears the marble. 50 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] As red as fire ! n?^, 

then her wax must melt. 
L. Grey. Why stops my lord, shall I not, 

hear my task ? 
K. Edw. An easy task ; 'tis but to love a 

king. 
L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because 

am a subject. 
K. Edw. Why, then, thy husband's lands I 

freely give thee. 
I. Grey. I take my leave with many thou- 
sand thanks. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The match is made ; 

she seals it with a curtsy. 
K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love 

I mean. 
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my 

loving liege. 
K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another 

sense. 00 

What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to 

get ? 
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble 

thanks, my prayers ; 
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. 
K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean 

such love. 
L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I 

thought you did. 
K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive 

my mind. 
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I 

perceive 
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie 

with thee. 
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie 

in prison. 70 

K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy 

husband's lands. 
L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be 

my dower ; 
For by that loss I will not purchase them. 
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong' st thy children 

mightily. 
L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both 

them and me. 
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
Accords not with the sadness of my suit : 
Flease you dismiss me either with ' ay ' or- 

'no.' ' 

K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ' ay ' to my 

request; 
No, if thou dost say ' no ' to my demand. 80 
I. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at 

an end. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The widow likes him 

not, she knits her brows. 



206 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act iii 



Clar. [Aside to Gloit.] He is the bluntest 

wooer in Christendom. 
K. Edw. [Aside] Her looks do argue her 
replete with modesty ; 
Her words do show her wit incomparable ; 
All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
One way or other, she is for a king ; 
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — 
Say that King Edward take thee for his 
queen ? 
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my 
gracious lord : 90 

I am a subject fit to jest withal, 
But far unfit to be a sovereign. 
K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear 
to thee 
I speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. 
L. Grey. And that is more than I will 
yield unto : 
I know I am too mean to be your queen, 
And yet too good to be your concubine. 
K. Edw. You cavil, widow : i did mean, my 

queen. 
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace my sons 
should call you father. 100 

K. Edw. No more than wheu my daughters 
call thee mother. 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
Have other some : why, 'tis a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 
Answer no more, for thou shalt be :ny queen. 
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] The ghostly father 

now hath done his shrift. 
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] When he was made 

a shriver, 'twas for shift. 
K. Edw., Brothers, you muse what chat we 

two have had. 
Glou. The widow likes it not, for she looks 
very sad. 110 

K. Edw. You'll think it strange if I should 

marry her. 
Clar. To whom, my lord ? 
K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 

Glou. That would be ten days' wonder at 
the least. [lasts. 

Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder 
Glott. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : -I can tell 
you both 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 

Enter a Nobleman. 

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is 
taken, 
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 
K. Edw. See that he be convey'd unto the 
Tower : 120 

And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
To question of his apprehension. 
Widow, go you along. Lords, use her hon- 
orably. [Expunt all but Gloucester. 
Glou. Ay, Edward will use women honor- 
ably. 
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, 



That from his loins no hopeful branch may 

spring, 
To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
And yet, between my soul's desire and me — 
The lustful Edward's title buried — 129 

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, 
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself : 
A cold premeditation for my purpose ! 
Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty ; 
.Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, 
And chides the sea that sunders him from 

thence, 
Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way : 
So do I wish the crown, being so far off ; 140 
And so 1 chide the means that keeps me from 

it; 
And so 1 say, I'll cut the causes off, 
Flattering me with impossibilities. 
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too 

much, 
Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; 
What other pleasure can the world afford ? 
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
And deck my body in gay ornaments, 
And witch sweet ladies with my words and 

looks. 150 

O miserable thought ! and more unlikely 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! 
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: 
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, 
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; 
To make an envious mountain on my back, 
Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
To disproportion me in every part, 160 

Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp 
That carries no impression like the dam. 
And am I then a man to be beloved ? 
O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought ! 
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
As are of better person than myself. 
I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, 
And, whiles I live, to account this world but 

hell, 
Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head 
Be round impaled with a glorious crown. 171 
And yet I know not how to get the crown, 
For many lives stand between me and home : 
And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
That rends the thorns and is rent with the 

thorns, 
Seeking a way and straying from the way ; 
Not knowing how to find the open air, 
But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
Torment myself to catch the English crown : 
And from that torment I will free myself, 180 
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, 
And cry ' Content ' to that which grieves my 

heart, 



Scene nr.f 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



20? 



And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 

And frame my lace to all occasions. 

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ; 

I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 

I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, 

Deceive moreslily than Ulysses could, 

And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 190 

I can add colors to the chameleon, 

Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, 

And set the murderous Machiavel to school. 

Can 1 do this, and cannot get a crown ? 

Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down 

[Exit. 

Scene III. France. The King's palace. 

Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, his 
sister Bona, his Admiral, <-aIl<'d Bourbon : 
I'kixce Edward, Queen Margaret, and 
tin- Earl of Oxford. Lewis sits, and riseth 
tip again. 
K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy 

Margaret, 
Sit down witli us : it ill befits thy state 
And birth, that thou shouldst stand while 

Lewis doth sit. 
Q. Mar. No, mighty King of France : now 

Margaret 
Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve 
"Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days :. 
But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
And with dishonor laid me on the ground ; 
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 10 
And to my humble seat conform myself. 
K. Leio. Why, say, fair queen, whence 

springs this deep despair ? 
Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine 

eyes with tears 
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown' d 

in cares. 
K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like 

thyself, 
And sit thee by our side : [Seats her by him] 

Yield not thy neck 
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all misJiance. 
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tel.< thy grief; 
It shall be eased, if France can yield relief. 20 
Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my 

drooping thoughts 
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to 

speak. 
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, 
That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
Is of a king become a banish'd man, 
And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York 
Usurps the regal title and the seat 
Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, 30 
With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's 

heir, 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ; 
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
Our people and our peers are both misled, 



Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight. 
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. 
K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience 
calm the storm, 
While we bethink a means to break it off. 
Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger 
grows our foe. 40 

K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll suc- 
cor thee. 
Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true 
sorrow. [row ! 

And see where comes the breeder of my sor- 

Enter Warwick. 

K. Leio. What's he approacheth boldly to 

our presence ? 
Q. Mar. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's 

greatest friend. 
K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What 
brings thee to France ? 

[He descends. She ariseth. 
Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to 
rise ; 
For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 

War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, 
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, 
First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
And then to crave a league of amity ; 
And lastly, to confirm that amity 
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
To England's king in lawful marriage. 

Q. Mar. [Aside] If that go forward, Henry's 

hope is done. 
War. [To Bona] And, gracious madam, in 
our king's behalf, 
I am commanded, with your leave and favor, 
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart ; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
Hath placed thy beauty's image and thy virtue. 
Q. Mar. King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear 
me speak, 
Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest 

love, 
But from deceit bred by necessity ; 
For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? 70 
To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, 
That Henry liveth still ; but were he dead, 
Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's 

son. 
Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and 

marriage 
Thon draw not on thy danger and dishonor; 
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile. 
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth 
wrongs. 
War. Injurious Margaret ! 
Prince. And why not queen ? 

War. Because thy father Henry did usurp- 
And thou no more are prince than she is queen. 
Ovf. Then Warwick disannuls great John 
of Gaunt, SI 



208 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act hi. 



Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
And, alter John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
Who by his prowess conquered all Frauee : 
From these our Henry lineally descends. 

War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth 
discourse, 
You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 90 
Methinks these peers of France should smile 

at that. 
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak 
against thy liege, 
Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush ? 
War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the 
right, 
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ? 
For shame ! leave Henry, and call Edward 
king. 100 

Oxf Call him my king by whose injurious 
doom 
My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, 
Was done to death ? and more than so, my 

father, 
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 
When uature brought him to the door of death ? 
No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, 
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
War. And I the house of York. 
K. Levi. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 
and Oxford, 
"Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, 110 
While I use further conference with Warwick. 

[They stand aloof. 
Q. Mar. Heavens grant that Warwick's 

words bewitch him not ! 
K Lew. Now Warwick, tell me, even upon 
thy conscience, 
Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine 
honor. [eye ? 

K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's 
War. The more that Henry was unfortunate. 
K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set 
aside, 
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 120 
Unto our sister Bona. 

War. Such it seems 

As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
Myself have often heard him say and swear 
That this his love was an eternal plant, 
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, 
The leaves and fruit maintain' d with beauty's 

sun, 
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, 
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. 
K. Leio. Now, sister, let us hear your firm 

resolve. 
Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be 
mine ; 13ft 



[To War.] Yet I confess that often ere this 

day, 
When I have heard your king's desert re- 
counted, 
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
K. Lew. Then, Warwick, thus: our sister 

shall be Edward's; 
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
Touching the jointure that your king must 

make, 

Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised. 

Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness 

That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 

Prince. To Edward, but not to the English 

king. 140 

Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick! it was thy 

device 
By this alliance to make void my suit: 
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend. 
K. Levi. And still is friend to him and 

Margaret : 
But if your title to the crown be weak, 
As may appear by Edward's good success, 
Then 'tis but reason that I be released 
From giving aid which late I promised. 
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand 
That your estate requires and mine can yield. 
War. Henry now lives in Scotland at his 

ease, 
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. 
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, 
You have a father able to maintain you ; 
And better 'twere you troubled him than 

France. 
Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless 

Warwick, peace. 
Proud setter up and puller down of kings ! 
I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears, 
Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold 
Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love 
For both of you are birds of selfsame feather. 
[Post blows a horn within. 
K. Leiv. Warwick, this is some post to us 

or thee. 

Enter a Post. 

Post. [To War.] My lord ambassador, tnese 
letters are for you, 
Sent from your brother, Marquess Montague : 
[To Leivis.] These from our king unto your 

majesty : 
[To Margaret.] And, madam, these for you ; 
from whom I know not. 

[They all read their letters. 
Oxf. I like it well that our fair queen and 
mistress 
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at 
his. 
Prince. Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as 
he were nettled : 
I hope all's for the best. 170 

K. Levu Warwick, what are thy news? 

and yours fair queen ? 
Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with 

unhoped joys. 
War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's dis- 
content. 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



209 






K. Lew. What ! has your king married the 
Lady Grey ! 
And now, to soothe your forgery and his, 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? 
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ? 
Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much be- 
fore : 
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's 
honesty. 180 

War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight 
of heaven, 
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, 
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's, 
No more my king, for he dishonors me, 
But most himself, if he could see his shame 
Did I forget that by the house of York 
My father came untimely to his death ? 
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece ? 
Did I impale him with the regal crown ? 
Did I put Henry from his native right ? 190 
And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? 
Shame on himself ! for my desert is honor : 
And to repair my honor lost for him, 
I here renounce him and return to Henry. 
My noble queen, let former grudges pass, 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor : 
I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona 
And replant Henry in his former state. 

Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd 
my hate to love ; 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 200 
And joy that thou becomest King Henry's 
friend. 
War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned 
friend, 
That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I'll undertake to land them on our coast 
And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him : 
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, 
He's very likely now to fall from him, 
For matching more for wanton lust than 
honor, 210 

Or than for strength and safety of our country. 
Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re- 
venged 
But by thy help to this distressed queen ? 
Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor 
Henry live, 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ? 
Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's 

are one. 
War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with 

yours. 
K. Lew. And mine with hers, and thine, 
and Margaret's. 
Therefore at last I firmly am resolved 
You shall have aid. 220 

Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all 

at once. 
K. Lew. Then, England's messenger, re- 
turn in post, 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 



To revel it with him and his new bride : 
Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. 
Bona. Tell him, in hope he'll prove a wid- 
ower shortly, 
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. 
Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are 
laid aside, 
And I am ready to put armor on. 230 

War. Tell him from me that he hath done 
me wrong, 
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. 
There's thy reward : be gone. [Exit Post. 

K. Lew. But, Warwick, 

Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward 

battle ; 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt, 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 239 
War. This shall assure my constant loyalty, 
That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy 
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 
Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for 
your motion. 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to War- 
wick ; 
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well de- 
serves it ; 
And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 
[He gives Jus hand to Warwick. 
K. Lew. Why stay we now ? These sol- 
diers shall be levied, 
And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. 
I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 
[Exeunt all but Warwick. 
War. I came from Edward as ambassador, 
But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale but me ? 260 
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chief that raised him to the crown, 
And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Enter Gloucester, Clarence, Somerset, 
and Montague. 

Olou. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what 
think you 
Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey ? 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ? 
Clar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence 
to France : 

H 



210 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act if 



How could he stay till Warwick made return ? 
Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here 

comes the king. 
Glou. And his well-chosen bride. 
Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I 
think. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; 
Lady Grey, as Queen ; Pembroke, Staf- 
ford, Hastings, and others. 

K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like 
you our choice, 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? 
Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the 
Earl of Warwick, 11 

Which are so weak of courage and in judg- 
ment 
That they'll take no offence at our abuse. 
K. Edw. Suppose they take offence with- 
out a cause, 
They are but Lewis and Warwick : I am Ed- 
ward, 
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my 
will. 
Glou. And shall have your will, because 
our king : 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you 

offended too ? 
Glou. Not I : 20 

No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd 
Whom God hath join'd together ; ay, and 

'twere pity 
To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your mis- 
like aside, 
Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey 
Should not become my wife and England's 

queen. 
And you too, Somerset and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is mine opinion : that King 
Lewis 
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 30 
About the marriage of the Lady Bona. 

Glou. And Warwick, doing what you gave 
in charge, 
Is now dishonored by this new marriage. 
K. Edw. What if both Lewis and Warwick 
be appeased 
By such invention as I can devise ? 
Mont. Yet, to have join'd with France in 
such alliance 
Would more have strengthen' d this our com- 
monwealth 
'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred 
marriage. 
Hast. Why, knows not Montague that of 
itself 
England is safe, if true within itself ? 40 

Mont. But the safer when 'tis back'd with 

France. 
Hast. 'Tis better using France than trusting 
France : 
Let us be back'd with God and with the seas 
Which He hath givem for fence impregnable, 



And with their helps only defend ourselves ; 
In them and in ourselves our safety lies. 
Clar. For this one speech Lord Hastings 

well deserves 
To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. 
K. Edw. Ay, what of that ? it was my will 

and grant ; 
And for this once my will shall stand for law. 
Glou. And yet methinks your grace hath 

not done well, 51 

To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales 
Unto the brother of your loving bride ; 
She better would have fitted me or Clarence ; 
But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 
Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd 

the heir 
Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, 
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 
K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a 

wife 
That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. 
Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd 

your judgment, 61 

Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf ; 
And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. 
K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will 

be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleased his 

majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen, 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent ; 70 

And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
But as this title honors me and mine, 
So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing, 
Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sor- 
row. 
R. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon 

their frowns : 
What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend, 
And their true sovereign, whom they must 

obey ? 
Nay, whom they shall cbey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands ; 80 
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, 
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
Glou. I hear, yet say not much, but think 

the more. [Aside. 

Enter a Post. 

K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters or 
what news 
From France ? 
Post. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and 
few words, 
But such as I, without your special pardon, 
Dare not relate. 
K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, 
in brief, 
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess 
them. 90 

What answer makes King Lewis unto our let* 
ters? 



SCEXE III.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



211 



Post. At my depart, these were his very 
words : 
1 Go tell false Edward, th3 r supposed king, 
That Lewis of France is sending over masquers 
To revel it with him and his new bride.' 
K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike he thinks 
me Henry. 
But what said Lady Bona to my marriage ? 
l J ost. These were her words, utter' d with 
mild disdain : 
1 Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower 

shortly, 
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.' 100 
K. Edw. 1 blame not her, she could say lit- 
tle less ; 
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's 

queen ? 
For 1 have heard that she was there in place. 
Post. ' Tell him,' quoth she, ' my mourning 
weeds are done, 
And I am ready to put armor on.' 
K. Edw. Belike she minds to play the Am- 
azon. 
But what said Warwick to these injuries ? 
Post. He, more incensed against your ma- 
jesty 
Than all the rest, discharged me with these 

words : 
' Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, 
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' 
K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out 
so proud words ? 
Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd : 
They shall have wars and pay for their pre- 
sumption. 
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret ? 
Post. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so 
link'd in friendship, 
That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's 
daughter. 
Clar. Belike the elder ; Clarence will have 
the younger. 
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in mar- 
riage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. 
You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

[Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. 
Glou. [Aside] Not I : 
My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
Stay not for the love of Edward, but the crown. 
K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone 
to Warwick ! 
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. 
Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf 130 
Go levy men, and make prepare for war ; 
They are already, or quickly will be lauded : 
Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford, 
But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, 
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance ; 
Tell me if you love Warwick more than me ? 
If it be so, then both depart to him 



I rather wish you foes than hollow friends : 
But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
That I may never have you in suspect. 
Mont. So God help Montague as he proves 

true ! 
Hast. And Hastings as he favors Edward's* 

cause ! 
K. Edio. Now, brother Richard, will you 

stand by us ? 
Glou. Ay, in despite of all that shall with- 
stand you. 
K. Edw. Why, so ! then am I sure of vic- 
tory. 
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A plain in Warwickshire. 

Enter Warwick and Oxford, vrith French 

soldiers. 

War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes 

well ; 

The common people by numbers swarm to us. 

Enter Clarence and Somerset. 

But see where Somerset and Clarence come ! 
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? 
Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto 

Warwick ; 
And welcome, Somerset : I hold it cowardice 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's 

brother, 10 

Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter 

shall be thine. 
And now what rests but, in night's coverture, 
Thy brother being carelessly encamp' d, 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
And but attended by a simple guard, 
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
That as Ulysses and stout Diomede 
With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' 

tents, 20 

And brought from thence the Thracian fatal 

steeds, 
So we, well cover' d with the night's black 

mantle, 
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
And seize himself ; I say not, slaughter him, 
For I intend but only to surprise him. 
You that will follow me to this attempt, 
Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 
[They all cry, ' Henry ! ' 
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : 
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint 

George ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Edward's camp, near Warwick. 

Enter three Watchmen, to guard the King's 

tent. 
First Watch. Come on, my masters, each 
man take his stand : 



212 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act iv. 



The king by this is set liiui down to sleep. 
Second Watch. What, will he not to bed ? 
First Watch. Why, no; for he hath made a 
solemn vow 
Never to lie and take his natural rest 
Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. 
Second Watch. To-morrow then belike shall 
be the day, 
If Warwick be so near as men report. 

Third Watch. But say, I pray, what noble- 
man is that 
That with the king here resteth in his tent? 10 
First Watch. "Tis the Lord Hastings, the 

king's chief est friend. 
Third Watch. 0, is it so ? But why com- 
mands the king 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about 

him, 
While he himself keeps in the cold field ? 
Second Watch. 'Tis the more honor, because 

more dangerous. 
Third Watch. Ay, but give me worship and 
quietness ; 
I like it better than a dangerous honor. 
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. 
First Watch. 'Unless our halberds did shut 
up his passage. 20 

Second Watch. Ay, wherefore else guard 
we his royal tent, 
But to defend his person from night-foes ? 
Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Som- 
erset, and French soldiers, silent all. 

War. This is his tent ; and see where stand 
his guard. 
Courage, my masters ! honor now or never ! 
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. 
First Watch. Who goes there ? 
Second Watch. Stay, or thou diest ! 

[ Warwick and the rest cry all, ' War- 
wick ! Warwick ! ' and set upon the 
Guard, who fly, crying, ' Arm ! arm ! ' 
Warwick and the rest following them. 

The drum playing and trumpet sounding, re- 
enter Warwick, Somerset, and the rest, 
bringing the Kingow^ in his gown, sitting in 
a chair. Richard and Hastings fly over 
the stage. 

Som. What are they that fly there ? 
War. Richard and Hastings : let them go ; 
here is 
The duke. 
K. Edw. The duke ! Why, Warwick, when 
we parted, 30 

Thou call'dst me king. 

War. Ay, but the case is alter'd : 

When you disgraced me in my embassade, 
Then I degraded you from being king, 
And come now to create you Duke of York. 
Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom. 
That know not how to use ambassadors, 
Nor how to be contented with one wife, 
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, 
Nor how to study for the people's welfare, 
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? 40 



K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou 
here too ? 
Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, 
Of thee thyself and all thy complices, 
Edward will always bear himself as king : 
Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 
War. Then, for his mind, be Edward Eng- 
land's king : [Takes of his croion. 
But Henry now shall wear the English crown, 
And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow. 
My Lord of Somerset, at my request, 51 
See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd 
Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. 
When I have fought with Pembroke and his 

fellows, 
I'l . follow you, and tell what answer 
Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. 
Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York. 
[They lead him out forcibly. 
K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must 
needs abide ; 
It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 

[Exit, guarded. 
Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us 
to do 60 

But march to London with our soldiers ? 
War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have 
to do ; 
To free King Henry from imprisonment 
And see him seated in the regal throne. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. London. The palace. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 

Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sud- 
den change ? 
Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet 
to learn 
What late misfortune is befall' n King Ed- 
ward ? 
Riv. What ! loss of some pitch' d battle 

against Warwick ? 
Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal 

person. 
Riv. Then is my sovereign slain ? 
Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken 
prisoner, 
Either betray' d by falsehood of his guard 
Or by his foe surprised at unawares : 
And,' as I further have to understand, 10 

Is new committed to the Bishop of York, 
Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe. 
Riv. These news I must confess are full of 
grief ; 
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may : 
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the 
day. 
Q. Eliz. Till then fair hope must hinder 
life's decay. 
And I the rather wean me from despair 
For love of Edward's offspring in my womb . 
This is it that makes me bridle passion 
And bear with mildness my misfortune's 
cross ; 20 



Scene vi.] 



KING HENRY 17. PART III. 



213 



Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear 
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, 
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English 
crown. 
Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then 

become ? 
Q. Eliz. I am inform' d that he comes to- 
wards London, 
To set the crown once more on Henry's head : 
Guess thou the rest ; King Edward's friends 

must down, 
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, — 
For trust not him that hath once broken 
faith,— 30 

I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right : 
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly : 
If Warwick take us we are sure to die. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. A park near Middleham Castle in 
Yorkshire. 

Enter Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and Sir 
William Stanley. 

Glou. Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir 

William Stanley, 
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
Into this chiefest thicket of the park. 
Thus stands the case : you know our king, my 

brother, 
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
Ho hath good usage and great liberty, 
And, often but attended with weak guard, 
Gomes hunting this way to disport himself. 
I have advertised him by secret means 
That if about this hour he make this way 10 
Under the color of his usual game, 
He shall here find his friends with horse and 

men 
To set him free from his captivity. 

Enter King Edward and a Huntsman ivith 
him. 

Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way 

lies the game. 
K. Edw. Nay, this way, man : see where 

the huntsmen stand. 
Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, 

and the rest, 
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's 

deer ? [haste : 

Glou. Brother, the time and case requireth 
Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. 
K. Edw. But whither shall we then ? 
Hast. To Lynn, my lord, 20 

And ship from thence to Flanders. 
Glou. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that 

was my meaning. 
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy for- 
wardness. 
Glou. But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time 

to talk. 
K. Edit). Huntsman, what say'st thou ? 

wilt thou go along? 



Hunt. Better do so than tarry and bo 

hang'd. 
Glou. Come then, away ; let's ha' no more 

ado. 
K. Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee from 
Warwick's frown ; 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene VL. London. The Tower. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clarence? 
Warwick, Somerset, young Richmond. 
Oxford, Montague, awe? 'Lieutenant of the 
Tower, 

K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God 
and friends 
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, 
And tuin'd my captive state to liberty, 
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees ? 
Lieu. Subjects may challenge nothing of 
their sovereigns ; 
But if an humble prayer may prevail, 
1 then crave pardon of your majesty. 
K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ? for well 
using me ? 
Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kind- 
ness, 10 
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure ; 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
Conceive when after many moody thoughts 
At last by notes of household harmony 
They quite forget their loss of liberty. 
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, 
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee ; 
He was the author, thou the instrument. 
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite 
By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, 
And that the people of this blessed land 21 
May not be punish' d with my thwarting stars, 
Warwick, although my head still wear the 

crown, 
I here resign my government to thee, 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 

War. Your grace hath still been famed fox 
virtuous ; 
And now may seem as wise as virtuous, 
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, 
For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
For choosing me when Clarence is in place. 31 
Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the 
sway, 
To whom the heavens in thy nativity 
Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown, 
As lilcely to be blest in peace and war ; 
And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 
War. And I choose Clarence only for pro- 
tector. 
K. lien. Warwick and Clarence give me 
both your hands : 
Now join your hands, and with your hands 

your hearts, 
That no dissension hinder government : 4C 
I make you both protectors of this land, 
While I myself will lead a private life 



214 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act iv. 



And in devotion spend my latter days, 
To sin's rebuke and ray Creator's praise. 
War. What answers Clarence to his sov- 
ereign's will ? 
Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield 
consent ; 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. 

War. Why, then, though loath, yet must I 
be content : 
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
To Henry's body, and supply his place ; 50 
I mean, in bearing weight of government, 
While he enjoys the honor and his ease. 
And, Clarence, now then it is more than need- 
ful [tor, 
Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a trai- 
And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 
Clar. What else ? and that succession be 

determined. 
War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want 

his part, 
if. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief 
affairs, 
Let me entreat, for I command no more, 
That Margaret your queen and my son Ed- 
ward 60 
Be sent for, to return from France with speed ; 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
My joy of liberty is half eclipsed. 

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with 

all speed. 
if. Hen. My Lord of Somerset, what youth 
is that, 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 
Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of 

Richmond. 
if. Hen. Come hither, England's hope. 
[Lays his hand on his head] If secret powers 
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks are full of peaceful majesty, 71 

His head by nature framed to wear a crown, 
His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself 
Likely in time to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords, for this is he 
Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 

Enter a Post. 

War. What news, my friend ? 
Post. That Edward is escaped from your 
brother, 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
War. Unsavory news ! but how made he 
escape ? 80 

Post. He was convey'd by Richard Duke of 
Gloucester 
And the Lord Hastings, who attended him 
In secret ambush on the forest side 
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ; 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his 
charge. 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. 

[Exeunt all but Somerset, Richmond, and 

Oxford. 



Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of 
Edward's ; 89 

For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, 
And we shall have more wars before 't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
Did glad my heart with hope of this young 

Richmond, 
So doth my heart misgive me, in these con- 
flicts 
What may befall him, to his harm and ours : 
Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, 
Till storms be past of civil enmity. 

Oxf. Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 

'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall 

down. 100 

Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Brittany. 

Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Before York. 
Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, 
Hastings, and Soldiers. 
K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, Lord Has- 
tings, and the rest, 
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
And says that once more I shall interchange 
My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the 

seas 
And brought desired help from Burgundy : 
What then remains, we being thus arrived 
From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of 

York, 
But that we enter, as into our dukedom ? 
Glou. The gates made fast ! Brother, I 
like not this ; 10 

For many men that stumble at the threshold 
Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 
K. Edw. Tush, man, abodements must not 
now affright us : 
By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
For hither will our friends repair to us. 
Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more to 
summon them. 

Enter, on the walls, the Mayor of York, and 
his Brethren. 

May. My lords, we were forewarned of 
your coming, 
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 
K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be 
your king, 20 

Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. 
May. True, my good lord ; I know you for 

no less. 
if. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but 
my dukedom, 
As being well content with that alone. 

Glou. [Aside] But when the fox hath once 

got in his nose, 

He'll soon find means to make the body follow. 

Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you 

in a doubt ? 

Open the gates ; we are King Henry's friendg. 



Scene nil.] 



KING IIEXfiY VI. PART ITT. 



215 






May. Ay, say you so ? the gates shall then 
"be opeu'd. [They descend. 

Glou. A wise stout captain, and soon per- 
suaded ! 30 
Hast. The good old man would fain that all 
were well, 
So 'twere not 'long of him ; but being enter'd, 
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 

Enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 

K. Edw. So, master mayor : these gates 
must not be shut 
But in the night or in the time of war. 
What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the 
keys ; [Takes his keys. 

For Edward will defend the town and thee, 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 

March. Enter Montgomery, with drum and 
soldiers. 

Glou. Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, 

Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. 41 

K. Edw. Welcome, Sir John ! But why 

come you in arms ? 
Mont. To help King Edward in his time of 
storm, 
As every loyal subject ought to do. 
K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery ; but 
we now forget 
Our title to the crown and only claim 
Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. 
Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence 
again : 
I came to serve a king and not a duke. 
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away .50 
[The drum begins to march. 
K. Edw. Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and 
we'll debate 
By what safe means the crown may be re- 
cover' d. 
Mont. What talk you of debating ? in few 
words, 
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone 
To keep them back that come to succor you : 
Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title ? 
Glou. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on 

nice points ? 
K. Edw. When we grow stronger, then 
we'll make our claim : 
Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms 
must rule. (51 

Glou. And fearless minds climb soonest 
unto crowns. 
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand : 
The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. 
K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my 
right, 
And Henry but usurps the diadem. 
Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like 
himself ; 
And now will I be Edward's champion. 
Hast. Sound trumpet ; Edward shall bo 
here proclaim' d : <J9 



Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 

[Flourish,. 
Sold, Edward the Fourth, by the grace of 
God, king of England and France, and lord of 
Ireland, &c 
Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays King Ed- 
ward's right, 
By this I challenge him to single fight. 

[Throws down his gauntlet. 

All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 

K Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery ; aiK.1 

thanks unto you all : 

If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. 

Now, for this night, let's harbor here in 

York ; 
And when the morning sun shall raise his car 
Above the border of this horizon, 
We'll forward towards Warwick and his 

mates ; 
For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. 
Ah, froward Clarence ! how evil it beseems 

thee, 
To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother ! 
Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and 

Warwick. 
Come on, brave soldiers : doubt not of the 

day, 
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. London. The palace. 
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Warwick, 
Montague, Clarence, Exeter, and Ox- 
ford. 

War. What counsel, lords ? Edward from 
Belgia, 
With hapty Germans and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath passed in safety through the narrow seas, 
And with his troops doth march amain to Lon- 
don ; 
And many giddy people flock to him. 
K. Hen. Let's levy men, and beat him back 

again. 
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. 
War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted 
friends, 
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war ; 10 
Those will 1 muster up: and thou, son Clarence, 
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk and in Kent, 
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: 
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Northampton and in Leicestershire, shaft find 
Men well inclined to hear what thou com- 
mand' st : 
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well be- 
loved, 
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. 
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, 
Like to his island girt in with the ocean, 
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, 
Shall rest in London till we come to him. 
Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. 
Farewell, my sovereign. 
K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my 
Troy's true hope. 



216 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



I Act r. 



Clar. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' 

hand. 
K. lien. Well-minded Clarence, be thou for- 
tunate ! [leave. 
Mont. Comfort, my lord ; and so I take my 
Oxf. And thus I seal my truth, and bid 

adieu. 
K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving 
Montague, 30 

And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
War. Farewell, sweet lords : let's meet at 
Coventry. 

[Exeunt fill but King Henry and Exeter. 

K Hen. Here at the palace will I rest 

awhile. 

Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 

Methinks the power that Edward hath in field 

Should not be able to encounter mine. 

Exe. The doubt is that he will seduce the 

rest. 
K. Hen. That's not my fear ; my meed 
hath got me fame : 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 40 
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
My mildness hathallay'd their swelling griefs, 
My mercy dried their water-flowiug tears ; 
I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. 
Nor forward of revenge, though they much 
err'd : [me ? 

Then why should they love Edward more than 
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace : 
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
The lamb will never cease to follow him. 50 
[Shout within. ' A Lancaster ! A Lancaster!' 
Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shd|its are 
these ? 

Enter King Edward, Gloucester, and 

soldiers. 

K Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, 
bear him hence ; 

And once again proclaim us King of England. 

You are the fount that makes small brooks to 
flow : 

Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck 
them dry, 

And swell so much the higher by their ebb. 

Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not 
speak. [Exeunt some icith King Henry. 

And lords, towards Coventry bend we our 
course, 

Where peremptory Warwick now remains : 

The sun shines hot ; and, if we use delay, 60 

Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay. 
Glou. Away betimes, before his forces join, 

And take the great-grown triator unawares : 

Brave warriors^ march amain towards Coven- 
try, f Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Coventry, 

Enter Warwick, the Mayor of Coventry, two 

Messengers, and others upon the walls. 



War. Where is the post that came from 
valiant Oxford ? 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 
First Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching 

hitherward. 
War. How far off is our brother Montague? 
Where is the post that came from Montague ? 
Second Mess. By this at Daintry, with a 
puissant troop. 

Enter Sir John Somerville. 

War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving 

son ? 

And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? 

Som. At Southam I did leave him with his 

forces, 

And do expect him here some two hours hence. 

[Drum heard. 

War. Then Clarence is at hand , I hear his 

drum. 11 

Som. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam 

lies : 

The drum your honor hears marcheth from 

Warwick. 

War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd^ 

for friends. 
Som. They are at hand, and you shall 
quickly know. 

March : flourish. Enter King Edward, 

Gloucester, and soldiers. 
K. Edio. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and 

sound a parle. 
Glou. See how the surly Warwick mans the 

wall ! 
War. O unbid spite ! is sportful Edward 
come ? 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they 

seduced, 
That we could hear no news of his repair ? 20 
K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the 
city gates 
Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy 

knee, 
Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy? 
And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 
War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces 
hence, 
Confess who set thee up and pluck d thea 

down, 
Call Warwick patron and be penitent ? 
And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. 
Glou. I thought, at least, he would have said 
the king ; 
Or did he make the jest against his will ? 30 
War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ? 
Glou. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to 
give : 
I'll do thee service for so good a gift. 

War. 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy 

brother. 
K. Edw. Why then 'tis mine, if but by 

Warwick's gift. 
War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a 
weight : 
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject 



Scene ii.| 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



21^ 



K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's 
prisoner : 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this : 40 
What is the body when the head is off ? 
Glou. Alas, that Warwick had no more 
forecast, 
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 
You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, 
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 
K. Edw. 'Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick 

still. 
Glou. Come, Warwick, take the time ; kneel 
down, kneel down : 
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools. 
War. I had rather chop this hand off at a 
blow, 50 

And with the other fling it at thy face, 
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 
K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind 
and tide thy friend, 
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black 

hair, 
Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut 

off, 
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 
1 Wind-changing Warwick now can change no 
more.' 

Enter Oxford, with drum and colors. 

War. cheerful colors ! see where Oxford 

comes ! 
Off. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his forces enter the city. 
Glou. The gates are open, let us enter too. 
K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our 
backs. 61 

Stand we in good array ; for they no doubt 
Will issue out again and bid us battle : 
If not, the city being but of small defence, 
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
War. O, welcome, Oxford I' for we want 
thy help. 

Enter Montague with drum and colors. 

Moni. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his forces enter the city. 

Glou. Thou and thy brother both shall buy 

this treason 

Even with th : dearest blood your bodies bear. 

K. Edw. Tne harder mat m'd, the greater 

victory : 70 

My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. 

Enter Somerset, with drum and colors. 

Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 

[He and his forces enter the city. 

Glou. Two of thy name, both Dukes of 

Somerset, 

Have sold their lives unto the house of York \ 

And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold. 

Enter Clarence, with drum and colors. 

War. And lo, where George of Clarence 
sweeps ilong, 
Of force enough to bid his brother battle; 
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails 



More than the nature of a brother's love 
Come, Clarence, come ; thou' wilt, if Warwick 
call. 80 

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what 
this means ? 

[Taking his red rose out of his JvxU 
Look here, 1 throw my infamy at thee : 
I will not ruinate my father's house, 
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together,, 
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, 

Warwick, 
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural. 
To bend the fatal instruments of war 
Against his brother and his lawful king ? 
Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath : 
To keep that oath were more impiety 90 

Than Jephthah'SjWhen he sacrificed his daugh- 
ter. 
I am so sorry for my trespass made 
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
1 here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, 
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee — 
As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad — 
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 
Pardon me, Edward, I will'make amends : 100 
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times 
more beloved, 
Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. 
Glou. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is 
brotherlike. [just !: 

War. passing traitor, perjured and un- 
K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave 
the town and fight ? 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ? 
War. Alas. I am not coop'd here for de- 
fence ! 
I will away towards Barnet presently, 110 

And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest. 
if. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, 
and leads the way. 
Lords, to the field ; Saint George and victory ! 
[Exeunt King Edward and his company. 
March. Warwick and his company 
follow. 

Scene II. Afield of battle near Barnet. 

Alarum and, excursions. Enter King Ed- 
Edwakd, bringing forth Warwick wounded. 

K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and 
die our fear ; 

For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. 

Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, 

That Warwick's bones may keep thine com- 
pany. [Exit 
War. Ah, who is nigh ? come come, friend 
or foe, 

And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick ; 

Why a»k I that ? my mangled body shows, 

My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart 
shows, 

That I must yield my body to the earth 



18 



KING HENRY VI. PAtiT in. 



And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 10 
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, 
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spread- 
ing tree [wind. 
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful 
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's 

black veil, , 

Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, 
To search the secret treasons of the world : 
The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with 

blood, 
Were liken' d oft to kingly sepulchres ; 20 

For who lived king, but I could dig his grave ? 
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his 

brow? 
Lo, now my glory smear' d in dust and blood ! 
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, 
Even now forsake me, and of all my lands 
Is nothing left me but my body's length. 
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and 

dust ? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 

Enter Oxford and Somerset. 

Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou 
as we are, 
We might recover all our loss again : 30 

The queen from France hath brought a puis- 
sant power : 
Even now we heard the news : ah, could'st 
thou fly ! 
War. Why, then I would not fly. Ah, 
Montague, 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile ! 
Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst, 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed 

blood 
That glues my lips and will not let me speak. 
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 
Som. Ah, Warwick ! Montague * hath 
breathed his last ; 40 

And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, 
And said ' Commend me to my valiant bro- 
ther.' [spoke, 
And more he would have said, and more he 
Which soiruded like a clamor in a vault, 
That mought not be distinguished ; but at last 
1 well might hear, delivered with a groan, 
1 0, farewell, Warwick! ' 

War. Sweet rest his soul ! Fly, lords, and 
save yourselves ; 
For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in 
heaven. [Dies. 

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's 
great power ! [Here they bear away his 
body. Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph ; 
with Gloucester, Clarence, rzid the rest. 

K. Edw Thus far our fortune keeps an 
Upwstrd course, 



And we are graced with wreaths of victory. 
But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, 
I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, 
That will encounter with our glorious sun, 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed . 
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen 
Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast 
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 
Clar. A little gale will soon disperse thot 
cloud 10 

And blow it to the source from whence it 

came : 
The very beams will dry those vapors up, 
For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand 
strong, 
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her: 
If she have time to breathe be well assured 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 
K. Edw. We are advertised by our loving 
friends [bury. 

That they do hold their course toward Tewks- 
We, having i ovv the best at Barnet field, 20 
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way 
And, as we march, our strength will be aug- 
mented 
In every county as we go along. 
Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and 
away. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Plains near Tewksbary. 

March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince 

Edward, Somerset, Oxford, and soldiers. 

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and 
wail their loss, 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What though the mast he now blown over- 
board, 
The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, 
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 
Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he 
Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea 
And give more strength to that which hath too 

„ much, 
Whiles, in h is moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
Which industry and courage might have 

saved ? 
Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a f aid t were tins ! 
Say Warwick was our anchor ; what of that? 
And Montague our topmast ; what of him ? 
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of 

these ? 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? 
And Somerset another goodly mast ? 
The friends of France our shrouds and tack- 
lings ? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? 20 
We will not from the helm to sit and weep, 
But keep our course, though the rough wind 

say no, 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with 

wreck. 
As "ood to chide the waves as speak them fair. 



Uckne v.] 



KING HENRY VI. PARI III. 



219 



And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? 
What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ? 
And Richard but a ragged fatal rock ? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while ! 
Tread on the sand ; why, there you quickly 
sink : 30 

Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash yoa off, 
Or else you famish ; that's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
If case some one of you would fly from us, 
That there's no hoped-for mercy with the bro- 
thers 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands 

and rocks. 
Why, courage then ! what cannot be avoided 
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. 
Prince. Methinks a woman of this valiant 
spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these 
words, 40 

Infuse his breast with magnanimity 
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
I speak not this as doubting any here ; 
For did I but suspect a fearful man 
He should have leave to go away betimes, 
Lest in our need he might infect another 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here — as God forbid ! — 
Let him depart before we need his help. 

Oxf Women and children of so high a 

courage, 50 

And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual 

shame. 
O brave young prince ! thy famous grand- 
father 
Doth live again in thee : long mayst thou live 
to bear his image and renew his glories ! 
Som. And he that will not fight for such a 
hope, 
Go home to bed, and like the owl by day, 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder' d at. 

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; sweet 

Oxford, thanks. 
Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath 
nothing else. 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mes-°. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at 
hand, 60 

Heady to light ; therefore be resolute. 

Oxf. I thought no less : it is his policy 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
Som. But he's deceived ; we are in readi- 
ness. 
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your 

forwardness. 
Oxf. Here pitch our battle ; hence we will 
not budge. 

Flourish and march. Enter King Edward, 
Gloucester, Clarence, and soldiers. 

K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands 
the thorny wood, 
Which, by the heavens' assistance and your 

strength, 
^lust by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 



I need not add more fuel to your fire, 70 

For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out : 
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords ! 
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen. 

what I should say 
My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, 
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
Therefore, no more but this : Henry, your 

sovereign, 
Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd, 
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects 

slain, 
His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent ; 
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
You fight in justice : then, in God's name, 

lords, 81 

Be valiant and give signal to the fight. 
[Alarum : Retreat : Excursions. Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, 
Clarence, and soldiers ; with Queen Mar- 
garet, Oxford, and Somerset, prisoners. 

K. Edw. Now here a period of tumultuous 
broils. 
Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight : 
For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them 
speak. 
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with 

words. 
Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my 
fortune. 

[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 
Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous 
world, 
To meet with, ioy in sweet Jerusalem. 
K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who 
finds Edward 
Shall have a high reward, and he his life ? 10 
Glou. It is : and lo, where youthful Edward 
comes ! 
Enter soldiers, with Prince Edward. 

K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us 
hear him speak. 
What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick ? 
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make 
For bearing arms, for Stirling up my subjects, 
And all the trouble thott hast tnrn'd me to ? 
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud am- 
bitious York ! 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth : 
Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel 

thou, 
Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, 
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer 
to. 21 

Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so 

resolved ! 
Glou. That you might still have worn the 
petticoat, 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lan- 
caster. 
Prince. Let iEsop fable in a winter's night .; 
His currish riddles sort not with this plac$. 



220 



KING HENRY VI. PART III. 



[Act x. 



Glou. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for 

that word. 
Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague 

to men. 
Glou. For God's sake, take away this cap- 
tive scold. , 
Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook- 
back rather. 30 
K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm 

your tongue. 
Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
Prince. I know my duty ; you are all un- 
dutiful : 
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, 
And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all 
I am your better, traitors as ye are : 
And thou usurp' st my father's right and mine. 
K. Edw. Take that, thou likeness of this 
railer here. [Stabs him. 

Glou. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end 
thy agony. [Stabs him. 

Clar. And there's for twitting me with per- 
j ury. • [Stabs him. 40 

Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 
Glou. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 
K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold ; for we have 

done too much. 
Glou. Why should she live, to fill the 

world with words ? 
K. Edw. What, doth she swoon? use means 

for her recovery. 
Glou. Clarence, excuse me to the king my 
brother ; 
I'll hence to London on a serious matter : 
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. 
Clar. What ? what ? 

Glou. The Tower, the Tower. [Exit. 50 
Q. Mar. O Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy 
mother, boy ! [ers ! 

Canst thou not speak ? O traitors ! murder- 
They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, 
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
If this foul deed were by to equal it : 
He was a man ; this, in respect, a child : 
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
What's worse than murderer, that I may 

name it ? 
No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak : 
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. 
Butchers and villains ! bloody cannibals ! 61 
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! 
You have no children, butchers ! if you had, 
The thought of them would have stirr'd up re- 
morse : 
But if you ever chance to have a child, 
Look in his youth to have him so cut off 
As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young 
prince ! 
K. Edw. Away with her ; go, bear her 

hence perforce. 
Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, dis- 
patch me here ; 
Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my 
death : 70 

What, wilt thou not ? then, Clarence, do it 
thou. 



Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so 

much ease. 
Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clar- 
ence, do thou do it. 
Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would 

not do it ? 
Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear 
thyself : 
'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
What, wilt thou not ? Where is that devil's 

butcher, 
Hard-favor' d Richard ? Richard, where art 

thou ? 
Thou art not here : murder is thy alms-deed ; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 80 
K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear 

her hence. 
Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to 
this prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly. 

K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ? 
Clar. To London, all in post ; and, as I 
guess, 
To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 
K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in 
his head. 
Now march we hence : discharge the common 

sort 
With pay and thanks, and let's away to Lon- 
don 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares : 
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 90 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. London. The Tower. 

Enter King Henry and Gloucester, with 
the Lieutenant, on the zoalls. 

Glou. Good day, my lord. What, at your 

book so hard ? 
K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : — my lord, I 
should say rather ; 
'Tis sin to flatter ; 'good' was little better : 
' Good Gloucester ' and ' good devil ' were 

alike, 
And both preposterous ; therefore, not 'good 
lord.' 
Glou. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we 
must confer. [Exit Lieutenant. 

if. Hen. So flies the reckless shepher 1 from 
the wolf ; 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his 

fleece 
And next his throat unto the butcher's kiuie. 
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? 
Glou. Suspicion always haunts the guilty 
mind ; 11 

The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed hi a 
bush, 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every 

bush ; 
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
Have now the fatal object in my»eye 
Where my poor vouns* was limed, was caught 
and kill'd. 
Glou. Why, what a peevish fool was that of 
Crete, 



Scene vii.] 



KING HENRY VI. PART HI. 



221 



That taught his son the office of a fowl ! 19 
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 
K. Hen. I, Daedalus ; my poor boy, Icarus ; 
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy 
Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea 
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point 
Than can my ears that tragic history. 
But wherefore dost thou come ? is't for my 

life ? 29 

Glou. Think' st thou I am an executioner ? 
if. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art : 
If murdering innocents be executing, 
Why, then thou art an executioner. 

Glou. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first 

thou didst presume. 
Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. 
And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, 
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, 
And many an old man's sigh and many a 

widow's, 39 

Arid many an orphan's water-standing eye — 
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, 
And orphans for their parents' timeless death — 
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, — an evil sign ; 
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook 

down trees ; 
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's 

hope, 50 

To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast 

born, 
To signify thou earnest to bite the world : 
And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
Thou earnest — 

Glou. I'll hear no more : die, prophet, in 

thy speech : [Stabs Jiim. 

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 
if. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter 

after this. 
O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! 

[Dies. 60 
Glou. What, will the aspiring blood of Lan- 
caster 
Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have 

mounted. 
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's 

death ! 

0, may such purple tears be alway shed 
From those that wish the downfall of our 

house ! 
If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
Down, down to hell ; and say I sent thee 

thither : [Stabs him again. 

1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. 
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of ; 

For I have often heard my mother say 70 



I came into the world with my legs forward : 
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
And seek their ruin that usurp' d our right ? 
The midwife wonder' d and the women cried 
' 0, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth ! ' 
And so I was ; which plainly signified 
That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. 
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body 

so, 
Let hell make crook' d my mind to answer it. 
I have no brother, I am like no brother ; 80 
And this word 'love,' which greybeards call 

divine, 
Be resident in men like one another 
And not in me : I am myself alone. 
Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the 

light : 
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee ; 
For I will buz abroad such prophecies 
That Edward shall be fearful of his life, 
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 
King Henry and the prince his son are gone : 
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, 
Counting myself but bad till I be best. 91 

I'll throw thy body in another room 
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 

[Exit, with the body. 

Scene VII. London. The palace. 

Flourish. Enter Kino Edward, Queen 
Elizabeth, Clarence, Gloucester, Has- 
tings, a Nurse with the young Prince, and 
Attendants. 

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's 

royal throne, 
Re-purchased with the blood of enemies. 
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, 
Have we mow'd down in tops of all their 

pride ! 
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown' d , 
For hardy and undoubted champions ; 
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, 
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men 
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's 

sound ; 
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and 

Montague, 
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion 
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat 
And made our footstool of security. 
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. 
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself 
Have in our armors watch'd the winter's 

night, 
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, 
That thou mightst repossess the crown in 

peace ; 
And of our labors thou shalt reap the gain. 20 
Glou. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest, if your 

head were laid ; 
For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave ; 
And heave it shall some weight, or break my 

back : 
Work thou the way,— and thou shalt execute* 



222 



£ItfG HENRY VI. PART tit. 



[Act v. 



K. Edw. Clarence and Gloucester, love my 
lovely queen ; 
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your ma- 
jesty 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 

Q. Eliz. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthy 

brother, thanks. 
Glou. And, that I love the tree from whence 
thou sprang' st, 
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. 
[Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his 

master, 
And cried ' all hail ! ' when as he meant all 
harm. 
K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul de- 
lights 



Having my country's peace and brothers' 
loves. 
Clar. What will your grace have done with 
Margaret ? 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence 
to France. 
And now what rests but that we spend the 

time 
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,, 
Such as befits the pleasure of the court ? 
Sound drums and trumpets ! farewell sour an- 
noy ! 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting jo 



I 



Exeunt. 



KING RICHARD Ht 



(WRITTEN IN 1593.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

This play, because among other alleged reasons it exhibits so much smaller a proportion of 
rhyme than Richard II., is held by some critics to be the later of the two in chronological order ; 
but here Shakespeare was working, though not in the presence, yet under the influence and in the 
manner of the great master of dramatic blank verse, Marlowe. Richard 1 1 1 . carries on with the 
highest energy, and we may suppose, after brief delay on Shakespeare's part, the subject of the for- 
tunes of the house of York from the point when it was dropped in 3 Henry VI. It would hardly be 
possible that Shakespeare should subsequently continue to write in a manner so Marlowesque as 
that of Richard III., he was not yet in comedy or tragedy delivered from rhyme. What more nat- 
ural than that he should pass in Richard II. to a manner perhaps inferior but more his own, more 
varied, more subtle, and marked by finer if less forcible characterization? Richard III. can hardly 
be later in date than 1593. Shakespeare was indebted little, if at all, to the old play The True 
Tragedie of Richard III., and certainly not at all to Dr. Legge's Latin play upon the same subject. 
A highly popular subject with Elizabethan audiences this was — the fall of the Yorkist usurper, and 
the accession of the first Tudor king as champion of justice. Shakespeare's play was printed in 
quarto in seven editions between 1597 and 1C>:;0. His materials the dramatist found in the chronicles 
of Holinshed and Hall. The entire play may be said to be the exhibition of the one central charac- 
ter of Richard ; all subordinate persons are created that he may wreak his will upon them. This is 
quite in the manner of Marlowe. Like Marlowe also is the fierce energy of the central character, un- 
tempered by moral restraints, the heaping up of violent deeds, the absence of all reserve or mystery 
in the characterization, the broad and bold touches, the demoniac force and intensity of the whole. 
There is something sublime and terrible in so great and fierce a human energy as that of Richard, 
concentrated within one withered and distorted body. This is the evil offspring and flower of the 
long and cruel civil wars— this distorted creature, a hater and scorner of man, an absolute cynic, 
loveless and alone, disregarding all human bonds and human affections, yet full of intellect, of 
fire, of power. The accumulated crimes of civil war are at last atoned for, and the evil which culmi- 
nates in Richard falls with Richard from its bad eminence. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



King Edward the Fourth. 

Edward, Prince of Wales, after-) „„„„, , ., 
j v t^j a\t ( sons to the 

wards King Edward V., > K - ■ 

Richard, Duke of York, ) lvm °- 

George, Duke of Clarence, broth*™ to 

Richard, Duke of Gloucester, J> t } ie J^J 



I 



Duke of Gloucester, 
afterwards King Richard III. 

A young son of Clarence. 

Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King 
Henry VII. 

Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Can- 
terbury. 

Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York. 

John Morton, Bishop of Ely. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Earl of Surrey, his son. 

Earl Rivers, brother to Elizabeth. 

Marquis of Dorset and Lord Grey, sons 
to Elizabeth. 

Earl of Oxford. 

Lord Hastings. 

Lord Stanley, called also Earl of Derby. 

Lord Lovel. 

Sir Thomas Vauohan. 

♦Sir Richard Ratcliff. 



Sir William Catesby. 

Sir James Tyrrel. 

Sir James Blount. 

Sir Walter Herbert. t 

Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the 
Tower. 

Christopher Urswick, a priest. Another 
Priest. 

Tressel and Berkeley, gentlemen attend- 
ing on the Lady Anne. 

Lord Mayor of London. Sheriff of Wiltshire. 

Elizabeth, queen to King Edward IV. 

Margaret, widow of King Henry VI. 

Duchess of York, mother to King Edward 
IV. 

Lady Anne, widow of Edward Prince of 
Wales, son to King Henry VI. ; after- 
wards married to Richard. 

A young Daughter of Clarence (Margaret 
Plantagenet). 

Ghosts of those murdered by Richard HI., 
Lords and other Attendants ; a Pursuivant, 
Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, 
Soldiers, &c. 

Scene : England. 

(223) 



224 



KING RICHARD III. 



[Act 



ACT I. 



Scene I. London. A street. 
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, solus. 

Glou. Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
And ail the clouds that lour'd upon our house 
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
Now are our brows bound with victorious 

wreaths ; 
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
'Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
(Our dreadful inarches to delightful measures 
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled 

And now, instead of mounting barded steeds 

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, 11 

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute._ 

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 

I, that am rudely stamp' d, and want love s 

majesty 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
I that am curtail' d of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time 20 
Into this breathing world, scarce half made 

up, . 

And that so lamelv and unfashionable 
That dogs bark at me as 1 halt by them ; 
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
Have no delight to pass away the time, 
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun 
And descant on mine own deformity : 
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain M 

And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
Bv drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, 
To set my brother Clarence and the kmg 
In deadly hate the one against the other : 
And if King Edward be as true and just 
As I am subtle, false and treacherous, 
This day should Clarence closely be mew' d up, 
About a prophecy, which says that G 
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 40 
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clar- 
ence comes. 
Enter Clarence, guarded, and Braken- 

BUBY. 

Brother, good day ; what means this armed 

guard 
That waits upon your grace ? 

Clar. His majesty, 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 

Glou. Upon what cause ? 

(jlar Because my name is George. 

Gloii Alack, my lord, that fault is none of 
yours ; ... 

He should, for that, commit your godfathers : 
O belike his majestv hath some intent 
That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. 



But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? 
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; for I 

protest 
As yet 1 do not : but, as I can learn, 
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams ; 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
And says a wizard told him that by G 
His issue disinherited should be ; 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought that I am he. 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these 60 
Have moved his highness to commit me now. 
Glou. Why, tins it is, when men are ruled 

bv women : 
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower? 
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she 
That tempers him to this extremity. 
Was it not she and that good man of worship, 
Anthony Woodville, her brother there, 
That made him send Lord Hastings to the 

Tower, 
From whence this present day he is deliver d? 
We are not safe, Clarence ; we are not safe. 70 
Clar. By heaven, I think there's no man is 

secure 
But the queen's kindred and night-walking 

heralds 
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress 

Shore. 
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant 
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ? 
Glou. Humbly complaining to her deity 
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
I'll tell you what ; I think it is our way, 
If we will keep in favor with the king, 
To be her men and wear her livery : 80 

The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, 
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentle- 
women, 
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 
Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon 

me ; . , 

His majesty hath straitly given in charge 
That no man shall have private conference, 
Of what degree soever, with his brother. 
Glou. Even so ; an't please your worship, 
Brakenbury, 
You may partake of any tiling we say : 
We speak no treason, man: we say the king 9C 
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen 
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous ; 
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing 

tongue ; 
And that the queen's kindred are made gentle- 
folks : 
How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? 
Brak. 'With this, my lord, myself have 

nought to do. 
Glou. Naught to do with Mistress Shore ! 1 
tell thee, fellow, 
He that doth naught with her, excepting one 
Were best he do it secretly, alone. 100 

Brak. What one, my lord ? 
Glou. Her husband, knave : wouldst thou 
betray me ? 



SOEVE II.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



225 



Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, 
and withal 
Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, 

and will obey. 
Glou. We are the queen's abjects, and must 
obey. 
Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; 
And whatsoever you will employ me in, 
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister 
I will perform it to enfranchise you. 110 

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood 
Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
Glou. Well, your imprisonment shall not be 
long; 
I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
Meantime, have patience. 

Clar. I must perforce. Farewell. 

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 
Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt 
ne'er return, 
Simple, plain Clarence ! I do love thee so, 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, 
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
But who comes here ? the new-deliver'd Has- 
tings ? 

Enter Lord Hastings. 

Hast Good time of day unto my gracious 

lord! 
Glou. As much unto my good lord cham- 
berlain ! 
Well are you welcome to the open air. 
How hath your lordship brook' d imprison- 
ment ? 
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prison- 
ers must : 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 
Glou. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall 
Clarence too ; 
For they that were your enemies are his, 130 
And have prevail' d as much on him as you. 
Hast. More pity that the eagle should be 
mew'd, 
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 
Glou. What news abroad ? 
Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at 
home ; 
The king is sickly, weak and melancholy, 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glou. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad 
indeed. 
O, he hath kept an evil diet long, 
And overmuch consumed his royal person : 140 
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
What, is he in his bed ? 
Hast. He is. 

Glou. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Exit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die 
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to 

heaven. 
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel' d with weighty arguments ; 



And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 

Clarence hath not another day to live : 150 

Which done, God take King Edward to his 

mercy, 
And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest 

daughter. 
What though I kill'd her husband and her 

father ? 
The readiest way to make the wench amends 
Is to become her husband and her father : 
The which will I ; not all so much for love 
As for another secret close intent, 
By marrying her which I must reach unto. 
But yet I run before my horse to market: 160 
Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives and 

reigns : 
When they are gone, then must I count my 

gains. [Exit. 

Scene II. The same. Another street. 

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, 
Gentlemen with halberds to guard it ; Lady; 
Anne being the mourner. 

Anne. Set down, set down your honorable 

load, 
If honor may be shrouded in a hearse, 
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
Be it lawful tha